_His hall so old was hung around with pikes, and guns, and bows,_ _And swords, and good old bucklers, that had stood against old foes;_ _’Twas there “his worship” held his state in doublet and trunk hose,_ _And quaff’d his cup of good old Sack, to warm, his good old nose:_ _Like a fine old English gentleman, &c._
_When Winter’s cold brought frost and snow, he open’d house to all;_ _And though threescore and ten his years, he featly led the ball;_ _Nor was the houseless wanderer e’er driven from his hall,_ _For, while he feasted all the great, he ne’er forgot the small:_ _Like a fine old English gentleman, &c._
_But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, and years roll swiftly by;_ _And autum’s falling leaves proclaimed, the old man—he must die!_ _He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up life’s latest sigh;_ _While a heavy stillness reign’d around, and tears dimm’d every eye._ _For this good old English gentleman, &c._
_Now surely this is better far than all the new parade_ _Of theatres and fancy balls, “At Home,” and masquerade;_ _And much more economical, when all the bills are paid:_ _Then leave your new vagaries off, and take up the old trade_ _Of a fine old English gentleman, &c._
A series of eight Essays, each illustrated with a design by R. W. Buss, was devoted to “The Old and Young Courtier” in the _Penny Magazine_ of the Society for Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, in 1842.
Charles Matthews used to sing (was it in “Patter _versus_ Clatter”?) an amusing version of “The Fine Young English Gentleman,” of whom it was reported that,
_He kept up his vagaries at a most astounding rate,_ _And likewise his old Landlady,—by staying out so late,_ _Like a fine young English gentleman, one of the present time, &c._
T. R. Planché wrote a parody to the same tune, in his “Golden Fleece,” on the “Fine Young Grecian Gentleman,” Iason, as described by his deserted wife Medea: it begins, “I’ll tell you a sad tale of the life I’ve been led of late.” In Dinny Blake’s “_Sprig of Shillelah_,” p. 3, is found “The Rale Ould Irish Gintleman,” (5 verses) beginning, “I’ll sing you a dacent song, that was made by a Paddy’s pate,” and ending thus:—
_Each Irish boy then took a pride to prove himself a man,_ _To serve a friend, and beat a foe it always was the plan_ _Of a rale ould Irish Gintleman, the boy of the olden time._