Epigram On Seeing Mr. Nutes, A Senseless, Unfeeling Fellow, Weep At The Representation Of King Lear

Henceforth at miracles who'll dare to mock?
No wonder Orpheus' lyre could move the brutes,
Or Moses' rod strike water from the rock;
Lo! Shakspeare's genius melts the heart of Nutes,
Draws tears of pity from a barber's block!

        *        *        *        *        *

    A quack, a mere anatomy,
    Wanting to buy a nag,
    Questions his friend, a wag,
    What colour it shall be:
'White,' he replies, 'let it be white, of course,
For then you'll look like Death on the pale horse.'

Thomas Oldham

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Thomas Oldham

Ode, Written On The Night Of The Illuminations For Lord Howe's Victory On 1St June, 1793

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Eclogue, Spring

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Song To Bacchus

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Epitaph On Sir Samuel Romilly

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

English

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Epigram On Hearing A Clergyman Preach A Dull Sermon In A Loud, Shrill Voice

Still, still his bell-like voice rings through my head;
Yet not one bright thought cheers my mental view;
O! would that I were deaf, asleep, or dead!
Ye marble statues! how I envy you!

    *        *        *        *        *

To hear him preach the Methodistic creed,
What eager crowds to Ranter's chapel speed!
His eloquence the harden'd sinner frightens;
Like heaven itself says Fame, he thunders, lightens.
I go to hear him; Fame has made a blunder;
I see no lightning, though I hear the thunder.

For flowery sermons Doctor Drudge
    Of preachers at the top is;
If from their influence we may judge,
    His flowers are only poppies.

    *        *        *        *        *

Sir! you're both fool and knave! to Frank, Blunt cries

Thomas Oldham

Epigram On Hearing A Lady Talk Very Fast And Unintelligibly

Words upon words impetuous rush along,
And tread each other's brains out as they throng.

    *        *        *        *        *

'Admire my wife! did ever mortal eyes'
Cornuto, in a rapture, boasting cries
'Such a fine set of teeth of ivory view?
And such a fine complexion's ivory hue?
Fool! hide thy head! both her and thee we scorn:
Oft the wife's ivory makes the husband's horn.

    *        *        *        *        *

I'm told Sir Pigmy mimics me; what then?
Don't we all know that monkies mimic men?
'I cannot say your poem I admire;
It wants originality and fire;
Besides, I find it, by no means, correct;
You've written it in haste, I should suspect,'
"What! do you think me then a jackass, pray?"
'I shall think so if you so lou...

Thomas Oldham

Epigram. Auri Sacra Fames.

I knew a being once, his peaked head
With a few lank and greasy hairs was spread;
His visage blue, in length was like your own
Seen in the convex of a table-spoon.
His mouth, or rather gash athwart his face,
To stop at either ear had just the grace,
A hideous rift: his teeth were all canine,
And just like Death's (in Milton) was his grin.
One shilling, and one fourteen-penny leg,
(This shorter was than that, and not so big),
He had; and they, when meeting at his knees,
An angle formed of ninety-eight degrees.
Nature, in scheming how his back to vary,
A hint had taken from the dromedary:
His eyes an inward, screwing vision threw,
Striving each other through his nose to view.

His intellect was just one ray above
The idiot Cymon's ere he fell in love.<...

Thomas Gent

Epigram After Having Seen Several Bad Paintings Of The Death Of Sir John Moore

Cease, daubers! profane not the theme, I implore ye!
But leave him, O leave him alone with his glory!

    *        *        *        *        *

Man's owl-eyed reason Popish Priests assert
Can't safely bear the gospel's heavenly light;
Therefore, with kindest zeal, they do their best
To keep their flocks in unillumined night.

    *        *        *        *        *

'The brokers of the Stock-Exchange
Are nicknamed bears and bulls; how strange!
What reason, Sir, to call them so?'
Ma'am, see their manners, you will know.

Thomas Oldham

Lines On The Death Of Sheridan.

        principibus placuisse viris!
        --HORAT.


Yes, grief will have way--but the fast falling tear
    Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those
Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career.
    And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its close:--

Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed
    By the odor his fame in its summer-time gave;--
Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead,
    Like the Ghoul of the East, comes to feed at his grave.

Oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow,
    And spirits so mean in the great and high-born;
To think what a long line of titles may follow
    The relics of him who died--friendless and lorn!

How proud they can press to the funeral array
    Of one whom they...

Thomas Moore

Ode To Richard Martin, Esq.,[1] M.P. For Galway.

"Martin in this has proved himself a very good man!"
            - Boxiana.



I.

How many sing of wars,
Of Greek and Trojan jars -
The butcheries of men!
The Muse hath a "Perpetual Ruby Pen!"
Dabbling with heroes and the blood they spill;
But no one sings the man
That, like a pelican,
Nourishes Pity with his tender Bill!


II.

Thou Wilberforce of hacks!
Of whites as well as blacks,
Pyebald and dapple gray,
    Chestnut and bay -
No poet's eulogy thy name adorns!
But oxen, from the fens,
Sheep - in their pens,
Praise thee, and red cows with their winding horns!
Thou art sung on brutal pipes!
Drovers may curse thee,
Knackers asperse thee,
And sly M.P.'s bestow their cru...

Thomas Hood