J-n W-ts At A Play.

by Henry Fielding (1707–1754) English

WHILE hisses, groans, cat-calls thro' the pit,
Deplore the hapless poet's want of wit:
J—n W—ts, from silence bursing in a rage,
Cried, 'Men are mad who write in such an age.'
'Not so,' replied his friend, a sneering blade,
'The poet's only dull, the printer's mad.'

More poems by Henry Fielding

The Roast Beef of Old England

When mighty roast beef was the Englishman’s food,
It ennobled our hearts, and enrichèd our blood;
Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good. …
To Euthalia. Written in the year 1728.

BURNING with love, tormented with despair,
Unable to forget or ease his care;
In vain each practis'd art Alexis tries; …
To Miss H-and At Bath. Written extempore in the pump-room, 1742.

SOON shall these bounteous springs thy wish bestow,
Soon in each feature sprightly health shall glow;
Thy eyes regain their fire, thy limbs their grace, …
“A hunting we will go”

The Dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn:
The hounds all join in glorious cry, …

All poems by Henry Fielding →

J-n W-ts At A Play.

More poems by Henry Fielding

The Roast Beef of Old England

To Euthalia. Written in the year 1728.

To Miss H-and At Bath. Written extempore in the pump-room, 1742.

“A hunting we will go”