Epitaph On A Tuft-Hunter.
By Thomas Moore
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.
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"Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,..."
Thomas Moore's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Epitaph On A Tuft-Hunter."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...