I.

Joseph! they say thou’st left the stage,
To toddle down the hill of life,
And taste the flannel’d ease of age,
Apart from pantomimic strife—­
“Retir’d—­(for Young would call it so)—­
The world shut out”—­in Pleasant Row!

II.

And hast thou really wash’d at last
From each white cheek the red half-moon! 
And all thy public Clownship cast,
To play the private Pantaloon? 
All youth—­all ages—­yet to be
Shall have a heavy miss of thee!

III.

Thou didst not preach to make us wise—­
Thou hadst no finger in our schooling—­
Thou didst not “lure us to the skies”—­
Thy simple, simple trade was—­Fooling! 
And yet, Heav’n knows! we could—­we can
Much “better spare a better man!”

IV.

Oh, had it pleased the gout to take
The reverend Croly from the stage,
Or Southey, for our quiet’s sake,
Or Mr. Fletcher, Cupid’s sage,
Or, damme! namby-pamby Poole,—­
Or any other clown or fool!

V.

Go, Dibdin—­all that bear the name,
Go, Byeway Highway man! go! go! 
Go, Skeffy—­man of painted fame,
But leave thy partner, painted Joe! 
I could bear Kirby on the wane,
Or Signor Paulo with a sprain!

VI.

Had Joseph Wilfrid Parkins made
His gray hairs scarce in private peace—­
Had Waithman sought a rural shade—­
Or Cobbett ta’en a turnpike lease—­
Or Lisle Bowles gone to Balaam Hill—­
I think I could be cheerful still!

VII.

Had Medwin left off, to his praise,
Dead lion kicking, like—­a friend!—­
Had long, long Irving gone his ways,
To Muse on death at Ponder’s End
Or Lady Morgan taken leave
Of Letters—­still I might not grieve!

VIII.

But, Joseph—­everybody’s Jo!—­
Is gone—­and grieve I will and must! 
As Hamlet did for Yorick, so
Will I for thee (though not yet dust),
And talk as he did when he miss’d
The kissing-crust that he had kiss’d!

IX.

Ah, where is now thy rolling head! 
Thy winking, reeling, drunken eyes,
(As old Catullus would have said),
Thy oven-mouth, that swallow’d pies—­
Enormous hunger—­monstrous drowth! 
Thy pockets greedy as thou mouth!

X.

Ah, where thy ears, so often cuff’d!—­
Thy funny, flapping, filching hands!—­
Thy partridge body, always stuff’d
With waifs, and strays, and contrabands!—­
Thy foot—­like Berkeley’s Foote—­for why? 
’Twas often made to wipe an eye!