Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/441

Rh At times Melpomene forgets to groan,

And brisk Thalia takes a serious tone;

Nor unregarded will the act pass by

Where angry Townly "lifts his voice on high."

Again, our Shakespeare limits verse to Kings,

When common prose will serve for common things;

And lively Hal resigns heroic ire,

To "hollaing Hotspur" and his sceptred sire.

'Tis not enough, ye Bards, with all your art,

To polish poems; they must touch the heart:

Where'er the scene be laid, whate'er the song,

Still let it bear the hearer's soul along;

Command your audience or to smile or weep,

Whiche'er may please you—anything but sleep.

The Poet claims our tears; but, by his leave,

Before I shed them, let me see him grieve.

If banished Romeo feigned nor sigh nor tear,

Lulled by his languor, I could sleep or sneer.

Sad words, no doubt, become a serious face,

And men look angry in the proper place.