And singing the songs of Weber;
Sir Harry will leave the Craven hounds,
To trace the guilty parties--
And ask of the Court five thousand pounds,
To prove how rack'd his heart is:
An Advocate will execrate
The spoiler of Hymen's shrine--
And the speech that did for Twenty-eight
Will do for Twenty-nine.

My Uncle will swathe his gouty limbs,
And tell of his oils and blubbers;
My Aunt, Miss Dobbs, will play longer hymns,
And rather longer rubbers;
My Cousin in Parliament will prove
How utterly ruin'd trade is--
My Brother at Eton will fall in love
With half a hundred ladies;
My Patron will sate his pride from plate.
And his thirst from Bordeaux vine--
His nose was red in Twenty-eight,--
'Twill be redder in Twenty-nine!

And oh! I shall find, how, day by day.
All thoughts and things look older--
How the laugh of Pleasure grows less gay,
And the heart of Friendship colder;
But still I shall be what I have been,
Sworn foe to Lady Reason,
And seldom troubled with the spleen,