Her Publisher (and Public too)
The hour of her demise may rue -
For never more within his shop he -
Pray was not she interr'd at Coppet?
Thus run our time and tongues away.
But, to return, Sir, to your play:
Sorry, Sir, but I cannot deal,
Unless 't were acted by O'Neill.
My hands are full, my head so busy,
I'm almost dead, and always dizzy;
And so, with endless truth and hurry,
Dear Doctor, I am yours,
They thought shaving their beards a disaster.
Of these there have been few translations
For Gallic or Italian nations;
And one or two perhaps in German,
But in this last I can't determine.
But then I only sung of passions
That do not suit with modern fashions;
Of Incest and such like diversions
Permitted only to the Persians,
Or Greeks to bring upon their stages -
But that was in the earlier ages.
Besides my style is the romantic,
Which some call fine, and some call frantic;
While others are or would seem as sick
Of repetitions nicknamed Classic.
For my part all men must allow
Whatever I was, I'm classic now.
I saw and left my fault in time,
And chose a topic all sublime -
Wondrous as antient war or hero
Then play'd and sung away like Nero,
Who sang of Rome, and I of Rizzo:
The subject has improved my wit so,
The first four lines the poet sees
Start forth in fourteen languages!
Though of seven volumes none before
Could ever reach the fame of four,
Henceforth I sacrifice all Glory
To the Rinaldo of my Story:
I've sung his health and appetite
(The last word's not translated right
He's turn'd it, God knows how, to vigour);
I'll sing them in a book that's bigger.
Oh! Muse prepare for thy Ascension!
And generous Rizzo! thou my pension.
February, 1818.
ON THE BIRTH OF JOHN WILLIAM RIZZO HOPPNER
His father's sense, his mother's grace, In him, I hope, will always fit so; With still to keep him in good caseThe health and appetite of Rizzo. February 20, 1818.
TO THE TUNE OF SALLY IN OUR ALLEY'
[First published complete in the Edition of 1904 from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Murray. This and the two following poems are in a letter to John Murray, dated April 11, 1818.]
Of all the twice ten thousand bards
That ever penn'd a canto,
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