The Temple of Memory

dear may be, He can some comic scenes now see. My Lord, in London's House of Peers, Has voted somewhat, it appears, That gives great popular offence; 111 blood will never want pretence. Though he, politest of old men, Did what he thought his duty then. So now unto the Castle flows A mob that what it wants scarce knows. The Lord was absent, but a cook, A Frenchman too, did from a nook His musket fire off; when the crowd In terror fled while screaming loud. More anger'd at such rude rough play They came back soon another day ; When now the yeomanry did come For rescue without beat of drum ; They saw within the Park around Besides the deer were oxen found ; But being all in scarlet clad, They made the bulls that spied them mad; So as to charge that cavalry Which turn'd and fled immediately ; So that their galloping thus fast Frighten'd the mob till all had pass'd, And Peace at length came back to tell Of dreadful things that ended well. Then sometimes passing still beyond Of Devonshire he grew quite fond; So many things he there thought best, His heart still lingers in the West. Thus once to Powderham he'd go, Which Gibbon made him wish to know. So on a brown hired horse he went, To think on all the Conrtneys bent. At many doors he had to stop Thirsty with heat to ask a drop Of cider from some maiden's hand, Who always made him understand She'd take no money for the glass ; No, sooth ...