Byron's c.1811 parody on Sir William Jones’s Translation from Hafiz – “A Persian Song of Hafiz"

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Bar Maid, if for this shilling white,

Thoud’st let me love, nor scratch or scold,

That ruddy cheek and ruddier hand

Would give my Bardship more delight

Than all the ale that e’er was sold,

Than even a pot of “Cyder-And”

 

Girl, let your stupid booby go

And bid him bring a pint of Beer

 Whate’er the droning Vicar swear

Tell him, his Living cannot show

A tap at once so strong and clear

A sofa like this Elbow chair

 

Oh! when these ogling Chambermaids

Whose fingers fumble beds of down,

Their dear expensive charms display,

Each glance my dwindling cash invades

And robs my purse of half a crown,

As footpads on the Turnpike way.

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Speak not of pay: – oh! change the theme,

And talk of Bitters, talk of Gin,

Talk of the Beef that begs thy coin,

’Tis all a scent, ’tis all a steam;

To bread and cheese restrict thy din,

Nor hope to touch the dear Sirloin

 

Brown Stout has such resistless power

That even the pious Parish Priest

Swore at the sauntering Pot Boy

To him how jovial is the hour

When quaffing at the vestry’s feast

The Punch that kills, but cannot cloy.

 

What devilish answer have I heard?

And yet, by Jove, I’ll kiss thee still

 Can aught be cruel from thy lip?

Yet say, why be so damned absurd

As box my ears – (unpaid my Bill)

And let such execrations slip!

 

Go boldly forth my Parody,

Whose stanzas flow just as I please,

Like – Lord knows what – to any tune,

My notes are brisk, as brisk can be.

But ah! Much brisker might I seize

The maid for whom I turn buffoon.