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We this day offer to the Public an imitation, by Mr. DUDLEY North,” of one of Mr. MooRE's most eelebrated Melodies.
Mr. North (to whom even political prejudice cannot deny true wit and refined taste) felt that it would be presumptuous to attempt to rival the sweetness of expression and tenderness of thought which flow through this delightful song; he has therefore substituted for the vows of a lover the paternal remonstrance of a wise old politician to a giddy young one. It is however unlucky that, of advice, as of religion, it may be said, that those who happen to be most in want of it, are, of all men, the least capable of understanding it.
• Dudley North, Esq. M. P. for Richmond. Mr. North has
the reputation of being avery agreeable companion, but his name seldom if ever appears in the debates of the House.
In one point we venture to believe that Mr. North is at least equal to his model; as the introduction of his talented” and venerable friend Mr. PoNsonby, instead of the Sun-flower, is surely “a glorious emendation,” as Doctor Johnson says, “which places the copyist almost on a level with the
* Talented, an Irish expression, equivalent to the English word clever.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms
Like fairy-gifts, fading away!
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not, while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear,
To which time will but make thee more dear !
But as truly loves on to the close,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.
Believe me, when all those ridiculous airs,
Which you practise so pretty to-day,
Like my own, be both scanty and grey,
(Tho' a fop and a fribble no more) And the world which has laugh’d at the fool of
eighteen Will laugh at the fool of three-score. II.
'Tis not, while you wear a short coat of light brown,
Tight breeches and neckcloth so full
Which time will but render more dull;
But still fools it on to the close;
Just as dark as it was when he rose.
The Hebrew Melody, which is the present object of our imitation, is perhaps the least valuable of Lord Byron's, and our copy will not, we hope, be sound at all inferior to the original. We are not at liberty to state by whom it is written, nor are we informed to whom it was addressed. We are, indeed, inclined, from the internal evidence of the lines themselves, to suppose that they are addressed to a mere imaginary being, and that the poet has amused himself by collecting incongruities, merely to create perplexity; for how can a rat be the son of a Lord? it is a physical impossibility ; and how can the son of a Lord be a dealer in hats? it is a moral absurdity —How can a person
who is, by law, “Right Honourable,” be an “apos