What you tell me in the Postscript to your last concerning Count Caduke [Consult your dictionary; or to save yourself trouble read Count Crazy, alias Beaunoir.] is wholly unintelligible to me. But as you say the name of the gardener's son was several times mentioned by him, I shall take an immediate opportunity of interrogating the 'squire of shrubs, who I am certain from principle will when asked tell me all he knows. Apropos of poetry. The panegyric of this sylph of the sun-beams gave me an impulse which I could not resist, and the following was the offspring of my headlong and impetuous muse; for such the hussey is whenever the fit is upon her. I commit it as it may happen to your censure or applause; with this stipulation, if you do not like it either alter it till you do, or write me another which both you and I shall like better. If that be not fair and rational barter, I know nothing either of trade, logic, or common sense. ANACREONTIC I When by the gently gliding stream, On banks where purple violets spring, I see my Delia's beauties beam, I hear my lovely Delia sing, When hearts combine, And arms entwine, When fond caresses, am'rous kisses Yield the height of human blisses, Entranc'd I gaze, and sighing say, Thus let me love my life away. II Or when the jocund bowl we pass, And joke and wit and whim abound, When song and catch and friend and lass In sparkling wine we toast around, When Bull and Pun Rude riot run, And finding still the mirth increasing, Pealing laughter roars sans ceasing, I peal and roar and pant and say, Thus let me laugh my life away. III When dreams of fame my fancy fill, Sweet soothing dreams of verse and rhyme, That mark the poet's happy skill, And bid him live to latest time, Each rising thought With music fraught, All full, all flowing, nothing wanting, All harmonious, all enchanting, Oh thus, in rapt delights I say, Thus let me sing my life away! IV Oh lovely woman, gen'rous wine, These potent pleasures let me quaff! Thy raptures, wit, oh make them mine! Oh let me drink and love and laugh! In flowing verse Let me rehearse How well I've used your bounteous treasure; Then at last when full my measure, Tho' pale my lip, I'll smile and say, I've liv'd the best of lives away. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXVI _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_