To Late – Richard Harris Barham

Too late! though flowerets round me blow,

 And clearing skies shine bright and fair; 

Their genial warmth avails not now — 

Thou art not here the beam to share. 
Through many a dark and dreary day, 

We journeyed on ‘midst grief and gloom; 

And now at length the cheering ray 

Breaks forth, it only gilds thy tomb. 
Our days of hope and youth are past, 

Our short-lived joys for ever flown; 

And now when Fortune smiles at last, 

She finds me cheerless, chilled — alone! 
Ah! no; too late the boon is given, 

Alike the frowns and smiles of Fate; 

The broken heart by sorrow riv’n, 

But murmurs now, ‘Too late! Too late!’ 

The Two MP’S – Richard Harris Barham

MAGAZINE PUBLISHER AND MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT) 
BEING A TRUE AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE GRAND MILLING MATCH THAT DIDN’T TAKE PLACE 
SAYS Tom D– to F–r 

T’other morning, ‘I say, Sir, 

You’ve call’d me a Roué, a Dicer, and Racer, 

Now I’d have you to know, Sir, 

Such names are “No Go,” Sir; 

By Jove, Sir, I never knew anything grosser. 
‘And then Madame — 

Extremely distrest is 

At your calling her Lais — she’s more like Thalestris, 

As you’ll find, my fine joker, 

If once you provoke her, 

She’s a d–l if once she gets hold of a poker. 
‘For myself, to be candid, 

And not underhanded, 

I write thus to say I’ll be hang’d if I stand it. 

So give up the name 

Of the man or the dame 

Who has made this infernal attack on my fame, 

And recall what you’ve said of 

A man you’re afraid of, 

Or turn out, my Trump, and let’s see what you’re made of. 
‘I have “barkers” by Nock, Sir, 

With percussion locks, Sir, 

Will give you your gruel — hang me if I box, Sir, 

And I’ve sent my old Pal in, 

My “noble friend Allen,” 

To give you this here, and to stop your caballing!’ 
Then says F–r, says he, 

‘What a spoon you must be, 

Tommy D–, to send this here message to me: 

Why if I was to fight about 

What my friends write about, 

My life I should be in continual fright about! 
‘As to telling you, who 

Wrote that thing about you, 

One word’s worth a thousand — Blow me if I do! 

If you will be so gay, Sir, 

The people will say, Sir, 

That you are a Roué, and I’m