ABSTRACT
To Rochester, the most pernicious of scamps, and perhaps the most exquisite lyrist of his day, it is left to set forth with fine conviction and exquisite sweetness of measure, the ideal of the constant lover:
I cannot change as others do Though you unjustly scorn…1
Rochester may almost be regarded as the Verlaine of his period, —a singer of such truth and melody; who, while he did not neglect to prostitute his verse shamelessly enough, can contrive at times to give poetic effect even to a philosophy of easy depravity; and whose legacy is a few careless perfect songs.
