What has become of the old row-boats

Of Kidd and his pirate pack?

Where are the scarfs that Lord Byron wore?

Where are poor Shelley’s cuffs?

What has become of that wondrous store

Of Queen Elizabeth’s ruffs?

Where are the slippers of Ferdinand?

Where are Marc Antony’s clothes?

Where are the gloves from Antoinette’s hand?

Where Oliver Goldsmith’s hose?

I do not search for the ships of Tyre—

The grave of Whittington’s cat

Would sooner set my spirit on fire—

Or even Beau Brummel’s hat.

And when I reflect that there are spots

In the world that I can’t find,

Where lie these same identical lots,

And many of this same kind,

I’m tempted to give a store of gold

To him that will bring to me

 Prev. P 38/63 next