wvy^/v^wv^a a* : i : AAAA.A 'aA^A'aaA? i$£M^M fctihhkhmh^ aAAaaA VaaAa, ^LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 1 / fill AAA 8, UNITED STATES OF AME ^ 3^as*asaar£3Sga&« 3*e* T _ l VIEfclCA. i MaA a 122**221* a^*AA VV^AAA^AAAAa** N/^A^WWWa.**^* „ - ' A 1 *aa^mMaM^A^AMaKaaaA*! *Aa a/v*MaAa^*a*ama, / ODES CASH, COKN, CATHOLICS, OTHER MATTERS. SELECTED FROM THE COLUMNS OF THE TIMES JOURNAL. " None but little minds dread little books." v r) Figaro. LONDON : PUBLISHED BY LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1828. GrV-jA .or |«5 CONTENTS. Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government Page 1 Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One Pound Note 4 An Expostulation to Lord King 7 The Sinkin uid cried 11 Ode to the Goddess Ceres 14 A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess . 18 Memorabilia of Last Week 22 All in the Family Way 26 Ballad for the Cambridge Election 30 Mr. Roger Dodsworth .... 33 Copy of an Intercepted Dispatch 36 The Millennium .... 40 The Three Doctors .... 44 Epitaph on a Tuft-Hun ter 48 Ode to a Hat ..... 50 News for Country Cousins . . 54 A Vision ..... 57 The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland 62 Cotton and Corn .... 66 The Canonization of Saint B— tt — rw — th 69 An Incantation .... 73 A Dream of Turtle .... 77 The Donkey and his Panniers . 80 Ode to the Sublime Porte 83 VI Com and Catholics . A Case of Libel Literary Advertisement The Slave . Ode to Ferdinand . Hat versus Wig The Periwinkles and the Locusts New Creation of Peers . • . Speech on the Umbrella Question A Pastoral Ballad . A late Scene at Swanage "Wo ! wo ! . Tout pour La Tripe Enigma .... Dog-day Reflections The "Living Dog" and "the Dead Lion" Ode to Don Miguel Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland The Limbo of Lost Reputations How to write by Proxy Imitation of the Inferno of Dante Lament for the Loss of Lord B st's Tail The Cherries Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat Ode to the Woods and Forests Stanzas from the Banks of the Shannon « If" and "Perhaps" Write on, write on . The following trifles, having enjoyed, in their circulation through the newspapers, all the cele- brity and length of life to which they were en- titled, would have been suffered to pass quietly into oblivion without pretending to any further distinction, had they not already been published, in a collective form, both in London and Paris, and, in each case, been mixed up with a number of other productions, to which, whatever may be their merit, the author of the following pages has no claim. A natural desire to separate his own property, worthless as it is, from that of others, is, he begs to say, the chief motive of the pub- lication of this volume. AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK AND GOVERNMENT. Bank. Is all then forgotten ? those amorous pranks You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, play'd; When you calFd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made! When left to ourselves, unmolested and free, To do all that a dashing young couple should do, A law against paying was laid upon me, But none against owing, dear help-mate, on you. B And is it then vanish'd? — that " hour (as Othello So happily calls it,) of Love and Direction*?" And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow, Grow good in our old age, and cut the connexion? Government. Even so, my belov'd Mrs. Bank, it must be; This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing f : We 've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee There must soon be a stop to our bill-mg and cooing. Propagation in reason, — a small child or two, — Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to; The issue of some folks is mod'rate and few, — But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there 's no end to ! * " An hour Of love, of worldly matter and direction." -f- It appears,' however, that Ovid was a friend to the resump- tion of payment in specie : — — — finem, specie casleste resumta, Luctibus imposuit, venitque salutifer urbi. 3Iet. 1. 15, v. 7-43. So, — hard as it is on a pair, who Ve already Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence ; And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy*, So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense,— The day is at hand, my Papyriat Venus, When, — high as we once used to carry our capers, — Those soft billet-doux we 're now passing between us, Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in curl-papers : And when, — if we still must continue our love, After all that is past, — our amour, it is clear, Like that which Miss Danae managed with Jove, Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear ! February, 1826. * Honourable Frederick R — b — ns — n, t To distinguish her from the " Aurea " or Golden Venus. b2 DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND A ONE POUND NOTE. ''' O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres Agna lupos, capreaeque leones." Hor. Said a Sovereign to a Note, In the pocket of my coat, Where they met in a neat purse of leather, " How happens it, I prithee, " That, though I 'm wedded with thee, " Fair Pound, we can never live together ? " Like your sex, fond of change, " With Silver you can range, " And of lots of young sixpences be mother 5 ft While with me — upon my word, " Not my Lady and my Lord kf Of W — st — th see so little of each other !" The indignant Note replied, (Lying crumpled by his side) " Shame, shame, it is yourself 'that roam, Sir — " One cannot look askance, " But, whip ! you 're off to France, " Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. " Your scampering began " From the moment Parson Van, (C Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter; ' c ' For better or for worse ' " Is the usual marriage curse, ' ' But ours is all ' worse ' and no c better.' " In vain are laws pass'd, " There 's nothing holds you fast, " Tho' you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you- " At the smallest hint in life, " You forsake your lawful wife, " As other Sovereigns did before you. " I flirt with Silver, true — <( But what can ladies do, " When disown'd by their natural protectors ? " And as to falsehood, stuff! " I shall soon he false enough, " When I get among those wicked Bank Directors. The Sovereign, smiling on her, Now swore, upon his honour, To be henceforth domestic and loyal; But, within an hour or two, Why — I sold him to a Jew, And he 's now at No. 10, Palais Royal. AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. " Quern das finem, Rex magna, laborum?" — Viegjl. How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn*, When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 'T is hardly worth while being very high born ? Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life. On a question, my Lord, there's so much toabhorin? A question — like asking one, " How is your wife?" — At once so confounded domestic and foreign. * See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1. when Lord King was severely reproved by several of the noble Peers, for making so many speeches against the Corn Laws. 8 As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast, But Peers, and such animals, fed up for show, (Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceased), Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know. You might see, my dear Baron, how "bored and distrest Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale, When the force of the agony wrung ev'n a jest From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord L — d — le* ! Bright Peer! to whom Nature and Berwickshire gave A humour, endow'd with effects so provoking, That, when the whole House looks unusually grave. You may always conclude that Lord L-^-d — le's joking! * This noble Earl said, that " when he heard the petition canie from ladies' boot and shoe-makers, he thought it must be against the ' corns' which they inflicted on the fair sex." And then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth — Not to know the vast difference Providence dooms Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth, 'Twixt those who have heir-looms, and those who've but looms ! To talk novo of starving! — as great Ath — 1 said — * (And the nobles all cheer'd, and the bishops all wonder'd) When, some years ago, he and others had fed Of these same hungry devils about fifteen hundred ! It follows from hence — and the Duke's very words Should be publish'd wherever poor rogues of this craft are — That weavers, once rescued from starving by Lords, Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever after. * The Duke of Athol said, that u at a former period, when these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of Perth had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for these very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them." 10 When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians Made " Bread and the Circus" a cure for each roxv ; But not so the plan of our noble physicians, " No Bread and the Tread-mill's" the regimen now. So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose, As I shall my poetry — neither convinces ; And all we have spoken and written but shows, When you tread on a nobleman's corn*, how he winces. * An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s joke. n THE SINKING FUND CRIED. " Now what, we ask, is become of this Sinking Fund— these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually ? Where, indeed, is the Sinking Fund itself V—The Times of Feb. 1. Take your bell, take your bell. Good Crier, and tell To the Bulls and the Bears, till their ears are stunn'd, That, lost or stolen, Or fall'n through a hole in The Treasury floor, is the Sinking Fund ! O yes ! O yes ! Can any body guess What the deuce has become of this Treasury wonder ? 12 It has Pitt's name on't, All brass, in the front, And R— b — ns — n's, scrawFd with a goose-quill, under. Folks well knew what Would soon be its lot, When Frederick and Jenky sat, hob-nobbing*, And said to each other, " Suppose, dear brother, " We make this funny old Fund worth robbing." We are come, alas ! To a very pretty pass, — Eight Hundred Millions of score, to pay, With but Five in the till, To discharge the bill, And even that Five, too, whipp'd away ! * In 1824, when the Sinking Fund was raised by the impo- sition of new taxes to the sum of five millions. 13 Stop thief! stop thief!— From the Sub to the Chief, These Gemmen of Finance are plundering cattle — Call the watch — call Brougham, Tell Joseph Hume, That best of Charleys, to spring his rattle. Whoever will bring This aforesaid thing To the well-known House of Bobinson and Jenkin, Shall be paid, with thanks, In the notes of banks, Whose Funds, too, have learn'd " the Art of Sinking." O yes ! O yes ! Can any body guess What the dev'l has become of this Treasury wonder ? It has Pitt's name on 't, All brass, in the front, AndR — b — ns — n's,scrawrdwithagoose-quill,under. 14 ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. BY SIR T_ M— S L— TH— E. " Legiferae Cereri Phceboque." — Virgil. Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know, (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies) Adorn' d with somniferous poppies, to show Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Goddess. Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee, An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches, Great Queen of Mark-lane, (if the thing doesn't bore thee) Thou 'It read o'er the last of his — n ever-last speeches. Ah ! Ceres, thou know'st not the slander and scorn Now heap'd upon England's 'Squirearchy, so boasted; 15 Improving on Hunt, 't is no longer the Corn, 'Tis now the Corn-growers, alas, that are roasted! In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us — Reviewers, economists —fellows, no doubt, That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus, And Gods of high fashion know little about. There's B — nth — m, whose English is all his own making, — Who thinks just as little of settling a nation As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking (What he, himself, calls) his " post-prandial vibration*." There are two Mr. M lis, too, whom those that like reading Through all that's unreadable, call very clever ; — • The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. 16 And, whereas M 11 Senior makes war on good breeding, M HJuniormakes waron all breedingwhaXever ! In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages; — With which of these classes we, landlords, have sided, Thou 'It find in my Speech, if thou 'It read a few pages. For therein I 've proved, to my own satisfaction, And that of all 'Squires I've the honour of meeting. That 't is the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detraction To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating. On the contrary, such the " chaste notions*" of food That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, They would scorn any law, be it ever so good, That would make thee, dear Goddess, less dear than thou art ! * A phrase in one of Sir T s's late speeches. 17 And; oh! for Monopoly what a blest day, When the Land and the Silk shall, in fond com- bination, (Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play*), Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and Starvation! Long life to the Minister! — no matter who, Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he Keeps the ports shut— and the people's mouths, too, — We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity. And, as for myself, who 've, like Hannibal, sworn To hate the whole crew who would take our rents from us, Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn, That last, honest Uni-Corn f would be — Sir Th — s ! ■ " Road to Ruin." f This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be some- thing between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's Cyclopaedia assures us, has a particular liking for every thing " chaste." C 18 A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE RECESS. 44 Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo." And now — cross-buns and pancakes o'er — Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more! Thrice hail and welcome, Houses Twain I The short eclipse of April-Day Having (God grant it!) pass'd away, Collective Wisdom, shine again ! Come, Ayes and Nos, through thick and thin, With Paddy H — mes for whipper-in, Whate'er the job, prepared to back it; — Come, voters of Supplies — bestowers Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, At eighty mortal pounds the jacket* ! * An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeavoured to get rid of: — trumpeters, it appears, like the men of All-Souls, must be " bene vest'iti.' 1 '' 19 Come — free, at length, from Joint-Stock cares — Ye Senators of many Shares, Whose dreams of premium knew no boundary ; So fond of aught like Company, That you would even have taken tea (Had you been ask'd) with Mr. Goundry*. Come, matchless country-gentlemen; Come, wise Sir Thomas, — wisest then, When creeds and corn-laws are debated ; Come, rival ev'n the Harlot Red, And show how wholly into bread A 'Squire is transubstantiated. Come, L — derd — e, and tell the world, That — surely as thy scratch is curl'd, As never scratch was curl'd before — * The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his Jowrt-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing ** Te solo adoro." c2 20 Cheap eating does more harm than good, And working-people, spoil'd by food, The less they eat, will work the more. Come, G — lb — rn, with thy glib defence (Which thou 'dst have made for Peter's Pence) Of Church-Rates, worthy of a halter; Two pipes of port (old port, 't was said By honest Netvport) bought and paid By Papists for the Orange Altar* ! Come, H — rt— n, with thy plan, so merry, For peopling Canada from Kerry — Not so much rendering Ireland quiet, As grafting on the dull Canadians That liveliest of earth's contagions, The bull-pock of Hibernian riot ! * This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their Catholic fellow-parishioners by the Irish protestants. " The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine." 21 Come all, in short, ye wond'rous men Of wit and wisdom, come again; Though short your absence, all deplore it- Oh, come and show, whate'er men say, That you can, after April-Day, Be just as sapient as before it. 22 MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK. MONDAY, MARCH 13. The Budget — quite charming and witty — no hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it; — Great comfort to find, though the Speech is n't cheering, That all its gay auditors were, every minute. What, still more prosperity! — mercy upon us, " This boy '11 be the death of me" — oft as, already, Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy. TUESDAY. Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers, Lest—calling to life the old Peach urns andLockitts— 23 The large stock of gold we're to have in three years, Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets* ! ! -* * * * * WEDNESDAY. Little doing — for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table, — When the Members all meet, to make much of that part, With which they so rashly fell out, in the Fable. It appear'd,though,to-night,that— as churchwardens, yearly, Eat up a small baby — those cormorant sinners, * " Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it pro- duced a greater number of highway robberies." — Debate in the Lords. 24 The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very nearly A mod'rate-sized bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners * ! Not a bene — a rumour to-day, in the City, " Mr. R — b — ns — n just has resign' d" — what a pity! The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin; While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, A murmuring Stock-dove breathed her ditty: — Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow; But his note was small, and the gold-finch's song Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. Who '11 make his shroud ? * Mr. Abercromby's statement of the enormous tavern bills of the Commissioners of Bankrupts. 25 " 1" said the Bank, " though he play'd me a prank, /j ere would yourProtestant periwigs be? 119 No. heav'n be my judge, were I dying to-day, Ere I dropp'd in the grave, like a medlar that *s mellow, " For God's sake" — at that awful moment I 'd say — " For God's sake, don't give Mr. Bell his um- brella." {" This address," says a ministerial journal, " delivered with amazing emphasis and earnestness, occasioned an extraordinary sensation in the House. Nothing since the memorable address of the Duke of York has produced so remarkable an impression."] 120 A PASTORAL BALLAD. BY JOHN BULL. Dublin, March 12, 1827. — Friday, after the arrival of the packet bringing the account of the defeat of the Catholic Ques- tion, in the House of Commons, orders were sent to the Pigeon House to forward 5,000,000 rounds of musket-ball cartridge to the different garrisons round the country.— .Freeman's Journal. I have found out a gift for ray Erin, A gift that will surely content her, Sweet pledge of a love so endearing! Five millions of bullets I 've sent her. She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, But ill she her wants understood ; — Ball cartridges, morning and night, Is a dose that will do her more good. 121 There is hardly a day of our lives But we read, in some amiable trials, How husbands make love to their wives Through the medium of hemp and of phials. One thinks, with his mistress or mate A good halter is sure to agree — That love-knot which, early and late, I have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. While another, whom Hymen has bless'd With a wife that is not over placid, Consigns the dear charmer to rest, With a dose of the best Prussic acid. Thus, Erin! my love do I show- Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! And, as poison and hemp are too slow, Do thy business with bullets instead. 122 Should thy faith in my medicine be shaken, Ask R — d — n, that mildest of saints ; He'll tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, Alone can remove thy complaints ; — That, blest as thou art in thy lot, Nothing 's wanted to make it more pleasant But being hang'd, tortured, and shot, Much oft'ner than thou art at present. Even W — 11 — t — n's self hath averr'd Thou art yet but half sabred and hung, And I loved him the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from his tongue. So take the five millions of pills, Dear partner, I herewith inclose ; 'Tis the cure that all quacks for thy ills, From Cromwell to Eld — n, propose. 123 And you, ye brave bullets that go, How I wish that, before you set out, The Devil of the Freischutz could know The good work you are going about. For he 'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, Into such supernatural wit, That you 'd all of you know, as you sped, Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 124 A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE*. Regnis Ex-sul ademtis. — Virg. To Swanage, — that neat little town, in whose bay- Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver slippers, — Lord Bags took his annual trip t'other day, To taste the sea breezes, and chat with the dippers. There — learn' d as he is in conundrums and laws — Quoth hetohisdame (whom he oft plays the wagon), " Why are chancery suitors like bathers?" — n Because Their suits are put off, till — they haven't a rag on." * A small bathing place on the coast of Dorsetshire, long a favourite summer resort of the ex-nobleman in question, and, till this season, much frequented also by gentlemen of the church. 125 Thus on he went chatting,— but, lo, while he chats, With a face full of wonder around him he looks; For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats, Who used to flock round him at Swanage like rooks. " How is this, Lady Bags? — to this region aquatic " Last year they came swarming, to make me their bow, u As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of Carnatic, " Deans, Rectors, D.D.'s — where the dev'l are they now?" " My dearest Lord Bags !" saith his dame, " can you doubt ? " I am loth to remind you of things so unpleasant; " But dorit you perceive, dear, the Church have found out " That you 're one of the people call'd Ex's, at present?" 126 " Ah, true — you have hit it — I am, indeed, one " Of those ill-fated Exs (his Lordship replies), " And, with tears, I confess, — God forgive me the pun! — 11 We X's have proved ourselves not to be Y's." September, 1827. 127 WO ! WO 1 * Wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it, — That beautiful Light, which is now on its way; Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of Belturbet, Now brightens sweet Ballinafad with its ray ! Oh F — rnh — m, Saint F — rnfi — m, how much do we owe thee ! How form'd to all tastes are thy various employs ! The old, as a catcher of Catholics, know thee, The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. Wo, wo to the man, who such doings would smother ! — On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of Kilgroggy ! * Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Ch — st — r on the subject of the New Reformation in Ireland, in which his Lord- ship denounced "Wo! Wo! Wo!" pretty abundantly on all those who dared to interfere with its progress. 128 With whip in one hand, and with Bible in t' other, Like Mungo's tormentor, both u preachee and Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his way; Come, L — rt — n, who, scorning profane erudition, Popp'd Shakspeare, they say, in the river, one day. Though 'twas only old Bowdler's Vtllutl edition. Come, R-den, who doubtest, — so mild are thy views, — Whether Bibles or bullets are "best for the nation ; Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to choose, Twixt good old Rebellion and neve Reformation. What more from her Saints can Hibernia require ? St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful daughter, Supplied her, t is said, with perpetual fire *, And Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot water. • The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare. 129 Wo, wo to the man, who would check their career, Or stop the Millennium, that 's sure to await us, When, bless 'd with an orthodox crop every year, We shall learn to raise Protestants, fast as potatoes. In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know, Had been trying their talent for many a day ; Till F-rnh—rn, when all had been tried, came to show, Like the German flea-catcher, " anoder goot way." And nothing's more simple than F-rnh-m's receipt; — " Catch your Catholic, first — soak him well in po- teen * — " Add salary sauce f, and the thing is complete. " You may serve up your Protestant, smoking and clean." * Whiskey. f " We understand that several applications have lately been made to the Protestant clergymen of this town by fellows, in- quiring c What are they giving a head for converts ? ' " — Wexford Post. 130 ' Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such cookery ! " Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow * Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery Open'd their bills, and re-echo'd " Wo, wo ! ! " * Of the Rook species — Corvus friigikgu$ y i. e. a great com- consumer of corn. 131 TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. " If, in China or among the natives of India, we claimed civil advantages which were connected with religious usages, little as we might value those forms in our hearts, we should think com- mon decency required us to abstain from treating them with of- fensive contumely ; and, though unable to consider them vSacred, we would not sneer at the name of Fot y or laugh at the imputed divinity of Visthnou."— Courier, Tuesday, Jan. 16. Come, take my advice, never trouble your cranium, When fC civil advantages " are to be gain'd, What god or what goddess may help to obtain you 'em, Hindoo or Chinese, so they 're only obtain'd. In this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) All the good things to good hypocrites fall ; And he, who in swallowing creeds is particular, Soon will have nothing to swallow at alL Oh place me where Fo, or, as some call him, Fot, Is the god, from whom " civil advantages" flow, k2 132 And you '11 find, if there 's any thing snug to be got, I shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, I own I should feel it unchristian and odd Not to find myself also in Vishnu's good graces. For oh, of all gods that humanely attend To our wants in this planet, the gods to my wishes Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend In the form, so attractive, of loaves and of fishes * ! So take my advice — for, if even the devil Should tempt men again as an idol to try him, 'Twere best for us Tories, even then, to be civil, As nobody doubts we should get something by him. * Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) " a disciform god," his first Avatar being in the shape of a fish. 133 ENIGMA. Monstrum nulla virtute redeviptam. Come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, And tell me what my name may be. I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose ; — Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told), I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my clothes ; Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, That, if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot. Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my stature, / To cover me nothing but ragsrfnR supply j 134 And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature, About the year 30 in rags I shall die. Meanwhile, I stalk hungry and bloated around, An object of int'rest, most painful, to all ; In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I 'm found, Holding citizen, peasant, and king in my thrall. Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree, Come, tell me what my name may be. When the lord of the counting-house bends o'er hi book, Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, O'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs I look, And down drops the pen from his paralyzed paw ! When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo, And expects through another to caper and prank it, You 'd laugh did you see, when I bellow out " Boo!" How he hides his brave Waterloo head in the blanket. When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall His cup, full of gout, to the Gaul's overthrow, 135 Lo, " Eight Hundred Millions" I write on the wall, And the cup falls to earth and — the gout to his toe! But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's acres, And, knowing who made me the thing that I am, Like the monster of Frankenstein, worry my makers. Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, And tell, if thou know'st, who / may be. 136 DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. BY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. " Vox clamantis in deserto." Said Maithus, one day, to a clown Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the sun, — " What 's the number of souls in this town ?" — " The number ! Lord bless you, there 's none. " We have nothing but dabs in this place, " Of them a great plenty there are ; — " But the soles, please your rev'rence and grace, " Are all t* other side of the bar." And so 't is in London just now, Not a soul to be seen, up or down; — 157 Of dabs a great glut, I^llow, But your soles, every one, out of town. East or west, nothing wondrous or new; No courtship or scandal, worth knowing ; Mrs. B , and a Mermaid* or two, Are the only loose fish that are going. Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, That, some weeks ago, kept us merry? Where, Eld — n, art thou, with thy tears? And thou, with thy sense, L— d — d — y? Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, In the dog-days, with thee must be puzzled !- It being his task to take care That such animals shan't go unmuzzled. Thou, too, whose political toils Are so worthy a captain of horse, — * One of the shows of London. 138 Whose amendments* (like honest Sir Boyle's) Are " amendments, that make matters worse f ;" Great Chieftain, who takest such pains To prove — what is granted, nem. con. — With how mod'rate a portion of brains Some heroes contrive to get on. And, thou, too, my R— d — sd — e, ah, where Is the peer, with a star at his button, Whose quarters could ever compare With R — d — sd— e's five quarters of mutton \ ? Why, why have ye taken your flight, Ye diverting and dignified crew? * More particularly his Grace's celebrated amendment to the Com Bill. f From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish House of Commons. X The learning his Lordship displayed, on the subject of the butcher's " fifth quarter" of mutton, will not speedily be for- gotten. 139 How ill do three farces a night, At the Haymarket, pay us for you ! For, what is Bombastes to thee, My Ell — nbro', when thou look'st big ? Or, where *s the burletta can be Like L— d — rd — e's wit — and his wig? I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof* could (Though Griffin 's a comical lad) Invent any joke half so good As that precious one, " This is too bad !" Then come again, come again, Spring ! Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train; And — of all things the funniest — bring These exalted Grimaldis again ! * The nom de guerre under which Colman has written some of his best farces. 140 THE " LIVING DOG" AND " THE DEAD LION." Next week will be published (as " Lives" are the rage) The whole Reminiscences, wond'rous and strange, Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call " sad," 'T is a puppy that much to good breeding pretends ; And few dogs have such opportunities had Of knowing how Lions behave — among friends ; How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, Is all noted down by this Boswell so small ; And 't is plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks That the Lion was no such great things after all. 141 Though he roar'd pretty well — this the puppy allows— It was all, he says, borrow' d — all second-hand roar; And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. 'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask, To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) With sops every day from the Lion's own pan, He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, And — does all a dog, so diminutive, can. However, the book 's a good book, being rich in Examples and warnings to lions high-bred, How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead. T. PIDCOCK. Exeter 'Change. 142 ODE TO DON MIGUEL. Et tu, Brute ! What ! Miguel, not patriotic? oh, fy ! After so much good teaching 't is quite a take-in, Sir;— First school' d, as you were, under Metternich's eye, And then (as young misses say) " finish'd" at Windsor ! I ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder ; — Such feasts as you had, when you made us a call ! Three courses each day from His Majesty's larder, — And now, to turn absolute Don, after all!! Some authors, like Bayes, to the style and the matter Of each thing they write suit the way that they dine, 143 Roast sirloin for Epic, broil' d devils for Satire, And hotchpotch and trifle for rhymes such as mine. That Rulers should feed the same way, I've no doubt ;— Great Despots on houilli served up d la Russe *, Your small German Princes on frogs and sour crout, And your Vice-roy of Hanover always on goose. Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may be fable) A dish rather dear, if, in cooking, they blunder it -, — Not content with the common hot meat on a table, They 're partial (eh, Mig?) to a dish of cold under itf! * Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits, — a favourite dish of the Great Frederick of Prussia, and which he persevered in eating even on his death -bed, much to the horror of his physician Zimmerman. -j- This quiet case of murder, with all its particulars,— the hiding the body under the dinner- table, &c. &c— is, no doubt, well known to the reader. 144 No wonder a Don of such appetites found Even W-nds-r's collations plebeianly plain ; Where the dishes most high that my Lady sends round Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup a la Heine, Alas, that a youth with such charming beginnings, Should sink, all at once, to so sad a conclusion, And, what is still worse, throw the losings and win- nings Of worthies on 'Change into so much confusion ! The Bulls, in hysterics — the Bears, just as bad — The few men who have, and the many who 've not tick, All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, Prince Metternich's pupil, is — not patriotic ! U5 THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GO- VERNMENT OF IRELAND. Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride Two stately steeds, — standing, with graceful straddle, Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle, Wlvile to soft tunes, — some jigs, and some andantes, — He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes. So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant, That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present; — Papist and Protestant the coursers twain, That lend their necks to his impartial rein, And round the ring, — each honour'd, as they go, With equal pressure from his gracious toe, — To the old medley tune, half " Patrick's Day" And half " Boyne Water," take their cantering way, 146 While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks His long-lash' d whip, to cheer the doubtful hacks. Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! How blest, if neither steed would bolt or start ; — If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone, And Papist's winkers could be still kept on ! But no, false hopes, — not ev'n the great Ducrow 'Twixt two such steeds could 'scape an overthrow: If solar hacks play'd Phaeton a trick, What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic ? If once my Lord his graceful balance loses, Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear-tip, — That instant ends their glorious horsemanship ! Off bolt the sever'd steeds, for mischief free, And down, between them, plumps Lord Anglesea ! 147 THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS. A DREAM. " Cio che si perde qui, la si raguna." — Ariosto. " ■ a valley, where he sees " Things that on earth were lost" — Milton. Know'st thou not him * the poet sings, Who flew to the moon's serene domain, And saw that valley, where all the things, That vanish on earth, are found again— ■ The hopes of youth, the resolves of age, The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage, The golden visions of mining cits, The promises great men strew about them ; * Astolpho. l2 148 And, pack'd in compass small, the wits Of monarchs, who rule as well without them !-=- Like him, but diving with wing profound, I have been to a Limbo under ground, Where characters lost on earth, (and cried, In vain, like H — rr — s's, far and wide) In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown, And there, so worthless and fly-blown That even the imps would not purloin them, Lie, till their worthy owners join them. Curious it was to see this mass Of lost and torn-up reputations ; — Some of them female wares, alas, Mislaid at innocent assignations; Some, that had sigh'd their last amen From the canting lips of saints that would be; And some once own'd by " the best of men," Who had proved — no better than they should be. 149 'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, Once shining fair, now soaked and black — " No wonder," (a dev'l at my elbow cried) " For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack !" Just then a yell was heard o'er head, Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons ; And lo, an imp right downward sped, Bringing, within his claws so red, Two statesmen's characters, found, he said, Last night, on the floor of the House of Commons ; The which, with black official grin, He now to the Chief Imp handed in ; — Both these articles much the worse For their journey down, as you may suppose, But one so devilish rank — " Odd's curse !" Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose. " Ho, ho !" quoth he, " I know full well " From whom these two stray matters fell;" — 150 Then, casting away, with a loathful shrug, Th' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug Th' Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd), His eyes on the other gravely fix'd, And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye, To be moral, because of the young imps by, " What a pity !" he cried — " so fresh its gloss, " So long preserved — 't is a puMic loss! " This comes of a man, the careless blockhead, " Keeping his character in his pocket ; " And there — without considering whether " There 's room for that and his gains together — " Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away, " Till — out slips character some fine day ! " However" — and here he view'd it round — " This article still may pass for sound. " Some flaws, soon patch' d, some stains are all " The harm it has had in its luckless fall. 151 Here, Puck S" — and he called to one of his train- The owner may have this back again. Though damaged for ever, if used with skill, It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still ; Though the gem can never, as once, be set T It will do for a Tory Cabinet." 152 HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. Qui facit per alium facit per se. 'Mong our neighbours, the French, in the good olden time When Nobility flourish' d, great Barons and Dukes Often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme, But ne'er took the trouble to write their own books. Poor devils were found to do this for their betters j — And, one day, a Bishop, addressing a Blue, Said, " Ma'am, have you read my new Pastoral Letters?" To which the Blue answer'd— " No, Bishop, have you t* 153 The same is now done by our privileged class ; And, to show you how simple the process it needs, If a great Major-General* wishes to pass For an author of History, thus he proceeds : — First, scribbling his own stock of notions as well As he can, with a goose-quill that claimshim askin } He settles his neck-cloth — takes snuff— rings the bell, And yawningly orders a Subaltern in. The Subaltern comes — sees his General seated, In all the self-glory of authorship swelling ; — " There, look," saith his Lordship, " my work is completed, — " It wants nothing now, but the grammar and spelling." Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dreads Awkward breaches of syntax a hundred times more ; * Or Lieutenant-General, as it may happen to be. 154 And, though often condemn'dto see breaking of heads, He had ne'er seen such breaking of Priscian's before. However, the job 's sure to pay — that's enough — So, to it he sets with his tinkering hammer, Convinced that there never was job half so tough As the mending a great Major- General's grammar. But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to view, — New toil for the Sub. — for the Lord new expense : 'Tis discover'd that mending his grammar won't do, As the Subaltern also must find him in sense ! At last, — even this is achieved by his aid ; Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and — the story ; Drums beat — the new Grand March of Intellect's play'd — And off struts my Lord, the Historian, in glory ! 155 IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF DANTE. " Cosi quel fiato gli spiriti raali " Di qua, di la, di giu, di su gli mena." — Inferno, cant. 5. I turn'd my steps, and lo, a shadowy throng Of ghosts came fluttering tow'rds me, — blown along, Like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, By many a fitful gust that through their forms Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy puff, And puff 'd as — though they 'd never puff enough. " Whence and what are ye ?" pitying I inquired Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter'd, tost, and tired With such eternal puffing, scarce could stand On their lean legs while answering my demand. "We once were authors," — thus the Sprite, who led This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said, — 156 " Authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, ft Who, early smit with love of praise and — pewter*, " On 's f shelves first saw the light of day, " In 's puffs exhaled our lives away, — " Like summer wind-mills, doom'd to dusty peace, " When the brisk gales, that lent them motion, cease. te Ah, little knew we then what ills await " Much-lauded scribblers in their after-state ; " BepuflTd on earth — how loudly Str — t can tell — " And, dire reward, now doubly puffd in hell!" Touch'd with compassion for this ghastly crew, Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind sung through In mournful prose, — such prose as Rosa's % ghost Still, at tli' accustom 'd hour of eggs and toast, Sighs through the columns of the M — m — g P — t, — * The classical term for money. •f The reader may fill up this gap with any one of the disyllabic publishers of London that occurs to him. J Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the po- litical articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to preside — " regnat Rosa " — over its pages. 157 Pensive I turn'd to weep,, when he, who stood Foremost of all that flatulential brood, Singling a sfo-ghost from the party, said, " Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z. *, u One of our letter d nymphs — excuse the pun, — " Who gain'd a name on earth by — having none ; " And whose initials would immortal be, " Had she but learn' d those plain ones, A. B. C. " Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, " Wrapp'd in his own dead rhymes, — fit winding- sheet, — " Still marvels much that not a soul should care " One single pin to know who wrote ' May Fair ;' — " While this young gentleman" (here forth he drew A dandy spectre, puflPd quite through and through, As though his ribs were an iEolian lyre For the whole Row's soft trade-winds to inspire,) * Not the charming L. E. L., and still less, Mrs. F. H., whose poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. 158 " This modest genius breath'd one wish alone, " To have his volume read, himself unknown ; " But different far the course his glory took, " All knew the author, and — none read the book. " Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, " Who rides the blast, Sir J— n— h B— rr— t— n ;— " In tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, " And now the wind returns the compliment. " This lady here, the Earl of 's sister, " Is a dead novelist ; and this is Mister — " Beg pardon — Honourable Mister L — st — r, u A gentleman who, some weeks since, came over " In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. " Yonder behind us limps young Vivian Grey, ' ' Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown away, — " Like a torn paper-kite, on which the wind r< No further purchase for a puff can find." " And thou, thyself" — here, anxious, I exclaimd, — "• Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named." 159 rl Me,Sir !" he blushing cried, — "Ah, there's the rub — " Know, then, — a waiter once at Brooks's Club, " A waiter still I might have long remain' d, " And longthe club-room's jokes and glasses drain'd; M But, ah, in luckless hour, this last December, " I wrote a book *, and Colburn dubb'd me ' Mem- ber ' — u ' Member of Brooks's ! ' — oh Promethean puff, " To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen-stuff! " With crums of gossip, caught from dining wits, " And half-heard jokes, bequeath' d, like half-chew'd bits, ' ' To be, each night, the waiter's perquisites ; — " With such ingredients, served up oft before, u But with fresh fudge and fiction garnish'd o'er, " I managed, for some weeks, to dose the town, " Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down, " And, ready still even waiters' souls to damn, " The Devil but rang his bell, and — here lam; — * " History of the Clubs of London," announced as by " a Member of Brooks's." 160 cc Yes — * Coming up, Sir,' once my favourite cry, " Exchanged for ' Coming down, Sir/ here am I !" Scarce had the Spectre's lips these words let drop, When, lo, a breeze — such as from 's shop Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs prevail, And speeds the sheets and swells the lagging sale — Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, And, whirling him and all his grisly group Of literary ghosts, — Miss X. Y. Z., — The nameless author, better known than read — Sir Jo. — the Honourable Mr. L — st — r, And, last, not least, Lord Nobody's twin sister, — Blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and rhymes And sins about them, far into those climes " Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat*" in old times, Leaving me much in doubt, as on I prest, With my great master, through this realm unblest, Whether Old Nick or puffs the best. * A D.intesquc allusion to the old saying, " Nine miles be- yond H— 11, where Peter pitched his waistcoat." 161 LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD B ST'S TAIL*. All in again — unlook'd for bliss ! Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss ; — One tender tie, attach'd so long To the same head, through right and wrong. Why, B — th— st, why didst thou cut off That memorable tail of thine ? Why — as if one was not enough — Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, And thus, at once, both cut and run ? Alas, my Lord, 't was not well done, 'T was not, indeed, — though sad at heart, From office and its sweets to part, * The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off this much-re- spected appendage, on his retirement from office some months since. 162 Yet hopes of coming in again. Sweet Tory hopes ! beguiled our pain ; But thus to miss that tail of thine, Through long, long years our rallying sign, — As if the State and all its powers By tenancy in tail were ours, — To see it thus by scissors fall, This was " th' unkindest cut of all V It seem'd as though th' ascendant day Of Toryism had pass'd away, And, proving Sampson's story true, She lost her vigour with her queue. Parties are much like fish, 't is said, — The tail directs them, not the head ; Then, how could any party fail, That steer'd its course by B — th — st's tail ? Not Murat's. plume, through Wagram's fight. E'er shed such guiding glories from ii. As erst, in all true Tories' sight, Blazed from our old Colonial comet ! 163 If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, (As W — 11 — gt — n will be anon) Thou might'st have had a tail to spare ; But no, alas, thou hadst but one, And that — like Troy, or Babylon, A tale of other times — is gone ! Yet — weep ye not, ye Tories true, — Fate has not yet of all bereft us ; Though thus deprived of B — th — rst's queue, We've E — 11 — nb — gh's curls still left us; — Sweet curls, from which young Love, so vicious, His shots, as from nine-pounders, issues ; Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, Surcharged with all a nation's fate, His Lordship shakes, as Homer's God did*, And oft in thundering talk comes near him ; — Except that, there, the speaker nodded, And, here, 't is only those who hear him. * " Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod." Pole's Homer. m2 164 Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil Of that fat cranium may ye flourish, With plenty of Macassar oil, Through many a year your growth to nourish I And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath His barbarous shears such locks to sever, Still dear to Tories, even in death, Their last, loved relics we '11 bequeath, A hair-loom to our sons for ever, 165 THE CHERRIES. A PARABLE *. See those cherries, how they cover Yonder sunny garden wall ; — Had they not that net-work over, Thieving birds would eat them all. So, to guard our posts and pensions, Ancient sages wove a net, Through whose holes, of small dimensions, Only certain knaves can get. Shall we then this net- work widen? Shall we stretch these sacred holes, * Written during the late discussion on the Test and Corpo- ration Acts. 166 Through which, ev'n already, slide in Lots of small dissenting souls ? " God forbid !" old Testy crieth ; " God forbid !" so echo I ; Every ravenous bird that flieth Then would at our cherries fly. Ope but half an inch or so, And, behold, what bevies break in :• Here, some curst old Popish crow Pops his long and lickerish beak in Here, sly Arians flock unnumber'd, And Socinians, slim and spare, Who, with small belief encumber'd, Slip in easy any where ; — Methodists, of birds the aptest, Where there 's pecking going on : 16? And that water-fowl, the Baptist, — All would share our fruits anon j Ev'ry bird, of ev'ry city, That, for years, with ceaseless din, Hath reversed the starling's ditty, Singing out " I can't get in." " God forbid !" old Testy snivels -, " God forbid !" I echo too; Rather may ten thousand d-v-ls Seize the whole voracious crew ! If less costly fruit won't suit 'em, Hips and haws and such like berries, Curse the corm'rants ! stone 'em, shoot 'em, Any thing — to save our cherries. 168 STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICIPA- TION OF DEFEAT*. Go seek for some abler defenders of wrong, If we must run the gantlet through blood and ex- pense; Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude strong, Be content with success, and pretend not to sense. If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are vain, If Truth by the bow-string must yield up her breath, Let Mutes do the office, — and spare her the pain Of an In — gl — s or T — nd — 1 to talk her to deat . Chain, persecute, plunder, — do all that you will, — But save us, at least, the old womanly lore * During the discussion of the Catholic Question in the House of Commons last session. 169 Of a F — st — r, who, dully prophetic of ill, Is, at once, the two instruments, augur * and bore. Bring legions of Squires — if they '11 only be mute — And array their thick heads against reason and right, Like the Roman of old, of historic repute f, Who with droves of dumb animals carried the fight ; Pour out, from each corner and hole of the Court, Your Bedchamber lordlings, your salaried slaves, Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort, Have their consciences tack'd to their patents and staves. Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings, Are the Treasury's creatures, wherever they- swim J; * This is more for the ear than the eye, as the carpenter's tool is spelt auger. ■f Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the enemy. £ Res Fisci est, ubicumque natat. — Juvenal. 170 With all the base, time-serving toadirs of Kings, Who, if Punch were the monarch, would worship ev'n him ; And while, on the one side, each name of renown, That illumines and blesses our age is combined ; While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the Cannings look down, And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of Mind; Let bold Paddy H-lmes show his troops on the other, And, counting of noses the quantum desired, Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi's famed mother, " Come forward, my jetvrls " — 't is all that 's re- quired. And thus let your farce be enacted hereafter, — Thus honestly persecute, outlaw, and chain ; But spare ev'n your victims the torture of laughter, And never, oh never, try reasojiing again ! 171 ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS BY ONE OF THE BOARD. Let other bards to groves repair, Where linnets strain their tuneful throats, Mine be the Woods and Forests, where The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. No whispering winds have charms for me, Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask; To raise the wind for Royalty Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task ! And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, And all such vulgar irrigation, Let Gallic rhino through our Woods Divert its " course of liquid-ation." 172 Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well What Woods and Forests ought to be, When, sly, he introduced in Hell His guinea-plant, his bullion- tree*: — Nor see I why, some future day, When short of cash, we should not send Our H — rr — s down — he knows the way — To see if Woods in hell will lend. Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts, Beneath whose " branches of expense" Our gracious K gets all he wants, — Except a little taste and sense. Long, in your golden shade reclined, Like him of fair Armida's bowers, May W n some woo^-nymph lind, To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours; Called by Virgil, botanically, " species auri frondentis.' 173 To rest from toil the Great Untaught, And soothe the pangs his warlike brain Must suffer, when, unused to thought. It tries to think, and — tries in vain. Oh long may Woods and Forests be Preserved, in all their teeming graces, To shelter Tory bards, like me, Who take delight in Sylvan places *! * Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem locu Ovid. 174 STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF THE SHANNON. Take back the virgin page." Moore" 1 's Irish Melodies. No longer, dear V — sey, feel hurt and uneasy At hearing it said by thy Treasury brother, That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my V — sey, And he, the dear, innocent placeman, another. For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have done thee ; — Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more ; By St. Patrick, we Ve scrawl' d such a lesson upon thee As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap before. 175 Come, — on with your spectacles, noble Lord Duke, (Or O'Connell has green ones he haply would lend you,) Read V — sey all o'er — as you can't read a book — And improve by the lesson we, bog-trotters, send you; A lesson, in large Roman characters traced, Whose awful impressions from you and your kin Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be effaced, — Unless, 'stead of paper, you're sheer asses' shin. Shall I help you to construe it ? ay, by the Gods, Could I risk a translation, you should have a rare one; But pen against sabre is desperate odds, And you, my Lord Duke, (as you hinted once), wear one. 176 Again and again I say, read V — sey o'er ; — You will find him worth all the old scrolls of papyrus, That Egypt e'er fill'd with nonsensical lore, Or the learned Champollion e'er wrote of, to tire us. All blank as he was, we 've return'd him on hand, Scribbled o'er with a warning to Princes and Dukes, Whose plain, simple drift if they won't understand, Though caress'd at St. James's, they're fit for St. Luke's. Talk of leaves of the Sibyls ! — more meaning con- vey' d is In one single leaf such as now we have spell'd on, Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the old ladies That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to Eld — n. 177 " IF" AND " PERHAPS *." Oh tidings of freedom ! oh accents of hope ! Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sea, And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope, From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. " If mutely the slave will endure and obey, " Nor clanking his fetters, nor breathing his pains, " His masters, perhaps, at some far distant day, "May think (tender tyrants) of loosening his chains." Wise "if" and "perhaps!'' — precious salve for our wounds, If he, who would rule thus o'er manacled mutes, * Written after hearing a celebrated speech in the House of Lords, June 10, 1828, N 178 Could check the free spring-tide of Mind, that re- sounds, Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's. But, no, 't is in vain — the grand impulse is given, — Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will claim ; And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, Be theirs, who have forged them, the guilt and the shame. "If the slave will be silent !" — vain Soldier, beware — There is a dead silence the wrong'd may assume, When the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair, But clings round the heart with a deadlier gloom j — When the blush, that long burn'd on the suppliant's cheek, Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute hue ; And the tongue, that once threaten'd, disdaining to speak, Consigns to the arm the high office — to do. 179 If men, in that silence, should think of the hour. When proudly their fathers in panoply stood, Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of power To the despot on land and" the foe on the flood ;■— That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the west, To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant alarms; And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught the opprest* That kings are as dust before freemen in arms ! If awfuller still, the mute slave should recall That dream of his boyhood, when Freedom's sweet day At length seem'd to break through a long night of thrall, And Union and Hope went abroad in its ray j — If Fancy should tell him, that Day-spring of Good, Though swiftly its light died away from his chain, 180 Though darkly it set in a nation's best blood, Now wants but invoking to shine out again ; — If-'— if, I say — breathings like these should come o'er The chords of remembrance, and thrill., as they come, Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps — but I dare not say more; Thou hast will'd that thy slaves should be mute — I am dumb. 181 WRITE ON, WRITE ON. A BALLAD. Air. — " Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear.' 1 '' Salvete,fratres Asini. — St. Francis. Write on, write on, ye Barons dear, Ye Dukes, write hard and fast ; The good we 've sought for many a year Your quills will bring at last. One letter more, N — wc — stle, pen, To match Lord K — ny — n's two, And more than Ireland's host of men, One brace of Peers will do. Write on, write on, &c. 182 Sure, never, since the precious use Of pen and ink began, Did letters, writ by fools, produce Such signal good to man. While intellect, 'mong high and low, Is marching on, they say, Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, Like crabs, the other way. Write on, write on, &c. Ev'n now I feel the coming light,— Ev'n now, could Folly lure My Lord M — ntc — sh— 1, too, to write, Emancipation's sure. By geese (we read in history), Old Rome was saved from ill ; And now, to quills of geese, we see Old Rome indebted still. Write on, write on, &c. 183 Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to style, Nor beat for sense about, — Things, little worth a Noble's while, You 're better far without. Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, Such miracles were done ; For, write but four such letters more, And Freedom's cause is won ! THE END. LONDON : TRINTED EY THOMAS DAVISON, WHIIEFBIARS. V vwvv* v * y /VWVw^Wv ,v"' v V*V' *Wwv vv " -vwv^vv'v VVVVvVVV^V^V w W v vvvv v ^ W*WW«**vwv»»^ w LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 526 801 1 J l II