Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
IV. SatiricExhortation to Mrs. Fry
O
Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin
With Carlton, or with other houses? Try
Your hand at harden’d and imperial sin.
To mend the people’s an absurdity.
A jargon, a mere philanthropic din,
Unless you make their betters better:—Fy!
I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry.
Cure them of tours, hussar and highland dresses; Tell them that youth once gone returns no more, That hired huzzas redeem no land’s distresses; Tell them Sir William Curtis is a bore, Too dull even for the dullest of excesses, The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal, A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at all. On life’s worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated, To set up vain pretences of being great, ’Tis not so to be good; and be it stated, The worthiest kings have ever loved least state; And tell them——But you won’t, and I have prated Just now enough; but by and by I’ll prattle Like Roland’s horn in Roncesvalles’ battle.