31.12.2010, 12:18
BEAU NASH.
'Alas, alas !' said Moschus in his woe,
When Bion died, ' he comes not back to sing
His songs, nor other lip his notes can bring
From the same pipe.' So Bath regrets her Beau :
Her waters bubble upward without stop,
Each market sees her flowers and fruits replaced ;
Potherbs and roses—plums of every taste —
And peaches, brimming with ambrosial slop ;
All this repeats itself, a constant birth ;
But mighty Nash, strong-will'd and bold and shrewd,
Who awed and charm'd that modish multitude,
Hath found no heirs, and to the hollow earth
Bequeaths his fame ; for none his place may take ;—
Long have such honours slept, and may not reawake !
'Alas, alas !' said Moschus in his woe,
When Bion died, ' he comes not back to sing
His songs, nor other lip his notes can bring
From the same pipe.' So Bath regrets her Beau :
Her waters bubble upward without stop,
Each market sees her flowers and fruits replaced ;
Potherbs and roses—plums of every taste —
And peaches, brimming with ambrosial slop ;
All this repeats itself, a constant birth ;
But mighty Nash, strong-will'd and bold and shrewd,
Who awed and charm'd that modish multitude,
Hath found no heirs, and to the hollow earth
Bequeaths his fame ; for none his place may take ;—
Long have such honours slept, and may not reawake !