Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY, BY THE HON. W. S., by HORACE SMITH



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REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY, BY THE HON. W. S., by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Sobriety, cease to be sober
Last Line: Be stacked with defunct lady mugg!
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Horatio
Subject(s): Diaries; Drury-lane Theatre, London; Spencer, William Robert (1769-1834)


Enter PHILANDER.

PHILANDER

I.

SOBRIETY, cease to be sober,
Cease Labour, to dig and to delve;
All hail to this tenth of October,
One thousand eight hundred and twelve!
Ha! whom do my peepers remark?
'Tis Hebe with Jupiter's jug;
O no, 'tis the pride of the Park,
Fair Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

II.

Why, beautiful nymph, do you close
The curtain that fringes your eye?
Why veil in the clouds of repose
The sun that should brighten our sky!
Perhaps jealous Venus has oiled
Your hair with some opiate drug,
Not choosing her charms should be foiled
By Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

III.

But ah! why awaken the blaze
Those bright-burning glasses contain,
Whose lens with concentrated rays
Proved fatal to old Drury Lane?
'Twas all accidental, they cry --
Away with the flimsy humbug!
'Twas fired by a flash from the eye
Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

IV.

Thy glance can in us raise a flame,
Then why should old Drury be free?
Our doom and its doom are the same,
Both subject to beauty's decree.
No candles the workmen consumed,
When deep in the ruins they dug;
Thy flash still their progress illumed,
Sweet Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

V.

Thy face a rich fire-place displays:
The mantel-piece marble -- thy brows;
Thine eyes are the bright beaming blaze;
Thy bib, which no trespass allows,
The fender's tall barrier marks;
Thy tippet's the fire-quelling rug,
Which serves to extinguish the sparks
Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg.

VI.

The Countess a lily appears,
Whose tresses the pearl-drops emboss;
The Marchioness, blooming in years,
A rose-bud enveloped in moss;
But thou art the sweet passion-flower,
For who would not slavery hug,
To pass but one exquisite hour,
In the arms of Elizabeth Mugg?

VII.

When at court, or some Dowager's rout,
Her diamond aigrette meets our view,
She looks like a glow-worm dressed out,
Or tulips bespangled with dew.
Her two lips denied to man's suit,
Are shared with her favourite Pug;
What lord would not change with the brute,
To live with Elizabeth Mugg?

VIII.

Could the stage be a large vis-a-vis,
Reserved for the polished and great,
Where each happy lover might see
The nymph he adores tete-a-tete;
No longer I'd gaze on the ground,
And the load of despondency lug,
For I'd book myself all the year round,
To ride with the sweet Lady Mugg.

IX.

Yes, she in herself is a host,
And if she were here all alone,
Our house might nocturnally boast
A bumper of fashion and ton.
Again should it burst in a blaze,
In vain would they ply Congreve's plug,
For nought could extinguish the rays
From the glance of divine Lady Mugg.

X.

O could I as Harlequin frisk,
And thou be my Columbine fair,
My wand should with one magic whisk
Transport us to Hanover Square:
St. George's should lend us its shrine,
The parson his shoulders might shrug,
But a license should force him to join
My hand in the hand of my Mugg.

IX.

Court-plaster the weapons should tip,
By Cupid shot down from above,
Which, cut into spots for thy lip,
Should still barb the arrows of love.
The God who from others flies quick,
With us should be slow as a slug;
As close as a leech he should stick
To me and Elizabeth Mugg.

X.

For time would, with us, 'stead of sand,
Put filings of steel in his glass,
To dry up the blots of his hand,
And spangle life's page as they pass.
Since all flesh is grass ere 'tis hay,
O may I in clover live snug,
And when old Time mows me away,
Be stacked with defunct Lady Mugg!





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