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LXXVIII.

But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.
'Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old
Was wont to boast —as if a glutton's tray
Were something very glorious to behold.
But 'twas a public feast and public day,-
Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,
And every body out of their own sphere.

LXXIX.

The squires familiarly formal, and

My lords and ladies proudly condescending; The very servants puzzling how to hand

Their plates-without it might be too much bending From their high places by the sideboard's standYet, like their masters, fearful of offending. For any deviation from the graces

Might cost both man and master too—their places.

LXXX.

There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen, Whose hounds ne'er err'd, nor greyhounds deign'd to lurch;

Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen
Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search
Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.
There were some massy members of the church,
Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,
And several who sung fewer psalms than catches.

LXXXI.

There were some country wags too-and, alas! Some exiles from the town, who had been driven To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,

And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven.
And lo! upon that day it came to pass,

I sate next that o'erwhelming son of heaven,
The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, (')
The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with.

LXXXII.

I knew him in his livelier London days,

A brilliant diner out, though but a curate; And not a joke he cut but earn'd its praise, Until preferment, coming at a sure rate, (O Providence! how wondrous are thy ways! Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurate?) Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er Lincoln, A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on.

LXXXIII.

His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes ;
But both were thrown away amongst the fens;
For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.
No longer ready ears and short-hand
Imbibed the
gay bon mot, or happy hoax :
The poor priest was reduced to common sense,
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,

pens

To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.

(1) [Query, Sidney Smith, author of Peter Plimley's Letters? - PRINT. ER'S DEVIL.]

LXXXIV.

There is a difference, says the song, "between
A beggar and a queen," (1) or was (of late
The latter worse used of the two we've seen-
But we'll say nothing of affairs of state)
A difference" 'twixt a bishop and a dean,"

A difference between crockery ware and plate, As between English beef and Spartan broth— And yet great heroes have been bred by both.

LXXXV.

But of all nature's discrepancies, none

Upon the whole is greater than the difference Beheld between the country and the town,

Of which the latter merits every preference From those who have few resources of their own, And only think, or act, or feel, with reference To some small plan of interest or ambition. Both which are limited to no condition.

LXXXVI.

But" en avant!" The light loves languish o'er
Long banquets and too many guests, although
A slight repast makes people love much more,
Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know,
Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore
With vivifying Venus, (2) who doth owe
To these the invention of champagne and truffles:
Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.

(1) ["There's a difference between a beggar and a queen;
And I'll tell you the reason why;

A queen does not swagger, nor get drunk like a beggar,
Nor be half so merry as I," &c.]

(2) [Sine Cerere et Baccho friget Venus. — ADAG.]

LXXXVII.

Dully past o'er the dinner of the day;

And Juan took his place, he knew not where, Confused, in the confusion, and distrait,

And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair: Though knives and forks clang'd round as in a fray, He seem'd unconscious of all passing there, Till some one, with a groan, exprest a wish (Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.

LXXXVIII.

On which, at the third asking of the bans,
He started; and perceiving smiles around
Broadening to grins, he colour'd more than once,
And hastilyas nothing can confound

A wise man more than laughter from a dunce—
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,

And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it,
He had paid his neighbour's prayer with half a turbot.

LXXXIX.

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,

The supplicator being an amateur;

But others, who were left with scarce a third,

Were angry

-as they well might, to be sure.
They wonder'd how a young man so absurd
Lord Henry at his table should endure;
And this, and his not knowing how much oats

Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.

VOL. XVII.

XC.

They little knew, or might have sympathised,
That he the night before had seen a ghost,
A prologue which but slightly harmonised
With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialised,

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most Of two things-how (the question rather odd is) Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.

XCI.

But what confused him more than smile or stare From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around, Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair,

Even in the country circle's narrow bound(For little things upon my lord's estate

Were good small talk for others still less great) —

XCII.

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,
And something like a smile upon her cheek.
Now this he really rather took amiss :

In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks A strong external motive; and in this

Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique
Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles
Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.

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