William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray was an English novelist of the 19th century. Born in Calcutta, India, he is best known for his satirical works, particularly his novel 'Vanity Fair,' a panoramic portrait of English society. His works are known for their insightful representation of human character and society, often infused with a sense of satire. Thackeray's other notable works include 'Pendennis,' 'The Newcomes,' and 'The History of Henry Esmond.' He passed away in London in 1863.

July 18, 1811

December 24, 1863

English

Old Fashioned Fun

When that old joke was new,
    It was not hard to joke,
And puns we now pooh-pooh,
    Great laughter would provoke.

True wit was seldom heard,
    And humor shown by few,
When reign'd King George the Third,
    And that old joke was new.

It passed indeed for wit,
    Did this achievement rare,
When down your friend would sit,
    To steal away his chair.

You brought him to the floor,
    You bruised him black and blue,
And this would cause a roar,
    When your old joke was new.

                    W. M. Thackeray.

William Makepeace Thackeray

Sorrows Of Werther, The

Werther had a love for Charlotte
    Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
    She was cutting bread and butter.

Charlotte was a married lady,
    And a moral man was Werther,
And for all the wealth of Indies,
    Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,
    And his passion boil'd and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
    And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body
    Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
    Went on cutting bread and butter.

William Makepeace Thackeray

When Moonlike Ore The Hazure Seas

When moonlike ore the hazure seas
    In soft effulgence swells,
When silver jews and balmy breaze
    Bend down the Lily's bells;
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
    Has lapt your soal in dreems,
R Hangeline! R lady mine!
    Dost thou remember Jeames?

I mark thee in the Marble all,
    Where England's loveliest shine -
I say the fairest of them hall
    Is Lady Hangeline.
My soul, in desolate eclipse,
    With recollection teems -
And then I hask, with weeping lips,
    Dost thou remember Jeames?

Away! I may not tell thee hall
    This soughring heart endures -
There is a lonely sperrit-call
    That Sorrow never cures;
There is a little, little Star,
    That still above me beams;
It is the Star of Hope - but ar!...

William Makepeace Thackeray