"Drink to lofty hopes that coolVisions of a perfect State : Drink we, last, the public fool, Frantic love and frantic hate. 150 "Chant me now some wicked stave, April hopes, the fools of chance; Till the graves begin to move, And the dead begin to dance. 165 "Trooping from their mouldy dens The chap-fallen circle spreads: Welcome, fellow-citizens, Hollow hearts and empty heads! 170 "You are bones, and what of that? 175 Every face, however full, Padded round with flesh and fat, "Death is king, and Vivat Rex! Tread a measure on the stones, Madam if I know your sex, 180 From the fashion of your bones. "No, I cannot praise the fire In your eye- -nor yet your lip: All the more do I admire Joints of cunning workmanship. 185 "Lo! God's likeness · the ground-plan — Neither modelled, glazed, or framed : Buss me, thou rough sketch of man, Far too naked to be shamed! 190 1 "Drink to Fortune, drink to Chance, While we keep a little breath! Drink to heavy Ignorance! Hob-and-nob with brother Death! "Thou art mazed, the night is long, 195 And the longer night is near: What! I am not all as wrong As a bitter jest is dear. "Youthful hopes, by scores, to all, The voice grew faint: there came a further change; By shards and scurf of salt, and scum of dross, 210 And one: "He had not wholly quenched his power; Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?" To which an answer pealed from that high land, 215 220 THE SKIPPING-ROPE. SURE never yet was Antelope Stand off, or else my skipping-rope you How lightly whirls the skipping-rope! How fairy-like you fly! Go, get you gone, you muse and mope I hate that silly sigh. Nay, dearest, teach me how to hope, Or tell me how to die. There, take it, take my skipping-rope And hang yourself thereby. |