Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE, by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I heard a sick man's dying sigh
Last Line: I shall worship in twenty-nine!
Subject(s): Holidays; Love; New Year


I heard a sick man's dying sigh,
And an infant's idle laughter;
The old Year went with mourning by,
The new came dancing after:
Let Sorrow shed her lonely tear,
Let Revelry hold her ladle;
Bring boughs of cypress for the bier,
Fling roses on the cradle:
Mutes to wait on the funeral state!
Pages to pour the wine!
A requiem for Twenty-eight, --
And a health to Twenty-nine!

Alas! for human happiness,
Alas! for human sorrow;
Our yesterday is nothingness,
What else will be our Morrow?
Still Beauty must be stealing hearts,
And Knavery stealing purses;
Still Cooks must live by making tarts,
And Wits by making verses;
While Sages prate, and Courts debate,
The same Stars set and shine;
And the World, as it roll'd through Twenty-eight,
Must roll through Twenty-nine.

Some King will come, in Heaven's good time,
To the tomb his Father came to;
Some Thief will wade through blood and crime
To a crown he has no claim to:
Some suffering Land will rend in twain
The manacles that bound her,
And gather the links of the broken chain
To fasten them proudly round her:
The grand and great will love, and hate,
And combat, and combine;
And much where we were in Twenty-eight,
We shall be in Twenty-nine.

O'Connell will toil to raise the Rent,
And Kenyon to sink the Nation;
And Sheil will abuse the Parliament,
And Peel the Association:
And the thought of bayonets and swords
Will make ex-Chancellors merry;
And jokes will be cut in the House of Lords,
And throats in the county Kerry:
And writers of weight will speculate
On the Cabinet's design;
And just what it did in Twenty-eight,
It will do in Twenty-nine.

Mathews will be extremely gay,
And Hook extremely dirty;
And brick and mortar still will say
'Try Warren, No. 30':
And 'General Sauce' will have its puff,
And so will General Jackson;
And peasants will drink up heavy stuff,
Which they pay a heavy tax on:
And long and late, at many a fete,
Gooseberry champagne will shine;
And as old as it was in Twenty-eight,
It will be in Twenty-nine.

And the Goddess of Love will keep her smiles,
And the God of Cups his orgies;
And there'll be riots in St Giles,
And weddings in St George's:
And Mendicants will sup like Kings,
And Lords will swear like Lacqueys;
And black eyes oft will lead to rings,
And rings will lead to black eyes:
And pretty Kate will scold her mate,
In a dialect all divine;
Alas! they married in Twenty-eight, --
They will part in Twenty-nine!

John Thomas Mugg, on a lonely hill,
Will do a deed of mystery;
The Morning Chronicle will fill
Five columns with the history:
The Jury will be all surprise,
The Prisoner quite collected;
And Justice Park will wipe his eyes,
And be very much affected:
And folks will relate poor Corder's fate,
As they hurry home to dine,
Comparing the hangings of Twenty-eight
With the hangings of Twenty-nine.

A Curate will go from the house of prayer
To wrong his worthy neighbour,
By dint of quoting the texts of Blair,
And singing the songs of Weber:
Sir Harry will leave the Craven hounds,
To trace the guilty parties;
And ask of the Court five thousand pounds,
To prove how rack'd his heart is:
An Advocate will execrate
The spoiler of Hymen's shrine;
And the speech that did for Twenty-eight
Will do for Twenty-nine.

My Uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,
And tell of his oils and blubbers;
My Aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,
And rather longer rubbers:
My Cousin in Parliament will prove
How utterly ruin'd trade is;
My Brother at Eton will fall in love
With half a hundred ladies:
My Patron will sate his pride from plate,
And his thirst from the Bordeaux vine;
His nose was red in Twenty-eight, --
'Twill be redder in Twenty-nine!

And oh! I shall find, how, day by day,
All thoughts and things look older;
How the laugh of Pleasure grows less gay,
And the heart of Friendship colder;
But still I shall be what I have been,
Sworn foe to Lady Reason,
And seldom troubled with the spleen,
And fond of talking treason:
I shall buckle my skait, and leap my gate,
And throw, and write, my line;
And the woman I worshipped in Twenty-eight,
I shall worship in Twenty-nine!





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