A LAMENT OVER THE BANNISTER. |
  And have we lost thee!—has the monarch grim To his dull court borne off the child of whim! And art thou gone, Oldboy?[26] thou brave and good Protector[27] of the Children in the Wood? Then has the World's great Echo[28] died away; Out of his time th' Apprentice[29] could not stay: The Squib's[30] gone off, extinguish'd ev'ry spark, And Momus mourns his region left so dark. How oft, exulting, have we view'd the Moor[31] For Christian captives open Freedom's door; We've stared to hear the Valet's[32] ready fib, And shudder'd when the Cobbler[33] strapp'd his rib. How, when Barbadoes' merry bells did ring, We've smiled to see thee Trudge[34] and hear thee sing; Thy Ben[35] and Dory[36] were of right true blue, Thy Sheva[37] warm'd us to respect a Jew. To Feign well[38] thou indeed couldst make pretence, Thy brilliant eye was all intelligence; In thee we lost the flow'r of City youths,[39] And now no Lenitive[40] our sorrow soothes. We care not whether tithes be paid or left, Since of our Acres[41] we have been bereft; We dread Spring Rice's yearly fiscal bore, But grieve Thy Budget[42] can be heard no more. Great Garrick's pet,—an ancient fav'rite's son,— Upon the stage thy public course was run, Tho', in thy youth, a painter; and, as man, Thou didst draw houses in a Caravan[43]. And well thou couldst support a Storm[44], but Gout Life's little farthing rushlight[45] has blown out: Thou'rt gone, and from all further ills art screen'd, For thou didst follow Conscience, not the Fiend[46]. Mourn'd in public and private, thou wouldst not come back; "Be quiet! I know it"[47]—thou 'rt happier, Jack! J.S.
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