Christopher Anstey Poems

Dear mother, my time has been wretchedly spent,
With a gripe or a hickup wherever I went,
My stomach all swell'd, till I thought it would burst,
...

No city, dear mother, this city excels,
In charming sweet sounds both of fiddles and bells;
I thought, like a fool, that they only would ring
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This morning, dear mother, as soon as 'twas light,
I was wak'd by a noise that astonish'd me quite;
For in Tabitha's chamber I heard such a clatter,
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Of all the gay places the world can afford,
By gentle and simple for pastime ador'd,
Fine balls, and fine concerts, fine buildings, and springs,
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From the earliest ages, dear mother, till now,
All statesmen and great politicians allow
That nothing advances the good of a nation,
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What joy at the ball, what delight have I found,
By all the bright circle encompass'd around!
Each moment with transport my bosom felt warm,
For what, my dear mother, like beauty can charm?
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What base and unjust accusations we find
Arise from the malice and spleen of mankind!
One would hope, my dear mother, that scandal would spare
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Hearken, Lady Betty, hearken,
To the dismal news I tell;
How your friends are all embarking
For the fiery gulph of hell.
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Alas, my dear mother, our evil and good
By few is distinguish'd, by few understood!
How oft are we doom'd to repent at the end,
The events that our pleasantest prospects attend!
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While you, my Lord, great Drury's weal sustain,
Light ev'ry walk, and open all the lane,
With strength of arm plead Black--boy Alley's cause,
...