ELEGIAC LINES ON WILLIAM MONSON, LATE OF LYNN, AN ECCENTRIC CHARACTER;
COMMONLY Y’CLEPT BILLY BOOTS.
Imperial Fate, who, with promiscuous course,
Exerts o’er high and low his influence dread;
Impell’d his shaft with unrelenting force,
And laid thee, _Billy_, ’mongst the mighty dead!
Yet ’though, when borne to thy sepulchral home,
No pomp funereal grac’d thy poor remains,
Some “frail memorial” should adorn thy tomb,
Some trifling tribute from the Muse’s strains.
Full fifty years, poor _Billy!_ hast thou budg’d,
A care-worn shoe-black, up and down the streets;
From house to house, with slip-shod step hast trudg’d,
’Midst summer’s rays, and winter’s driving sleets.
Report allied thee to patrician blood,
Yet, whilst thy life to drudg’ry was confin’d,
Thy firmness each dependent thought withstood,
And prov’d,--thy true nobility of mind.
With shuffling, lagging gait, with visage queer,
Which seem’d a stranger to ablution’s pow’r,
In tatter’d garb, well suited to thy sphere,
Thou o’er life’s stage didst strut thy fretful hour.
O’er boots and shoes, to spread the jetty hue,
And give the gloss,--thou _Billy_, wert the man,
No boasting rivals could thy skill outdo--
Not “Day and Martin,” with their fam’d japan.
On men well-bred and perfectly refin’d,
An extra polish could thine art bestow;
At feast or ball, thy varnish’d honours shin’d,
Made spruce the trader, and adorn’d the beau.
When taunting boys, whom no reproof could tame,
On thee their scoffs at cautious distance shed,
A shoe or brush, impetuous wouldst thou aim,
Wing’d with resentment, at some urchin’s head.
With rage theatric often didst thou glow,
(Though ill adapted for the scenic art;)
As Denmark’s prince soliloquiz’d in woe,
Or else rehears’d vindictive _Shylock’s_ part.
Brushing and spouting, emulous of fame,
Oft pocketing affronts instead of cash,
In _Iago’s_ phrase, sometimes thou might’st exclaim
With too much truth,--“who steals my purse steals trash.”
Peace to thine ashes! harmless in thy way,
Long wert thou _emp’ror_ of the shoe-black train,
And with thy fav’rite Shakspeare we may say,
We “ne’er shall look upon thy like again.”
* * * * *
~The Drama.~
“THE GREAT UNKNOWN”