Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/456

414 And smile at folly, if we can't at wit;

Yes, Friend! for thee I'll quit my cynic cell,

And bear Swift's motto, "Vive la bagatelle!"

Which charmed our days in each Ægean clime,

As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme.

Then may Euphrosyne, who sped the past,

Soothe thy Life's scenes, nor leave thee in the last;

But find in thine—like pagan Plato's bed,

Some merry Manuscript of Mimes, when dead.

Now to the Drama let us bend our eyes,

Where fettered by whig Walpole low she lies;

Corruption foiled her, for she feared her glance;

Decorum left her for an Opera dance!