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Perhaps, unwittingly, I've heard
From some third story.
With small means striving,
Is baby thriving ?
My heart grows chill; can bloom like thine
To one far meeter ?
And is it sweeter?
Sometimes I to Pall Mall repair,
But if I try to
As have not I too?
Yet still I often think upon
July – December !
Frederick Locker. ST. JAMES'S STREET.
YT. JAMES'S Street, of classic fame!
The finest people throng it!
I think I've passed along it!
When Waller read his ditty;
And Alvanley was witty.
A famous street. It skirts the Park
Where Rogers took his pastime; Come, gaze on fifty men of mark,
And then call up the fast time! The plats at White's, the play at Crock's,
The bumpers to Miss Gunning; The bonhomie of Charlie Fox,
And Selwyn's ghastly funning.
The dear old street of clubs and cribs,
As north and south it stretches, Still smacks of Williams' pungent squibs,
And Gillray's fiercer sketches;
The mots, the racy stories ;
The hate of Whigs and Tories.
At dusk, when I am strolling there,
Dim forms will rise around me;
Old Pepys creeps past me in his chair,
And Congreve's airs astound me !
Looked kindly when I met her;
Forgot to quite forget her.
The street is still a lively tomb
For rich and gay and clever;
And die as fast as ever.
And slang that's rather rancid,
or so I've fancied.
In Brummell's day of buckle shoes,
Starch cravats, and roll collars,
Like gentlemen and scholars :
I half forgive old Rapid ;
So vicious and so vapid !
Worse times may come.
Bon ton, alas !
From ripe to worse than rotten;
And owls will roost at Boodle's,
And Echo will hurl back the tones
Of screaming Yankee Doodles.
I like the haunts, and many such,
Where wit and wealth are squandered, The gardened mansions, just as much,
Where grace and rank have wandered, The spots where ladies fair and leal
First ventured to adore me! And something of the like I feel For this old street before me.
ROTTEN ROW, HYDE PARK.
HOPE I 'm fond of much that's good,
As well as much that's gay ;
I like the Park in May :
A lively scene on turf and road,
The crowd is smartly drest :
The chairs are in request :
I'll halt beneath these pleasant trees
And drop my bridle-rein,
And, quite alone, indulge at ease
The philosophic vein :
Forsooth, and on a nicer spot
The sunbeam never shines;
With statesmen and divines :
What grooms! what gallant gentlemen!
What well-appointed hacks !
What beauties on their backs!
But where is now that courtly troop
Who once rode laughing by ? I miss the curls of Cantilupe,
The smile of Lady Di: They all could laugh from night to morn, And Time has laughed them all to scorn.
I then could frolic in the van
With dukes and dandy earls ;
By rather nice young girls ;