George Gordon Noel Byron

Farce follow'd Comedy, and reach'd her prime.
In ever-laughing Foote's fantastic time;
Mad wag! who pardon'd none, read more

Farce follow'd Comedy, and reach'd her prime.
In ever-laughing Foote's fantastic time;
Mad wag! who pardon'd none, nor spared the best,
And turn'd some very serious things to jest.
Nor church nor state escaped his public sneers,
Arms nor the gown, priests, lawyers, volunteers;
"Alas, poor Yorick!" now forever mute!
Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote.
We smile, perforce, when histrionic scenes
Ape the swoln dialogue of kings and queens,
When "Chrononhotonthelogos must die,"
And Arthur struts in mimic majesty.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.

And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.