To clutch and keep the lion's share-- To kill or drive away The wolves, that you upon the lambs May, unmolested, prey-- To keep a gang of jackals fierce To guard and stock your den, While you lie down--c'est une Idee Napoleonienne. To bribe the base, to crush the good, And bring them to their knees-- To stick at nothing, or to stick At what or whom you please-- To stoop, to lie, to brag, to swear, Forswear, and swear again-- To rise--Ah! voia des Idees Napoleoniennes. THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND WILLIAM AYTOUN Air--"The days we went a-gipsying." I would all womankind were dead, Or banished o'er the sea; For they have been a bitter plague These last six weeks to me: It is not that I'm touched myself, For that I do not fear; No female face hath shown me grace For many a bygone year. But 'tis the most infernal bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall, Or down to Greenwich run, To quaff the pleasant cider cup, And feed on fish and fun; Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, To catch a breath of air: Then, for my sins, he straight begins To rave about his fair. Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. In vain you pour into his ear Your own confiding grief; In vain you claim his sympathy, In vain you ask relief; In vain you try to rouse him by Joke, repartee, or quiz; His sole reply's a burning sigh, And "What a mind it is!" O Lord! it is the greatest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. I've heard her thoroughly described A hundred times, I'm sure; And all the while I've tried to smile, And patiently endure; He waxes, strong upon his pangs, And potters o'er his grog; And still I say, in a playful way-- "Why you're a lucky dog!" But oh! it is the heaviest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. I really wish he'd do like me When I was young and strong; I formed a passion every week, But never kept it long. But he has not the sportive mood-- That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 'tis the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know. To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES WINE. JOHN GAY. Nulla placere diu, nec vivere carmina possunt, Quae scribuntur aquae potoribus. HOR.