**** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE ****

Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Poem.

Enjoy this? Share it!

Epitaph On A Tuft-Hunter
by [?]


Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,
Put mourning round thy page, Debrett,
For here lies one who ne’er preferred
A Viscount to a Marquis yet.

Beside him place the God of Wit,
Before him Beauty’s rosiest girls,
Apollo for a star he’d quit,
And Love’s own sister for an Earl’s.

Did niggard fate no peers afford,
He took of course to peers’ relations;
And rather than not sport a Lord
Put up with even the last creations;

Even Irish names could he but tag ’em
With “Lord” and “Duke,” were sweet to call;
And at a pinch Lord Ballyraggum
Was better than no Lord at all.

Heaven grant him now some noble nook,
For rest his soul! he’d rather be
Genteelly damned beside a Duke,
Than saved in vulgar company.