Now at length we're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky May unship us in a crack. But, since Life at most a jest is, As philosophers allow, Still to laugh by far the best is, Then laugh on--as I do now. Laugh at all things, Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or shore; While we're quaffing, Let's have laughing-- Who the devil cares for more?-- Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet? Falmouth Roads, _June_ 30, 1809. [First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 230-232.] FOOTNOTES: [3] [For Francis Hodgson (1781-1852), see _Letters_, 1898, i. 195, _note_ 1.] [4] [Compare Peter Pindar's _Ode to a Margate Hoy_-- "Go, beauteous Hoy, in safety ev'ry inch! That storm should wreck thee, gracious Heav'n forbid! Whether commanded by brave Captain Finch Or equally tremendous Captain Kidd."] [5] [Murray was "Joe" Murray, an ancient retainer of the "Wicked Lord." Bob was Robert Rushton, the "little page" of "Childe Harold's Good Night." (See _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 26, _note_ 1.)] [6] [For "the stanza," addressed to the "Princely offspring of Braganza," published in the _Morning Post_, December 30, 1807, see _English Bards, etc._, line 142, _note_ 1, _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 308, 309.] [TO DIVES.[7] A FRAGMENT.] UNHAPPY Dives! in an evil hour 'Gainst Nature's voice seduced to deeds accurst! 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--