He went,--and ’twould puzzle historians to say, When they trust Time’s conveyance to carry your _mail_,-- Whether caution or courage inspired him that day, For though he retreated, he never turned tail. By my life, he’s a wonderful charger!--The best! Though not for a Parthian corps!--yet for you!-- Distinguished alike at a fray and a feast, What a horse for a grand Retrospective Review! What a creature to keep a hot warrior cool When the sun’s in the face, and the shade’s far aloof!-- What a _tailpiece_ for Bewick!--or piebald for Poole, To bear him in safety from Elliston’s hoof! Well! hail to old Cato! the hero of scenes May Astley or age ne’er his comforts abridge;-- Oh, long may he munch Amphitheatre beans, Well “pent up in Utica” over the Bridge! And to you, Mr. Dymoke, Cribb’s rival, I keep Wishing all country pleasures, the bravest and best! And oh! when you come to the Hummums to sleep, May you lie “like a warrior taking his rest!” TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR. “This fellow’s wise enough to play the fool, And to do that well craves a kind of wit.” --_Twelfth Night._ Joseph! they say thou’st left the stage, To toddle down the hill of life, And taste the flannell’d ease of age, Apart from pantomimic strife-- “Retired--[for Young would call it so]-- The world shut out”--in Pleasant Row! And hast thou really wash’d at last From each white cheek the red half-moon! And all thy public Clownship cast, To play the private Pantaloon? All youth--all ages yet to be Shall have a heavy miss of thee! Thou didst not preach to make us wise-- Thou hadst no finger in our schooling-- Thou didst not “lure us to the skies”-- Thy simple, simple trade was--Fooling! And yet, Heav’n knows! we could--we can Much “better spare a better man!” Oh, had it pleased the gout to take The reverend Croly from the stage, Or Southey, for our quiet’s sake, Or Mr. Fletcher, Cupid’s sage, Or, damme! namby pamby Poole,-- Or any other clown or fool! Go, Dibdin--all that bear the name, Go Byeway Highway man! go! go! Go, Skeffy--man of painted fame, But leave thy partner, painted Joe! I could bear Kirby on the wane, Or Signor Paulo with a sprain! Had Joseph Wilfred Parkins made His grey hairs scarce in private peace-- Had Waithman sought a rural shade-- Or Cobbett ta’en a turnpike lease-- Or Lisle Bowles gone to _Balaam_ Hill-- I think I could be cheerful still! Had Medwin left off, to his praise, Dead-lion-kicking, like--a friend!-- Had long, long Irving gone his ways To muse on death at _Ponder’s End_-- Or Lady Morgan taken leave Of Letters--still I might not grieve!