Classic Poem

Book I. Ode V. A WHIG IN LOW SPIRITS .

 W HAT lean young Baronet and 'Squire
In many a Rose thy charms inspire,
When they at Norfolk's genial shrine
Perfume their breath with Gallic wine?
For whom thy hair's a Bedfora crop ,
When all the rest keeps open shop?
Simplicity , with ancle clean ,
And shoulders à-la-Guillotine;
Alas, how often to deplore,
A new Pantheon for his wh—e;
And shameless Dolly , a defaulter,
On strumpet Reason's perjur'd altar?
 To me the dark avenging storm
Thy civic lineaments deform;
Who now enjoys thee, neat and snug,
Nor fears in thine a Cornish hug;
Nor dreams of the perfidious gale,
That robs him of thy fickle tail.
 How doom'd is the confiding lover,
Who touches ere he can discover!
Me—out of health—my passions cross'd,
In Dolly's Revolutions tost,
Me, indicate the tavern books
To have cut out my name at Brookes';
Me, on a peg, in Dolly's view,
To have hung up my buff and blue .