Perhaps, unwittingly, I've heard I've seen great changes since we met; Have you a Liliputian spouse? And do you dwell in some doll's house? My heart grows chill; can bloom like thine To one whose promised joys are worth Sometimes I to Pall Mall repair, Obtain one glance, they look discreet, Yet still I often think upon Our many meetings, come and gone! Now let us make a tryst, and when, Dear little soul, we meet again, The mansion is preparing, then Thy friend remember! Frederick Locker. ST. ST. JAMES'S STREET. T. JAMES'S Street, of classic fame! A famous street. It skirts the Park The bonhomie of Charlie Fox, And Selwyn's ghastly funning. The dear old street of clubs and cribs, The quaint old dress, the grand old style, The wine, the dice, the wit, the bile, The hate of Whigs and Tories. At dusk, when I am strolling there, Dim forms will rise around me; Old Pepys creeps past me in his chair, And once Nell Gwynne, a frail young sprite, I shook my head, perhaps, but quite Forgot to quite forget her. The street is still a lively tomb The crops of dandies bud, and bloom, Now gilded youth loves cutty-pipes, And slang that's rather rancid, It can't approach its prototypes In tone, -or so I've fancied. In Brummell's day of buckle shoes, I like young men to go the pace, I half forgive old Rapid; These louts disgrace their name and race, So vicious and so vapid! Worse times may come. Bon ton, alas! And all we much revere will pass From ripe to worse than rotten; Rank weeds will sprout between yon stones, And owls will roost at Boodle's, And Echo will hurl back the tones I like the haunts, and many such, Frederick Locker. I ROTTEN ROW, HYDE PARK. HOPE I'm fond of much that's good, I like the Park in May: A lively scene on turf and road, The chairs are in request: I'll halt beneath these pleasant trees And, quite alone, indulge at ease I'il moralize on all I see, I think it all was made for me! Forsooth, and on a nicer spot What grooms! what gallant gentlemen! What beauties on their backs! My Pegasus would never flag But where is now that courtly troop I miss the curls of Cantilupe, The smile of Lady Di: They all could laugh from night to morn, And Time has laughed them all to scorn. I then could frolic in the van I then was thought a nice young man |