Don Juan

Bob Southey! You're a poet, poet laureate,

And representative of all the race.

Although 'tis true that you turned out a Tory at

Last, yours has lately been a common case.

And now my epic renegade, what are ye at With all the lakers, in and out of place?

A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye

Like four and twenty blackbirds in a pye,


Which pye being opened they began to sing'

(This old song and new simile holds good),

'A dainty dish to set before the King'

Or Regent, who admires such kind of food.

And Coleridge too has lately taken wing,

But like a hawk encumbered with his hood,

Explaining metaphysics to the nation.

I wish he would explain his explanation.


You, Bob, are rather insolent, you know,

At being disappointed in your wish

To supersede all warblers here below,

And be the only blackbird in the dish.

And then you overstrain yourself, or so,

And tumble downward like the flying fish

Gasping on deck, because you soar too high,

Bob, And fall for lack of moisture quite a dry Bob.