Loading...
en
English Español Français Italiano

Horace Smith

At the “Cock” Tavern

Champagne doth not a luncheon make,
 Nor caviare a meal;
Men gluttonous and rich may take
 These till they make them ill.
If I’ve potatoes to my chop,
 And after that have cheese,
Angels in Pond & Spiers’s shop
 Serve no such luxuries.

#EnglishWriters

Other works by Horace Smith...
Impromptu in the Assize Court at Lincoln

The moon in the valley of Ajalon Stood still at the word of the pro… But since certain “Essays” were w… We don’t think so very much of it. Now, a prophet is raised up among…
Prothalamion

Nothing so true as what you once l… “To growl at something is the lot… Contentment is a gem on earth unkn… And Perfect Happiness the wizard’… Give me,” you cried, “to see my du…
Letter From the Town Mouse to the Country

Oh for a field, my friend; oh for… I ask no more Than one plain field, shut in by h… Contentment sweet to yield. For I am not fastidious,
 1
Air—“Give That Wreath to Me”

Give that brief to me, Without so much bother; Never let it be Given to another. Why this coy resistance?
The Curate to His Slippers

Take, oh take those boots away, That so nearly are outworn; And those shoes remove, I pray— Pumps that but induce the corn! But my slippers bring again,
Prologue to a Charade.—“Damn-Ages”

In olden time—in great Eliza’s ag… When rare Ben Jonson ruled the hu… No play without its Prologue migh… To earn applause or ward the criti… And surely now old customs should…
Lullaby

Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, s… Evening is coming, and night is ni… Under the lattice the little birds… All will be sleeping by and by. Sleep, little baby, sleep.
To the Rev. A. A. in the Country From His Friend in London

Thou little village curate, Come quick, and do not wait; We’ll sit and talk together, So sweetly _tete-a-tete_. Oh do not fear the railway
Effusion by a Cigar Smoker

Warriors! who from the cannon’s mo… Your fame to raise, Upon its blaze, Alas! ye do but light your funeral… Tempting Fate’s stroke;
Young England

The times still “grow to something… We rap and turn the tables; We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic cables; We bore the hills, we bridge the s…
My Boating Song

Oh this earth is a mineful of trea… A goblet, that’s full to the brim, And each man may take for his plea… The thing that’s most pleasant to… Then let all, who are birds of my…
Impromptu in the Assize Court, Nottingham

Thanks for an hour of laughing In a world that is growing old; Thanks for an hour of weeping In a world that is growing cold; For we who have wept with Dickens…
An Olde Lyric

Oh, saw ye my own true love, I pr… My own true love so sweete? For the flowers have lightly toss’… The prynte of her faery feete. Now, how can we telle if she passe…
Isle of Wight—Spring, 1891

I know not what the cause may be, Or whether there be one or many; But this year’s Spring has seemed… More exquisite than any. What happy days we spent together
Love and Liberty

The linnet had flown from its cage… And flitted and sang in the light… Had flown from the lady who loved… In Liberty’s freer air to dwell. Alas! poor bird, it was soon to pr…
 1



Top