The dinner’s o’er, the circling glass
Now full, now emptier, passes round,
As strikes the ear, the pleasing sound
Of jovial song, or toasted lass:
But short, alas! this tabled glee;
For who the coming woe might see!
* * * * *
--Said I, D-- --h’s much honoured chair
Might not be filled by any there;
And, said I, it was right that he,
Though absent from the company,
With honour due should treated be;
D-- --h, so honoured for his worth,
For rank, for titles, and for birth,
Had not an equal here on earth,
To fill his vacant chair:
So one and all, with one consent,
Their voice have given, and vote have lent,
To let the seat be bare:
(Friend Walter, I am certain quite,
You’ll say both voice and vote went right).