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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY PARTNER by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED

Poet Analysis

First Line: AT CHELTENHAM, WHERE ONE DRINKS ONE'S FILL
Last Line: AND HANG HIMSELF BESIDE IT!
Subject(s): CONVERSATION;
At Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill
Of folly and cold water,
I danced, last year, my first quadrille,
With old Sir Geoffrey's daughter.
Her cheek with Summer's rose might vie,
When Summer's rose is newest;
Her eyes were blue as Autumn's sky,
When Autumn's sky is bluest:
And well my heart might deem her one
Of Life's most precious flowers,
For half her thoughts were of its Sun,
And half were of its Showers.

I spoke of Novels: -- 'Vivian Grey'
Was positively charming,
And 'Almack's' infinitely gay,
And 'Frankenstein' alarming;
I said 'De Vere' was chastely told,
Thought well of 'Herbert Lacy',
Called Mr Banim's sketches 'bold',
And Lady Morgan's 'racy':
I vowed that last new thing of Hook's
Was vastly entertaining;
And Laura said -- 'I doat on books,
Because it's always raining!'

I talk'd of Music's gorgeous fane;
I raved about Rossini,
Hoped Ronzi would come back again,
And criticised Pacini;
I wish'd the chorus-singers dumb,
The trumpets more pacific,
And eulogised Brocard's @3a plomb@1,
And voted Paul 'terrific'.
What cared she for Medea's pride,
Or Desdemona's sorrow?
'Alas!' my beauteous listener sigh'd,
'We @3must@1 have rain to-morrow!'

I told her tales of other lands;
Of ever-boiling fountains,
Of poisonous lakes, and barren sands,
Vast forests, trackless mountains:
I painted bright Italian skies,
I lauded Persian roses,
Coin'd similes for Spanish eyes,
And jests for Indian noses:
I laugh'd at Lisbon's love of Mass,
Vienna's dread of treason;
And Laura ask'd me where the glass
Stood at Madrid last season.

I broach'd whate'er had gone its rounds,
The week before, of scandal:
What made Sir Luke lay down his hounds,
And Jane take up her Handel;
Why Julia walk'd upon the heath,
With the pale Moon above her;
Where Flora lost her false front teeth,
And Anne her falser lover;
How Lord de B. and Mrs L.
Had crossed the sea together;
My shuddering partner cried - 'O Ciel!
How @3could@1 they - in such weather?'

Was she a Blue? - I put my trust
In strata, petals, gases;
A Boudoir-pedant? - I discuss'd
The Toga and the Fasces;
A Cockney-Muse? - I mouth'd a deal
Of folly from Endymion;
A Saint? - I praised the pious zeal
Of Messrs Way and Simeon;
A Politician? - it was vain,
To quote the Morning Paper;
The horrid phantoms came again,
Rain, Hail, and Snow, and Vapour.

Flat Flattery was my only chance:
I acted deep devotion,
Found magic in her every glance,
Grace in her every motion;
I wasted all a Stripling's lore,
Prayer, passion, folly, feeling;
And wildly look'd upon the floor,
And wildly on the ceiling;
I envied gloves upon her arm,
And shawls upon her shoulder;
And when my worship was most warm,
She 'never found it colder'.

I don't object to wealth or land:
And she will have the giving
Of an extremely pretty hand,
Some thousands, and a living.
She makes silk purses, broiders stools,
Sings sweetly, dances finely,
Paints screens, subscribes to Sunday schools,
And sits a horse divinely.
But to be linked for life to her! -
The desperate man who tried it,
Might marry a Barometer,
And hang himself beside it!



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