: The Naughty Man; or Sir Thomas Brown Love Courtship and Marriage in High Life. A Poetical Satire by Bliss Frank Chapman - Remarriage Poetry

@FreeBooks

Posted in: #FreeBooks #FreeBooksIndia #FreeBooksApp #gg

Vote Up Vote Down   0 Reactions

Login to give Reaction!

Transcriber's note:

THE NAUGHTY MAN; OR, SIR THOMAS BROWN.

Love, Courtship and Marriage in High Life.

A Poetical Satire,

OCTAVIUS.

THE NAUGHTY MAN;

SIR THOMAS BROWN.

Much of delusion mixed with truth we find, Strange whims, and twinings in the human mind:

Delusions, fictions, foibles, glittering lies, Frescoed with truth, seem real as the skies. At the same table, sitting side by side, Oft we do see Humility and Pride, Wit, Genius, Learning, the great man of law, In social converse with the man of straw. Extremes oft meet around the festive board, An honest beggar and a thieving lord; Jew, Gentile, Greek, will with the Christian sit, Say grace, or not--it matters not a whit; They pass the time most pleasantly away, But cheat each other on the coming day. The rich, the poor, the freeman and the slave, The noble monarch and the princely knave, Are onward floating with the ebbing tide Down the great stream of life--on every side Dangers beset--on the storm-beaten coast Are wreck'd together--in the grave are lost.

Once on a time, not many days ago, When many taught there was no hell below, Not in the spring, or lovely month of May, When birds did sweetly sing, and fields look'd gay, When flowers were fresh, and opening buds were fair, When brides look'd lovely--blossoms in their hair; Oh, no! 'twas the last day of dying year, A raw, cold winter's day, frosty and clear; What then took place, permit me to rehearse, Not in stale prose, but in more lively verse; And if, perchance, to make complete a rhyme, Or try to make a jingling couplet chime, I should speak boldly--but, of course, sincere-- Don't think the truth I utter too severe; And do not say--"thou little groveling elf, Turn thine eyes inward--look upon thyself." Most flattering words from eager lips may fly, But shall I pause to harmonize a lie? If, with my pen, I use most comic art, To 'mend the manners, or reform the heart, Don't think I do it out of any spite; Surely! I would not libel one, a mite. I use fictitious names--the facts I give In a mild form, to save the sensitive.

In the great city Gotham, near the sea, Where Queen Fashion rul'd the aristocracy, Lived the proud millionnaire, Sir Thomas Brown, With riches enough to purchase a crown; He had sons, and daughters settled in life, He was a widower, having no wife, True! he was old, being now eighty-three, But managed to get down to breakfast, and tea, His eyesight grown dim, and shaky his hand, Of course--needed help to button a band,

In making his toilet--now, pray don't stare-- He wanted some one to comb out his hair, To brush his new teeth--put on his collar, To dust off his clothes, and things that follow. 'Tis true! it gave all the children pleasure, To dust, brush and scrub him without measure. Now this ancient relic of ages past, This human caricature, worthy of Nast, This feeble old man, one foot in the grave, Inspir'd by Cupid, at once became brave. So he hobbled around, seeking for Ruth, And found her a widow, blooming in youth. A widow! ah, yes! now that was a fact, Possessing much good sense in the abstract; Sir Thomas was human! why then complain? We are all human, in sunshine or rain.

Free books android app tbrJar TBR JAR Read Free books online gutenberg

(0)

Login to post a comment!