O THOU yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men
Cam Hobhouse!
Cam Hobhouse!
Byron
Once Fortune's minion now thou feel'st her power;
Wrath's vial on thy lofty head hath burst.
In Wit, in Genius, as in Wealth the first,
How wondrous bright thy blooming morn arose!
But thou wert smitten with th' unhallowed thirst
Of Crime unnamed, and thy sad noon must close
In scorn and solitude unsought the worst of woes.
1809.
[First published, _Lord Byron's Works_, 1833, xvii. 241. ]
FOOTNOTES:
[7] [Dives was William Beckford. See _Childe Harold_, Canto I. stanza
xxii. line 6, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 37, _note_ 1. ]
FAREWELL PETITION TO J. C. H. , ESQ^RE^.
O THOU yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men
Cam Hobhouse! [8] but by wags Byzantian Ben!
Twin sacred titles, which combined appear
To grace thy volume's front, and gild its rear,
Since now thou put'st thyself and work to Sea
And leav'st all Greece to _Fletcher_[9] and to me,
Oh, hear my single muse our sorrows tell,
_One_ song for _self_ and Fletcher quite as well--
First to the _Castle_ of that man of woes
Dispatch the letter which _I must_ enclose,
And when his lone Penelope shall say
_Why, where_, and _wherefore_ doth my William stay?
Spare not to move her pity, or her pride--
By all that Hero suffered, or defied;
The _chicken's toughness_, and the _lack_ of _ale_
The _stoney mountain_ and the _miry vale_
The _Garlick_ steams, which _half_ his meals enrich,
The _impending vermin_, and the threatened _Itch_,
That _ever breaking_ Bed, beyond repair!
The hat too _old_, the coat too _cold_ to wear,
The Hunger, _which repulsed from Sally's door_
Pursues her grumbling half from shore to shore,
Be these the themes to greet his faithful Rib
So may thy pen be smooth, thy tongue be glib!
This duty done, let me in turn demand
Some friendly office in my native land,
Yet let me ponder well, before I ask,
And set thee swearing at the tedious task.
First the Miscellany! [10]--to Southwell town
_Per coach_ for Mrs. _Pigot_ frank it down,
So may'st them prosper in the paths of Sale,[11]
And Longman smirk and critics cease to rail.
All hail to Matthews! [12] wash his reverend feet,
And in my name the man of Method greet,--
Tell him, my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend,
Who cannot love me, and who will not mend,
Tell him, that not in vain I shall assay
To tread and trace our "old Horatian way,"[13]
And be (with prose supply my dearth of rhymes)
What better men have been in better times.
Here let me cease, for why should I prolong
My notes, and vex a _Singer_ with a _Song_?
Oh thou with pen perpetual in thy fist!
Dubbed for thy sins a stark Miscellanist,
So pleased the printer's orders to perform
For Messrs. _Longman_, _Hurst_ and _Rees_ and _Orme_.
Go--Get thee hence to Paternoster Row,
Thy patrons wave a duodecimo!
