Time rolls away! another year
Has rolled off with him; hence ’tis clear
His lordship keeps his carriage
A single man, no doubt;--and thus
Enjoys himself without the fuss
And great expense of marriage.
His wheel still rolls (and like the river
Which Horace mentions) still for ever
_Volvitur et volvetur_.
In vain you _run against him_; place
your fleetest filly in the race,--
Here’s ten to one he’ll beat her.
Of all he sees, he takes a tithe,
With that tremendous sweeping scythe,
Which he keeps always going;
While every step he takes, alas!
Too plainly proves that _flesh is grass_,
When he sets out a _mowing_.
And though his hungry ravenous maw
Is crammed with food, both dress’d and raw,
I’ll wager any betting,
His appetite has ever been
Just like his scythe, sharp-set and keen,
Which never wanted _whetting_.
Could you but see the mighty treat
Prepared, when he sits down to eat
His breakfast or his dinner,--ah,
Not vegetable--flesh,--alone,
But timber, houses, iron, stone,
He eats the very china.
When maidens pray that he will spare
Their teeth, complexion, or their hair,
Alas! he’ll never hear ’em;
Grey locks and wrinkles hourly show,
What Ovid told us years ago,
_Ut Tempus edax rerum!_
In vain, my dearest girl, you choose
(Your face to wash) Olympic dews;
In vain you paint or rouge it;
He’ll play such havoc with your youth,
That ten years hence you’ll say with truth
Ah Edward!--_Tempus fugit!_
The glass he carries in his hand
Has ruin in each grain of sand;
But what I most deplore is,
He breaks the links of friendship’s chain,
And barters youthful love for gain:
_Oh, Tempora! oh, Mores!_
One sole exception you shall find,
(_Unius generis_ of its kind,)
Wherever fate may steer us;
Tho’ wide his universal range,
Time has no power the heart to change
Of your AMICUS VERUS.
_Bath Herald._
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