Chapter I: AM thirty to-day, and my health

Will be drunk at our family party,

Where prophecies touching my wealth

And my fame will be fluent and hearty.

Then Fancy, excited by themes

That are born of the wine and the dinner,

May bring back belief in the dreams

That I dream'd as a hopeful beginner.

Ah! my ballads, my songs, how I 've yearn'd

For the time to collect you and edit

A book that perhaps would have earn'd,

Not a name, but a quantum of credit.

I'd christen it "Sweets for the Sweet,"

Or "The Lyrics and Lays of a Lover;

And Simmonds's Poems Complete,

Should be printed in gold on the cover.

I have long'd for the pleasures that gold

Can procure--and I freely confess it:

(For avarice grows, we are told,

As the _ipsa pecunia crescit._)

If I had but a fortune--oh, _then_

I could finish my course pretty gaily,

With lots of the cleverest men

In my circle to dine with me daily.

T should give up my bachelor life

When I met with a girl to adore me:

With riches and fame and a wife,

What a path would be open before me!

My bliss would be trebly secure,

And my future unclouded and sunny.

She'd love me for love, I am sure:

And, if not, she could love me for money!

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

HAVE a friend in Eaton Place--

A very wealthy man--

Whose house is one I love to grace

As often as I can.

His meats are always of the best,

His wines are rich and rare;

A footman, elegantly drest,

Keeps watch behind my chair.

I like the meats--I love the wine--

(For, give me leave to say,

'Tis very seldom that I dine

In that expensive way.)

But what is gold and silver plate,

And what is dainty fare?

They cannot make me tolerate

The man behind my chair.

Perchance I venture on a pun,

A quip, or else a crank;

Amongst my auditors is one

Whose face remains a blank.

I hear the table in a roar,

Loud laughter fills the air;

But no--it simply seems to bore

The man behind my chair.

I talk about my Lady This,

Or else my Lady That;

Sometimes an Honourable Miss

Comes in extremely pat.

I quote the Earl of So-and-So,

Of Such-and-Such a square;

But, socially, I feel below

The man behind my chair.

Upon the summit of ipy crown

I have a trifling patch:

A little white amidst the brown,

An opening in the thatch.

From all my fellow-men but one

I hide my loss of hair:

He sees it though; I cannot shun

The man behind my chair.

Some day, should Fortune only smile

Upon my low estate,

I mean to feed in such a style

As few can emulate.

Should ever such a lot be mine,

I solemnly declare

That I will banish, when I dine,

The man behind my chair.

THE OLD WAG.

_Air-"Gee, ho, Dobbin!_"