. The ballad of Beau Brocade, and other poems of the XVIIIth century. ntfemanoftfte Qld Schoof /\ 1 ) E lived in that past Georgian day, When men were less inclined to sayThat Time is Gold, and overlay With toil their pleasure;He held some land, and dwelt thereon,—Where, I forget,—the house is gone;His Christian name, I think, was John,— His surname, Leisure. 24 A Gentleman of the Old School. Reynolds has painted him,—a faceFilled with a fine, old-fashioned grace,Fresh-coloured, frank, with neer a trace Of trouble shaded;The eyes are blue, the hair is drestIn plainest way,—one hand is prestDee
. The ballad of Beau Brocade, and other poems of the XVIIIth century. ntfemanoftfte Qld Schoof /\ 1 ) E lived in that past Georgian day, When men were less inclined to sayThat Time is Gold, and overlay With toil their pleasure;He held some land, and dwelt thereon,—Where, I forget,—the house is gone;His Christian name, I think, was John,— His surname, Leisure. 24 A Gentleman of the Old School. Reynolds has painted him,—a faceFilled with a fine, old-fashioned grace,Fresh-coloured, frank, with neer a trace Of trouble shaded;The eyes are blue, the hair is drestIn plainest way,—one hand is prestDeep in a flapped canary vest, With buds brocaded. He wears a brown old Brunswick coat,With silver buttons,—round his throat,A soft cravat;—in all you note An elder fashion,—A strangeness, which, to us who shineIn shapely hats,—whose coats combineAll harmonies of hue and line, Inspires compassion. A Gentleman of the Old School. 25 He lived so long ago, you see !Men were untravelled then, but we,Like Ariel, post oer land and sea With careless parting;. He found it quite enough for himTo smoke his pipe in garden trim,And watch, about the fish tanks brim,The swallows darting. 26 A Gentleman of the Old School. He liked the well-wheels creaking tongue,—He liked the thrush that stopped and sung,-He liked the drone of flies among His netted peaches;He liked to watch the sunlight fallAthwart his ivied orchard wall;Or pause to catch the cuckoos call Beyond the beeches. His were the times of Paint and Patch,And yet no Ranelagh could matchThe sober doves that round his thatch Spread tails and sidled;He liked their ruffling, puffed content,—For him their drowsy wheelings meantMore than a Mall of Beaux that bent, Or Belles that bridled. A Gentleman of the Old School. 2 7 Not that, in truth, when life beganHe shunned the flutter of the fan;He too had maybe pinked his man In Beautys quarrel;
Size: 1779px × 1405px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthordobsonau, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1892
