Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 397, November 7, 1829 - Various - Страница 4

Heigho! what a blank is our being! ahi!

For there's nobody left in the town,

That's nobody fit to associate with me;

Dinner's up, but my spirits are down,

I can't eat or drink (how should I?) for sorrow,

And the lack of some usual treat,

And I surely should hang me, or marry tomorrow,

Were there not a few bawls in the street.

Hang! marry! said I, why I'm now drown'd in tears,

Who am wont in sham pain to lose real;

And could pull my own house down, about my own ears

For lack of amusements ideal;

But plays, concerts, shopping, Di'ramas so bright,

That enlarge the pent mind at a view,

Are fled with my friends; I'm the wretchedest wight

That from devil ennui, e'er look'd blue!

O horrible! horrible world! there's not e'en

An old maid in't, to ask me to tea;

Not fit, or in country or town, to be seen,

They have hurried off, blindly to see!

Parks, houses, clubs, shops, churches, squares, deserts seem;

Quite flat, Magazines and Newspapers;

Ah, what shall I do? make a trial of steam,

In order to banish the vapours?

Shall I swallow my dinner? I can't—shall I sleep?

Then I don't get away from myself!

Shall I think what a beau I have once been, and weep

Like a belle, that is laid on the shelf?

Shall I write? shall I read? ah, yes, that will do,

But an old book is terrible stuff:

Boy, get the new novel, stop, reading's so new,

That a book will be novel enough!