wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette! The Kaiser will stake his array Of sabres, of Krupps, and of lances; An Englishman punts with his pay, And glory the jeton of France is; Your artists, or Whistlers or Vances, Have voices or colours to bet; Will you moan that its motion askance is— The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette? ENVOY. The prize that the pleasure enhances? The prize is—at last to forget The changes, the chops, and the chances— The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette. TO R. R. ENVOY BALLADE OF FRÈRE LUBIN. (Clement Marot's Frère Lubin, though translated by Longfellow and others, has not hitherto been rendered Into the original measure, of ballade à double refrain.) Some ten or twenty times a day, To bustle to the town with speed, To dabble in what dirt he may,— Le Frère Lubin's the man you need! But any sober life to lead Upon an exemplary plan, Requires a Christian indeed,— Le Frère Lubin is not the man! Another's "pile" on his to lay, With all the craft of guile and greed, To leave you bare of pence or pay,— Le Frère Lubin's the man you need! But watch him with the closest heed, And dun him with what force you can,— He 'll not refund, howe'er you plead— Le Frère Lubin is not the man! An honest girl to lead astray, With subtle saw and promised mead, Requires no cunning crone and grey,— Le Frère Lubin's the man you need! He preaches an ascetic creed, But,—try him with the water can— A dog will drink, whate'er his breed,— Le Frère Lubin is not the man! ENVOY. In good to fail, in ill succeed, Le Frère Lubin's the man you need! In honest works to lead the van, Le Frère Lubin is not the man! ENVOY BALLADE OF QUEEN ANNE. The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The Swains and Fairs In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew, Books BENTLEY read,— Who knows them, who? QUEEN ANNE is dead! We buy her Chairs, Her China blue, Her red-brick Squares We build anew; But ah! we rue, When all is said, The tale o'er-true, QUEEN ANNE is dead! Now Bulls and Bears,. A ruffling Crew, With Stocks and Shares, With Turk and Jew, Go bubbling through The Town ill-bred: The World's askew, QUEEN ANNE is dead! ENVOY. Friend, praise the new; The old is fled: Vivat FROU-FROU! QUEEN ANNE is dead! KNELLER BENTLEY QUEEN ANNE QUEEN ANNE
Prev.
Back
Top