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 By order of the Secretarv : 
 
 GEO. M. LOCK WOOD. 
 ( 13599-10 M., Vhicf Cln-1:. 
 
REJECTED ADDRESSES 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 JAMES SMITH AND HORACE SMITH, 
 
 PORTRAITS AND A BIOGRAPHICAL SOTCH. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 EPES SARGENT. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 G. r. PUTNAM & SONS, 
 
 4th AVE. AND 23d STREET, 
 1871. 
 
■'^'"S, 
 
 •^,«1' 
 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The present is the first American edition of the col- 
 lected poems of Horace Smith. Mai.j of them have 
 been printed in our newspapers and magazines, and 
 not a few are favorites familiar to all true lovers of 
 poetry. No one can read them w^ithout admitting the 
 just claim of their author to a high place among the 
 sons of song. His humorous pieces, too, are neat and 
 lively versifications of anecdotes that usually carry with 
 them a point if not a moral. 
 
 While as a poet Horace Smith was incomparably 
 superior to his brother, the latter, in Lis vers de societe, 
 may claim perhaps equal merit. Spencer and Praed 
 "were not more felicitous in their poetry of fashion than 
 James Smith. The topics show the man and his 
 associations, and his poems are so many finished daguer- 
 reotypes of London society in the first half of the 
 nineteenth century. In this light they will always be 
 interesting and amusing — and may be admitted into col- 
 lections of British poetry, from which similar sketches 
 by Swift and Prior, of a grosser period, ought to be 
 excluded. It is no small virtue of the popular writers 
 whose poems are contained in our present volume, that, 
 though wits and satirists, they are always gentlemen. 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 It is to the Rejected Addresses that these ingenious 
 brothers are mainlj indebted for their celebrity ; and 
 this -work still retains its popularity undiminished. 
 It is admitted to be in all respects uniqve, and perfect 
 after its fashion. Indeed, it well deserves the high praise 
 bestowed on it by the most fastidious, if not the most 
 able critic of his day — the critic who had sat in judg- 
 ment on nearly all the authors imitated in this remark- 
 able volume. The literary world had never before 
 witnessed such an exhibition of the peculiar talent, 
 which could be paralleled only by the marvellous execu- 
 tion of the mocking-bird. Our reprint of this work is 
 from the twenty-third London edition, and the notes in- 
 closed in brackets are from the pen, we believe, of Mr. 
 Peter Cunningham. 
 
 The prefatory memoir is compiled from a variety of 
 sources, and claims no credit beyond that of judicious 
 condensation and arrangement of materials. For so 
 much of it as relates to James Smith we have re- 
 lied generally upon the biographical sketch prefixed to 
 his collected miscellanies. A series of papers in the 
 New Monthly Magazine have also been freely used 
 without special acknowledgment. They are entitled A 
 Greyheard's Gossip, and are reminiscences of his lit- 
 erary contemporaries, by Horace Smith. Other 
 sources of information are mentioned in the text. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 |0em5 hs JjGtutt Smitlr. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Prefatory Stanzas 3 
 
 Hymn to the Flowers, 7 
 
 Address to a Mummy, 9 
 
 Address to the Orange-tree at Versailles, 13 
 
 Sicilian Arethusa, 
 
 15 
 
 The Shriek of Prometheus, 16 
 
 The Birth of the Invisible, 22 
 
 The Sanctuary, 26 
 
 The Poppy, 28 
 
 The Murderer's Confession, 3*^ 
 
 The Contrast, 35 
 
 The Bard's Song to his Daughter, ST 
 
 The Flower that feels not Spring, S8 
 
 Moral Ruins, , . 40 
 
 Moral Alchemy, 45 
 
 Moial Cosmetics, "^3 
 
 The Old Mans P*an, 47 
 
 Answer to an Old Mans Pteau, 5^ 
 
 Invocation, ^^ 
 
 The Mother's Mistake, 54 
 
 The Sun's Eclipse 55 
 
 Lachrymose Writers, 53 
 
 Why are they shut? 61 
 
 The Libelled Benefactor, 63 
 
 Dirge for a Living Poet, 65 
 
 Campbell's Funeral, 6T 
 
 The Life and Death : 
 
 The Life, 69 
 
 The Death, J^ 
 
 Hope's Yearnings, '-^ 
 
 To a Log of Wood upon the Fire, "^^4 
 
 Unpossessed Possessions, * ' 
 
 To the Furze Bush, '^ 
 
 The First of March, ^^ 
 
VA CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Invocation to the Cuckoo, 81 
 
 Man, 83 
 
 Sporting without a License, 84 
 
 Tlie Quarrel of Faith, Hope, and Charity, 86 
 
 Winter, 90 
 
 Cholera Morbus, 91 
 
 Recantation, 93 
 
 Death, 96 
 
 The Poet among the Trees, 98 
 
 To the Ladies of England, 101 
 
 Night Song, 102 
 
 The Song Vision, 103 
 
 The Poet's Winter Song to his Wife, 105 
 
 Song to Fanny, lOG 
 
 Bong to Fanny, 1C6 
 
 The Birthday of Spring, 107 
 
 An Old Man's Aspiration, 1C9 
 
 Gipsies, 110 
 
 Life, 112 
 
 To a Lady, 113 
 
 The Charms of Life, 115 
 
 A Hint to Cynics, 116 
 
 Music, 116 
 
 The Bard"s Inscription in his Daughters Album, 117 
 
 Stanzas, 113 
 
 A Hint to Farmers, 119 
 
 Disappointment, 121 
 
 The Dying Poet's Farewell, 122 
 
 Sonnets, 124 
 
 Morning, 124 
 
 To the Setting Sun, 125 
 
 On the Statue of a Piping Faun, 125 
 
 On a Stupendous Leg of Granite, 126 
 
 On a Greenhouse, 127 
 
 Written In the Porch of Binstead Church, Isle of Wight, 127 
 
 The World, 128 
 
 To a Eose, 128 
 
 On an Ancient Lance, 129 
 
 The Nightingale, 129 
 
 Sunset, . r -i^O 
 
 Charade, 130 
 
 Charade, 182 
 
 Charade, 153 
 
 Address to the Alabaster Sarcophagus, lately deposited in the British Museum, 134 
 
 HUMOROUS. 
 
 The Culprit and the Judge, 139 
 
 Sonnet to my Own Nose, 110 
 
 The Milkmaid and the Banker, 141 
 
 The Farmer's Wife and the Gascon, 142 
 
 The Auctioneer and the Lawyer, 145 
 
 The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger, 148 
 
vu 
 
 PAG!? 
 
 The Fat Actor and the Rustic, 1^9 
 
 The Bank Clerk and the Stable Keepers, 151 
 
 Piron and the Judge of the Police, 15 i 
 
 The Farmer and the Counsellor, 157 
 
 The Collegian and the Porter, 15S 
 
 The Mayor of Miroblais, 161 
 
 Eabelais and the Lampreys, . . . . ' iC-t 
 
 The Biter Bit, 1C5 
 
 The Parson at fault, 163 
 
 Blindnians Buff, 169 
 
 The Poet and the Alchemist, 172 
 
 The Astronomical Alderman, 1T5 
 
 South Down Mutton, 17G 
 
 Evening: An Elegy, 1"9 
 
 Patent Brown Stout, ISO 
 
 York Kidney Potatoes, 1S3 
 
 The Jester condemned to Death, 1S4 
 
 Laus Atramenti, ISo 
 
 The Two Bracelets 1ST 
 
 Marshal Saxe and his Physician, 1S9 
 
 Stanzas to Punchinello, 193 
 
 The Pleasant Tcte-ii-tete, 194 
 
 An Easy Remedy, 196 
 
 Madame Talleyrand and the Traveller, 193 
 
 Projects and Companies, 200 
 
 Elegy, 203 
 
 Pitfs Bon Mot, 204 
 
 Hobbs and Dobbs, 206 
 
 Monsieur Le Brun, 208 
 
 St. George's Penitentiary, 211 
 
 Diamond Cut Diamond, . , 214 
 
 |0,cm5 bK lames Smith. 
 
 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Christmas out of Town, 221 
 
 St. James's Park, 223 
 
 The Upas in Marybone lane, 225 
 
 Stage Wedlock, ' 226 
 
 Doctor Gall, 223 
 
 Table Talk, 231 
 
 The Poet of Fa'^hion, 237 
 
 Next Door Neighbors, 233 
 
 The Image Boy% 241 
 
 The Lees and the Lawsons, 244 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Country Commissions, 246 
 
 The Mammoth 248 
 
 Sonnets in imitation of Shakspeare, 250 
 
Vill CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pbcebe, or my Grandmother West, 251 
 
 Time and Love, 252 
 
 Proverbs, 253 
 
 The Year Twenty-Six, 254 
 
 The Tablet of Truth, 257 
 
 Club Law, 259 
 
 The Swiss Cottage, 262 
 
 Five Hundred a Year, 263 
 
 Chigwell 266 
 
 Chigwell Eevisited, 269 
 
 The Emperor Alexander, 272 
 
 The Gretna Green Blacksmith, 274 
 
 Matrimonial Duet, 275 
 
 Owen of Lanark, 276 
 
 The Triton of the Minnows, 278 
 
 The Haunch of Venison, 281 
 
 Ode to Sentiment, 2S3 
 
 Written by 
 
 I. Loyal Effusion. By W. T. F Horace. 299 
 
 IL The Baby's Debut. By W. W James. 302 
 
 III. An Address without a Phoenix. By S. T. P Horace. 306 
 
 ( James 
 
 IV. CuiBono? By Lord B 4 and 808 
 
 ( Horace. 
 
 V. Hampshire Farmer's Address. By "W. C James. 313 
 
 YI. The Living Lustres. By T. M Horace. 318 
 
 YIL The Kebuilding. Ey E. S James. 321 
 
 VIII. Drury's Dirge. By Laura Matilda Horace. 329 
 
 IX. A Tale of Drury Lane. By W. S Horace. 332 
 
 X. Johnson's Ghost Horace. 339 
 
 XL The Beautiful Incendiary. By the Hon. W. S Horace. 344 
 
 XII. Fire and Ale. By M. G. L Horace. 348 
 
 XIII. Playhouse Musings. By S. T. C James. 351 
 
 XIV. Drury Lane Hustings J"«mes. 855 
 
 XV. Architectural Atoms. By Dr. B Horace. 858 
 
 XVI. Theatrical Alarm-Bell. By Editor of M. P James. 365 
 
 XVII. The Theatre. By the Eev. G. C James. 369 
 
 XVIII. Macbeth Travestie. By Momus Medlar James. 375 
 
 XIX. Stranger Travestie. By Ditto James. 379 
 
 XX. George Barnwell Travestie. By Ditto James. 382 
 
 XXI. Punch's Apotheosis. By T. II Horace. 385 
 
 NOTES TO KEJECTED ADDRESSES, 399 
 
:-A^ 
 
 .MLiBRARY. S 
 
 s^^ • '-'^-S^^ 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 The subjects of the following Memoir were the sons of Robert 
 Smith, an eminent legal practitioner of London, who held for many- 
 years the office of Solicitor to the Ordnance. James Smith was 
 born on the 10th of February, 1775 ; and Horace Smith on the 
 31st of December, 1779. The elder son was educated by the 
 Eeverend Mr. Burford at Chigwell, in Essex, was articled to his 
 father on leaving school, and finally succeeded to his professional 
 business and his appointment of Solicitor to the Ordnance. 
 Horace received the same education as his brother, became a 
 member of the Stock Exchange in London, acquired a fortune, 
 and retired with his family to Brighton. For nearly half a cen- 
 tury they w^ere both distinguished in London society for their 
 social accomplishments, and their clever contributions to the 
 literature of the period. 
 
 Horace Smith entered active life as a clerk in a merchant's 
 counting-house, where he was more attentive to light Hterature 
 and the drama than to bills of exchange, invoices, and charter- 
 parties. His first literary effort was a short poem lamenting the 
 decay of public taste in theatrical exhibitions, and the encourage- 
 ment given to dumb shows, to the neglect of such sterling pro- 
 ductions as the West-Indian and The Jew; to the author of 
 which comedies he dedicated his effusion, and forwarded it to him 
 by the post, with his own name and address. The communica- 
 tion brought to the counting-house an old gentleman of distin- 
 guished appearance, whose large and profusely powdered head 
 was flanked with cannon curls, and endorsed with a substantial 
 pig-tail ; his corbeau-colored suit was of antique cut, and he bore 
 a golden-headed cane. This apparition inquired for Mr. Smith. 
 " Wo have two of that name," replied the nearest clerk, "which 
 of them do you want ?" " I want Mr. Smith, the poet^ The 
 clerk was astounded at such a demand, and the g-rave master 
 
X BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 petulantly exclaimed, '' We have no poet here, sir" — and resumed 
 his writing. The poor culprit, unable to deny his identity, 
 jumped from his tall stool, and hurried into the ante-room 
 the unwelcome visitor, who announced himself as Mr. Cumber- 
 land. 
 
 Such was the introduction of Horace Smith to the celebrated 
 dramatist. It led to an acquaintance and intimacy with the two 
 brothers. The first Hterary work in which the young poets 
 assisted with their veteran friend, was the Pic Nic newspaper, 
 established in 1802 by Colonel Greville, for the double purpose 
 of vindicating certain amateur theatricals which he had given in 
 conjunction with M. Texier, and of checking the scandalous per- 
 sonalities with which some of the newspapers were assailing the 
 aristocracy. The other principal contributors were Sir James 
 Bland Burgess, Monsieur Peltier, Mr. Croker, Mr. J. C. Herries, 
 Mr. Bedford, and Mr. Combe; all of them writing gratuitously 
 except the last-named gentleman, who was the editor, and who 
 had long been living in the rules of the King's Bench. Of the 
 party thus engaged in the conduct of an obscure and short-lived 
 periodical, several became afterwards eminent. Herries, then a 
 clerk in the Treasury, rose to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
 Mr. Croker, after attaining the important post of Secretary of the 
 Admiralty, was a clever contributor to the Quarterly Review. 
 Peltier was made notorious by his trial for a libel on the First 
 Consul Bonaparte, in which Mackintosh gained his early forensic 
 laurels. 
 
 Colonel Greville was a gay and fashionable man, a modification 
 of Sir Harry Wildair, and it may well be supposed that the Pic 
 Nic with gratuitous contributors, and an editor within the rules, 
 struo-o-led with a sickly and precarious existence. So the colonel 
 dismissed the whole corps editorial at one of their weekly meet- 
 ings, with the announcement that he had engaged a young Irish- 
 man of surpassing talent, who Avould undertake for a sum equal 
 to Combe's honorarium^ to get up and edit the Avhole paper. 
 Saying this, he left the room, and returned with Mr. John Wilson 
 Croker, who, being thus " trotted out," was bent upon showing 
 his paces to the best advantage. His conversational powers 
 ■yvere even then of a very high order, and he exhibited them 
 with all the ardor and copiousness of an aspiring Hibernian. 
 Cumberland, buttoning up his coat, preserved a sullen sHence 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. XI 
 
 until he had left the room. '• Well/' said Greville, '' what do you 
 think of my new friend ? He talks a good deal, I must confess, 
 but he talks well." ^^RaJfof that is true," repHed the dramatist, 
 and departed in dudgeon. 
 
 The young Irishman did not revive the Pic Nic, and it was 
 soon merged in the Cabinet, to which Rogers and Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence were occasional contributors, with the old corps of the 
 Pic Nic reinstated. But the Cabinet disappeared in 1803, and 
 in 1809 was published the first number of the London Review^ 
 "conducted by Richard Cumberlan 1." In this work the names 
 of the authors were prefixed to their articles, a novelty that did 
 not take with the public. The brothers Smith lent their aid to 
 their friend, but his journal survived only to the second number. 
 
 At the instance of its projector, they also wrote several of the 
 prefaces to a new edition of BeWs British TJieatre, published 
 about this time under the -sanction of Mr. Cumberland's name; 
 The distinguished editor, who honoured both parties with hi", 
 friendship, was pleased in having them for his coadjutors; and 
 they were naturally flattered in being thought worthy of liis pref- 
 erence. 
 
 Mr. Cumberland died in 1811, and when Horace Smith last saw 
 him he Avas much altered and attenuated, his white hair hanging 
 over his ears in thin flakes, his figure stooping, his countenance 
 haggard. It Avas during the early period of his acquaintanco 
 with Cumberland that Horace first tried his hand at a romance, 
 producing one, according to the taste of the times, full of monks, 
 monsters, trap-doors, and spectres. This he submitted to his 
 friend, and it was returned with an unfavourable verdict. The 
 author immediately burned it. '' You showed talent, my dear 
 boy," said the dramatist, " in w^riting that work, but you have 
 evinced much more in committing it to the flames." 
 
 From the year 1807 to 1810, James Smith was a constant con- 
 tributor to the Monthly Mirror, then the property of Thomas Hill, 
 Esq., at whose cottage, at Sydenham, himself and his brother 
 were frequent guests. This Vv^as a favourite resort of the poets, 
 wits, artists, and actors of the time; and their merry-makings 
 brought together many whose names will live long in the litera- 
 ture of England. A symposium at Hill's was quite as memorable 
 an affair as a breakfast at Rogers's, though an entirely diiferent 
 style of entertainment. 
 
xil BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 At the Sydenham gatherings the brothers Smith used to recite 
 a dialogue written by themselves, a farrago of nonsense, abound- 
 ing in solecisms and absurdities, yet so far approximating to a 
 sensible discourse as to mislead a careless or obtuse listener. As 
 it was gravely delivered, the interlocutors appeared to be deeply 
 interested, and at times excited; and as "true no-meaning 
 puzzles more than wit," it became difficult to discover that the 
 whole was a piece of solemn Tom-foolery. Hill's habitual guests 
 were too sharp-witted to be themselves entrapped, but the hoax 
 was reserved for the embarrassment or amusement of the occa- 
 sional visitors. 
 
 In the Monthly Mirror originally appeared the poetical imita- 
 tions entitled Horace in London, which were subsequently pub- 
 lished in a single volume by Mr. Miller, who purchased half the 
 copyright of the Rejected Addresses. Both brothers contributed 
 to those parodies of the Roman bard ; but the larger portion, dis- 
 tinguished by the letter J., was from the pen of James. Possess- 
 ing but a fugitive interest, though sometimes the Latin text was 
 ingeniously adapted to the characters and occurrences of the 
 passing hour, these papers, in their collected form, had but a 
 limited sale. They were re-published in this country on their 
 original appearance, but the allusions in them have become 
 obscure, and their merit would hardly justify their reproduction 
 with the notes necessary to make them generally understood. 
 
 Most of the particulars connected with the first appearance of 
 the Rejected Addresses will be found in the preface to the 
 eighteenth edition. This little volume appeared on the re-open- 
 ing of the Drury Lane Theatre, in October, 1812, the idea 
 having been casually started by Mr. Ward, secretary to the 
 theatre, exactly six weeks before the first night of performance. 
 Eagerly adopting the suggestion, James and his brother lost not 
 a moment in carrying it into execution. It was arranged what 
 authors they should respectively imitate. Horace left London on 
 a visit to Cheltenham, executed his portion of the task, and 
 returned to town a few days before the opening, when each sub- 
 mitted liis papers to the other, for any omissions or improvements 
 that might appear requisite. These, however, seldom exceeded 
 verbal alterations, or the addition of a few lines. James furnished 
 the imitations of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Crabbe, Cobbett, 
 and numbers 14, 16, 18, 19, and 20. He supplied also the fixst 
 
N 
 
 \. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. xiii 
 
 stanza to No. 4, Cui Bono? By Lord B. Of all the rest of the 
 original work Horace was the author. Of the eighteenth edition 
 (Murray's) James wrote the notes, and his brother the preface. 
 The copyright, which had been originally offered to Mr. Murray 
 for twenty pounds, was purchased by that gentleman, in 1819, 
 after the sixteenth edition, for £131. Several editions have been 
 since published in England and the United States. Its success 
 has induced numerous imitations on both sides of the water — 
 which only serve to show the great difficulty of the work of the 
 brothers Smith, and the rareness of the pecuUar talent necessary 
 to its accomplishment. 
 
 Soon after the appearance of the Rejected Addresses, the authors 
 were invited to meet a large dinner-party at the house of Sir 
 Humphrey and Lady Davy. During a momentary silence, a 
 deaf old lady who had not caught the names, or did not recog- 
 nize the Smiths among their numerous family, called out to the 
 hostess from the further end of the table, " Lady Davy! I'm told 
 the writers of the Rejected Addresses have brought out a new 
 work called Horace in London, which is uncommonly stupid." 
 
 The company immediately began to talk very loudly and mer- 
 rily to drown this ill-timed sally, while the hostess leaned for- 
 ward to James Smith, and exclaimed, " Poor old lady ! I hope 
 you'll excuse her. I have no doubt she was told that the work 
 in question was uncommonlj^ clever, not stupid. But her ears 
 are always playing at cross purposes." '' Yes, yes, I understand 
 it all," was the reply. " She hears upon the same principle as 
 the Irish echo, which, if you shout '■ How d'ye do, Pat ?' replies 
 ' Indeed, I'm mighty bad.' And so is our Horace in London, — 
 mighty bad indeed. Your friend's informant was quite correct 
 in saying it is uncommonly stupid ; but there's nothing new in 
 the remark, for we ourselves have always maintained the same 
 opinion, and I'm glad to find we have got the public with us." 
 
 When Anstey, author of the New Bath Guide, was presented to 
 Bishop Warburton, the veteran said, " Young man, I wiil give 
 you a piece of advice: you have written a highly successful 
 work ; — never put pen to paper again." James Smith used to 
 cite this authority for the resolution Ho which he inflexibly 
 adliered, not to compromise the reputation he had acquired by 
 any future, less successful undertaking. 
 
 He wrote anonymously, as an amusement and relief — and 
 
xiv BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 scattered about his vers de societs in manuscript and in the mag- 
 azines, but having won a welcome wherever he went, and a 
 desirable position in society as a man of talent and wit, he 
 wanted all motive for more serious exertion. 
 
 James Smith's contributions to Mr. Mathews's Entertainments 
 were thrown off with marvellous facility, " Smith is the only 
 man," Mathews used to say, " who can write clever nonsense," 
 — and of all humourists of liis time Mathews was the best calcu- 
 lated to give full effect to it; though liis powers, when the occasion 
 required it, could take a much higher range. They have received 
 a worthy tribute in the beautiful poem by which Horace Smith 
 has honoured the memory of his friend. The combined humour of 
 Mathews and James Smith was first displayed in the Country 
 Cousins^ which appeared in 1820, at the English Opera, and for 
 many nights convulsed the town with laughter. 
 
 In the two succeeding years, and with the same prosperous 
 result, the Trip to France^ and the Trip to America, were pro- 
 duced. 
 
 For these latter works Mr. Mathews paid him a thousand 
 pounds — a sum to which the receiver seldom made allusion with- 
 out shrugging his shoulders, and ejaculating, " A thousand pounds 
 for nonsense !" At other times he would contrast this large 
 amount with the miserable fifteen pounds given to Milton for his 
 Paradise Lost; reconciling himself, however, to the disproportion 
 by quoting from the well-known couplet, that the real value of 
 a thing "is as much money as 'twill bring;" — and adding, that 
 his scrimble-scramble stuff always filled the theatre, and replen- 
 ished the treasury. 
 
 At a later period he was still better paid for a more trifling 
 exertion of his muse ; for having met at a dinner-party the late 
 Mr. Strahan, the King's printer, then suffering from gout and old 
 age, though his intellectual faculties remained unimpaired, he sent 
 liim next morning the following jeu d' esprit : — 
 
 "Your lower limbs seem'd far from stout, 
 When last I saw you walk ; 
 The cause I presently found out, 
 When you began to talk. 
 
 " The power that props the body's length 
 In due proportion spread, 
 In you mounts upwards, and the strength 
 All settles in the head." 
 
BIOGKAPHICAL MEMOIR. XV 
 
 This compliment proved so highly acceptable to the old gentle- 
 man, that he made an immediate codicil to liis will, by which he 
 bequeathed to the writer the sum of three hundred pounds ! 
 
 As one of his earhest recollections, James Smith would relate 
 that he 'had once been patted on the head by Lord Mansfield, as 
 he stopped for a minute to converse with the narrator's father in 
 Highgate church-yard. The imposition of this judicial hand, 
 however, did not inspire him with any ardent love of the profes- 
 sion for which he was destined. The passion, which in him mas- 
 tered all others, was a fervent devotion to the drama. For many 
 years he was never absent from either of the principal theatres 
 on the first performance of a new piece ; and during the greater 
 portion of his life his favourite lounge was in the boxes or the 
 green-room, where, above all places, his appearance, manners, 
 and wit, secured him a welcome and flattering reception. 
 
 Though James Smith only amused himself with letters, and 
 threw off his " copies of verses" with great facility, for his lady 
 friends, the Lyrics and Miscellaneous Poems that he permitted to 
 be printed, almost merit the praise bestowed on them by a 
 naturally partial critic. " His poetry," says his brother Horace, 
 " in which the sportive salKes of his fancy and the corruscations 
 of his wit seem to find a more congenial element for their display, 
 is ever terse, buoyant, racy, and delightful. Modulated by a fine, 
 almost a fastidious ear, you seldom meet an inharmonious line, 
 a forced inversion, or an inaccurate rhyme ; a merit the more 
 difficult of attainment, because his proneness to antithesis, brevity, 
 and epigram, led him to sharpen almost every stanza into a 
 point. 
 
 " In double rhymes, the paucity of which in our language pre- 
 sents an almost insurmountable barrier to their extensive use, he 
 took such especial delight, that it may be questioned whether any 
 writer can compete with him in the frequency and the happiness 
 of their introduction. His facility, however, did not betray him 
 into slovenliness; his 'easy writing' was never 'hard reading;' 
 and if — because his works are not more bulky — he is finally to be 
 enrolled among the ' mob of gentlemen,' who gleam 
 
 " ' Like twinkling stars the miscellanies o'er,' 
 
 he will undoubtedly shine with no inferior or unconspicuous light 
 in that poetical galaxy." 
 
XVI BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 But James Smith owed his social position to other than his 
 literary claims. He possessed fine colloquial powers, was always 
 genial and good-natured, set off his great personal attractions by 
 scrupulous attention to dress, and was in all respects a thorouo-h 
 gentleman. "It was difficult," wrote one who was intimately 
 acquainted with him in his latter years, " to pass an evening in 
 his company without feeling in better humour with the world ; 
 such was the influence of his inexhaustible fund of amusement 
 and information, his lightness, HveHness, and good sense. No 
 man ever excelled him in starting a pleasant topic of conversa- 
 tion, and sustaining it ; nor was it well possible for a party of 
 moderate dimensions, when he was of it, to be dull. The droll 
 anecdote, the apt illustration, the shrewd remark, a trait of 
 humour from Fielding, a scrap of a song from the Beggar's Opera, 
 a knock-down retort of Johnson's, a couplet from Pope or Dry- 
 den, — all seemed to come as they were wanted ; and as he was 
 always just as ready to hsten as to talk, they acted, each in turn, 
 as a sort of challenge to the company to bring forth their budgets, 
 and contribute towards the feast. As he disliked argument, and 
 never lost his temper, or willingly gave offence, it would have 
 been no easy matter for others to lose theirs, or to offend him." 
 
 In the wide circle of his London acquaintance, one of the 
 houses at which he most delighted to visit was that of Lady 
 Blessington, whose conversational powers he highly admired, and 
 to whose Book of Beauty he became a contributor. To this 
 lady he was in the habit of sending occasional epigrams, and 
 complimentary or punning notes. 
 
 When not otherwise engaged, he would take his plain dinner 
 at the Athenaeum, the Union, or the Garrick Club, always re- 
 stricting himself to a half-pint of sherry, from the fear of his old 
 enemy the gout. The late Sir William Aylett, a grumbling 
 member of the Union, and a two-bottle man, observing him to be 
 thus frugally furnished, eyed his cruet with contempt, and ex- 
 claimed, "So, I see you have got one of these cursed life-pre- 
 servers." 
 
 Although few persons had been more constantly exposed to 
 the temptation of convivial parties, James Smith, at every period, 
 was a strictly temperate man ; an abstemiousness which could 
 not, however, ward off the attacks of gout. These began to 
 assail him in middle life, increasing in their frequency and 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. xvil 
 
 severity, until, gradually losing the use and very form of his 
 limbs, he sank at times into a state of utter and helpless decrep- 
 itude, which he hore with an undeviating and unexampled 
 patience. 
 
 His last illness was not of long continuance nor was it attended 
 with suffering, either mental or corporeal. To death itself he had 
 ever expressed a perfect indifference, though he was anxious to 
 be spared a painful or protracted exit ; a wish in which he was 
 fortunately gratified. He died in his house in Craven-street, 
 on the 24th December, 1839, in the sixty-fifth year of his age, 
 and was buried under the vaults of St. Martin's church. 
 
 Allusion has been made in this memoir to Tom Hill's cottage 
 at Sydenham, and the guests who visited there. It is famous 
 in the kind report of many men of note. It was much 
 frequented by Campbell during his residence at Sydenham, and 
 it was there that the Smiths habitually met Mathews and some- 
 times his fellow-comedian Liston; Theodore Hook; Edward 
 Dubois, afterwards author of My Pocket Book, a jeu d'esprit, 
 written in ridicule of Sir John Carr's Travels ; Leigh Hunt and 
 his brother John ; John Taylor, editor of the Sun newspaper ; 
 Horace Twiss ; Barron Field ; and T. Barnes, who was after- 
 wards distinguished as the " thunderer" of the Times. To this 
 circle, Mathews with his mimicry, his rich flow of anecdote, and 
 his irresistible comic songs, was a constant source of amusement ; 
 but Hook is said to have been its more genuine and natural 
 Momus. Horace Smith, in the early part of Hook's career, 
 expressed a total disbelief in his alleged improvisation. One of 
 his good-natured friends repeated the remark. " Oh, the unbeliev- 
 ing dog!" exclaimed the vocalist, "tell liim if I am called upon 
 again, he himself shall dictate the subject and the tune, which of 
 course involves the metre ; but it must be some common popular 
 air." All tliis took place, and Hook produced one of his most 
 brilUant songs. " I made a very humble palinode for my mis- 
 trust!" — said the doubter long afterwards, — '-and expressed the 
 astonishment and delight with which his truly Avonderful per- 
 formance had electrified me. ITot Avithout difficulty, however, 
 had I been enabled to believe my own ears, and several davs 
 elapsed before I had completely recovered from my bewilderment, 
 for, as an occasional rhymester, I could well appreciate the diffi- 
 culty of the acliievement." Hook repaid the hospitality of his 
 
XVlll BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 Sydenham Amphitryon by depicting him as the Hull of GiTbert 
 Gurney. Hill also sat for Paul Pry, and was familiarly pointed 
 out in London as its original. He lived to an advanced age, and, 
 though he met with pecuniary reverses, retained his freshness of 
 appearance, and cheerfulness of disposition, to the last. 
 
 In the year 1813 Horace Smith wrote a comedy in five acts, enti- 
 tled First Impressions^ or^ Trade in the West ; the authorship of 
 vt^hich he had concealed from all but his friend Barron Field, at 
 whose chamber, in the Temple, he had agreed to dine on the night 
 of the first representation, that they might proceed to the theatre 
 together. Mr. Langsdorff, an attache of some German embassy, 
 was present, and joined the party for Drury Lane, where they 
 took their places in the pit. AU went on smoothly until the 
 dehvery of a speech by one of the actors, to the effect that the 
 money raised in England for a single charity often exceeded the 
 revenue of a whole German principality. '^ Vot is dat ?" whis- 
 pered Langsdorff to the incog, author ; " does he laff at de 
 Jairmans ? den I shall damn his blay." Thereupon he set up a 
 low hiss, which he renewed with increased vigour on every re- 
 appearance of a certain character, till he succeeded in establishing 
 a decided opposition. As the clamour waxed louder the author 
 joined in it, loudly vociferating, ''off! off ! ! " A fortunate change, 
 however, took place in the humour of the audience, and they 
 finally put down the playwright and his German friend, and the 
 piece was successful, being acted subsequently twenty nights. 
 A farce of his, entitled Tlie Absent Apothecary, was less fortunate, 
 and was incontinently damned on its first night. 
 
 With Horace Smith, literature and his city business went hand 
 in hand. Before he relinquished his counting room a friend 
 met him posting westward one day about three o'clock. " Where 
 are you going so fast. Smith ?" " Who would not go fast to 
 Paradise (Paradise row, Fulham) ? I am going to sin like our 
 first parents." " How ? there are no apples to pluck at Fulham, 
 yet." "No; but there is ink to spill, though — a worse sin, 
 
 perhaps. I have promised L something, I cannot tell what. 
 
 Who the deuce can hit upon any thing new, when half the world 
 is racking its brains to do the same ?" 
 
 " This," adds the reminiscent, who wrote a few months after the 
 death of Horace, — " this is thirty years ago, and noAV the utterer 
 of that remark is within the precincts of the tomb ; while the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. XIX 
 
 intervening time saw no diminution of liis regard for intellectual 
 pleasures, nor, with much to flatter his talents in the way of 
 his hterary labours, any decrease of that modest feehng in regard 
 to his own writings, wliich is one of the strongest attestations of 
 merit. In this respect he differed from his brother, who had, or 
 always impressed the minds of others that he had, a full sense of 
 the merit of his own compositions." 
 
 The success of Horace Smith in the Rejected Addresses attached 
 him to a life of letters, and as soon as he had acquired a compe- 
 tency he abandoned the vocation of a' money-changer. In spite 
 of the reproaches of his city friends he seized the moment for 
 retiring wliile independence was within his grasp. '' The hope of 
 future gain" — he remarked — '' might lead him to risk what he had 
 secured." This was about the year 1820. When the crash of 
 1825 occurred, he was able to turn the tables on those who had 
 reproached him. " Where are those now who called me a fool for 
 retiring, when I had the independence that satisfied my wishes? 
 Who was right ? I pity them !" 
 
 During a residence in France that followed liis retirement from 
 active business, in conjunction with one or two friends, he pro- 
 jected the establishment of an English newspaper in Paris. They 
 could never procure the consent of the French government, 
 however, nor its refusal, to the undertaking, and it was abandoned. 
 During his residence abroad, and on his return to England, he 
 was a constant contributor to the New Monthly Magazine, then 
 edited by his friend, the poet Campbell. He sometimes wrote 
 also for the London Magazine^ conducted by John Scott, a man 
 of uncommon ability in his profession, who fell in a duel that fol- 
 lowed his indignant and bitter invectives against Lockhart, and 
 his associates in Elackiuood's Magazine. He had been previously 
 connected with Scott in editing the Champion newspaper, to which 
 John Hamilton Keynolds and T. Barnes, afterwards of the Times^ 
 were also contributors. About the year 1825, however, he gave 
 up writing for periodicals, and commenced his career as a novel 
 writer by the publication of Brambletye House, his first and best 
 historical novel. This was followed by Tor Hill, Reuben Apsley^ 
 Jane Lomax, The New Forest, Walter Colyton, The Moneyed 
 Man, Adam Brown, and Arthur Arundel ; all of which were 
 pubhshed, we believe, by Mr. Colburn. 
 
 Horace Smith was the author of more than fifty volumes, 
 
XX BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 besides those which he edited. Many of these were pubhshed 
 anonymously, and perhaps have never been acknowledge;!. They 
 exhibit not only great industry, but also great tact and versatility 
 in the writer. 
 
 ''It was about 1826," says a writer in the New Monthly 
 Magazine^ " that he published his first novel. He had some time 
 before taken up his abode at Tunbridge Wells, quitting London 
 and his lodgings at 142 Regent-street, of which he declared him- 
 self heartily sick. Even at tliis distance of time, we remember 
 a dinner he gave there before he started — the last, it is probable, 
 that he ever gave in London — and the hilarity of tlie guests, 
 among whom were some of the celebrated wits of the time, most 
 of whom are now no more. At Tunbridge Wells we soon paid 
 him a visit, while residing in Mount Edgecombe Cottage. He 
 was, as usual, kind, entertaining, and hospitable. We think of 
 that time Avith melancholy pleasure. His qualities were the 
 most amiable, the most gentle, in those days, that can be con- 
 ceived. Surely, if integrity, sincerity, and real friendliness de- 
 serve happiness, they nmst be his. There we met an old friend 
 of his whom we have not seen for years — a clever and ingenious 
 man; the author of a novel not enough known." A pilgrim- 
 age to Penshurst, the old seat of the Sidneys, suggested on this 
 occasion, was the origin of Brambletye House. Smith remarked 
 that such buildings were the best foundation scenes for novels ; 
 and it was no wonder that they had been so often chosen. It 
 was about this time that some one recommended the female 
 name of Zillah as one peculiarly pleasing. " To me," said 
 Horace, " it would of course be doubly interesting. She w^as a 
 lady of the very earliest descent ; the mother of Tubal Cain, the 
 first of the Smiths, and of course the founder of my femil}^" 
 
 " Both brothers," continues the writer we have last quoted, 
 " were clever men and piquant writers, but Horace Smith was 
 something beyond this. He possessed talents of a wider scope 
 than James; his views were more extended; he was more 
 intellectually accomplished ; had seen much more of the world, 
 and thought deeper. James was a wit, an agreeable companion, 
 possessed of a fine vein of humour, but circumscribed in the extent 
 of his information, and, as a natural consequence, more concen- 
 trated in himself. James selected his subjects, for the most part, 
 within the circle in which he moved, and continued to move 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. XXI 
 
 through life. A happy point, well made, it was his delight to 
 repeat at the dinner-table or in the evening party. His jokes— 
 and excellent they were — thrown off among convivial friends — ■ 
 in short, society, cheerfulness, and its accompaniments — consti- 
 tuted the summum of his life's pleasures. His frame was FxOt 
 active ; his bachelor habits and dinings-out rendered him a sub- 
 ject for the gout, to which disorder he ultimately fell a victim. 
 From his office in Austin Friars to his residence in the Strand 
 constituted the major part of his journey ings. Horace, on the con- 
 trary, was of an active make. A year or two after we first 
 knew him, he visited Italy ; and returning, for some time made 
 France his residence. We first saw James at his office in Austin 
 Friars, nearly thirty years ago. He looked as serious as the 
 parchment and papers surrounding him. He seemed in this 
 situation as little of a Mat as can well be imagined. A joke took 
 place on this visit often subsequently repeated. There were two 
 Smiths on the same side of the court, and we had very naturally 
 knocked at the door of the first we came to. On entering his 
 office, we mentioned our mistake. ' Ay,' said James Smith, 
 'I am James the first; he must abdicate.' 
 
 " It is difficult to say which of the two was the most witty in 
 the social hour. Both brothers may be characterized rather as 
 possessors of a high talent for humour, than of that sparkling wit 
 which characterized Hook. Sometimes, with all his wonderful 
 readiness, it was hit or miss Avith Hook, who aimed at notoriety 
 no matter how acquired. The Smiths were both graver men, 
 and would have thought to run a joke too near to a failure was 
 akin to one. We have known Horace Smith indignant at Hook's 
 jesting, not only ill, but out of place, in his wild manner. 
 
 " James Smith wanted the cordial spirit of his brother ; thero 
 was, we fancied, Uttle warmth of heart about him. He seemed 
 to mingle somewhat of his professional character in social inter- 
 course. On this account we surmise that James will be much 
 sooner forgotten by his friends than Horace. Both brothers were 
 dehghtful companions. Many an hour of mental depression havo 
 we felt relieved by their society. The humour and gladiatorial 
 displays of wit that occurred in their company, were alway;5 
 gentlemanly, generous in temper, unimpeachably moral, and 
 never the splenetic outpouring of ill-feeling, Horace, or Horatio, 
 as he always subscribed himself, was not only the most accoiTi- 
 
XXU BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 
 
 plished, but the most genial spirit of the two. He was as much 
 attracted to the society of literary men who made no pretension 
 to be wits, and to sohd and serious reading as to the gay and 
 light." 
 
 Leigh Hunt, in liis expressive use of odd epithets, says that 
 Horace Smith was " delicious." He never met with a finer 
 nature in man, except in the single instance of Shelley, who 
 himself entertained the highest regard for Horace Smith, as may 
 be seen by the following verses, the initials in which the reader 
 may fill up with his name : — 
 
 " Wit and sense, 
 Virtue and human knowledge, all that might 
 Make this dull world a business of delight, 
 Are all combined in H. S." 
 
 Shelley once said to Leigh Hunt — "I know not what Horace 
 Smith must take me for sometimes : I am afraid he must think 
 me a strange fellow : but is it not odd that the only truly generous 
 person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should 
 be a stock-broker ! and he writes poetry too" — continued Shelley, 
 his voice rising in a fervour of astonishment ; ''he writes poetry 
 and pastoral dramas, and yet knows how to make money, and 
 does make it, and is still generous." The pastoral drama alluded 
 to was probably Tlie Nympliolept^ published anonymously in 
 1821. Whatever may have been its merit, its circulation was 
 limited, and it is no longer remembered. 
 
 " I believe," said Shelley on another occasion, " that I have 
 only to say to Horace Smith that I want a hundred pounds or 
 two, and he would send it to me without any eye to its being 
 returned ; such faith has he that I have something within me 
 beyond what the world supposes, and that I could only ask his 
 money for a good purpose." What Shelley says that Smith 
 would have done for him, he was known more than once to have 
 done for others with a delicacy that enhanced the generosity of 
 tlie act. 
 
 Horace Smith took leave of the public in the preface to Love 
 and Mesmerism, published in 1845, announced as his last work of 
 fiction. He kept his resolution in this regard, but his pen could 
 not remain idle. He subsequently wrote a series of entertaining 
 papers for the New Monthly Magazine. He died at Tunbridge 
 Wells, on the 12th of July, 1849, in his seventieth year. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. XXIU 
 
 The novels of Horace Smith were well received at the time 
 of their appearance, and several of them are still republished. We 
 find the names of three, not generally esteemed the best, still 
 reprinted in the United States, in the select hbrary of novels of 
 the Brothers Harper. As a poet, his productions were usually 
 suggested by the events passing around him, and were printed 
 in the monthly magazines of liis friends, Campbell and John Scott. 
 From these journals they were transferred to newspapers, readers, 
 and class-books, till they became familiar to the public before 
 their appearance in a collected form. They deserve their popu- 
 larity. They are written in a philosophic, no less than a poetical 
 spirit. They exhibit no ordinary grace of expression, and the 
 versification is always harmonious and skillful. There is nothing 
 of the obscure or spasmodic about them, but they are simple and 
 effective. The lines on the Faneral of Campbell are worthy of 
 the great poet whom they commemorate. The stanzas on 
 Southey and Scott are full of solemnity and pathos. The Address 
 to the Mummy is picturesque and animated ; and the Sicilian 
 Arethusa not only seems a veritable fragment of ancient hterature, 
 but is as musical and melodious as any verse in the language. 
 
 The personal appearance of Horace Smith, according to Leigh 
 Hunt, was highly indicative of his character. His figure was 
 good and manly, inchning to the robust ; and his countenanc3 
 extremely frank and cordial; sweet without weakness. HI;? 
 character is succinctly and beautifully described, in the paragraph 
 in which the London Examiner announced his decease, and paid 
 a tribute to his memory. " He was a man of correct taste and 
 the most generous sympathies, a delightful writer both in prose 
 and verse, a cheerful and wise companion and a fast friend. No 
 man had a wider range of admirable and genial quahties ; and 
 far beyond that private circle of which he was the great charm 
 and ornament, his loss will be deeply felt." If it would be diffi- 
 cult to find words to convey more graceful and emphatic praifjo, 
 it would be equally so to find a man who, from all report, more 
 fully deserves it than Horace Smith. 
 
PREFATORY STANZAS. 
 
 Talk not to me of Necromantic wights, 
 
 And dread magicians, 
 Who, by their potent spells, could conjure sprites, 
 
 Ghosts, apparitions. 
 And raise the dead from the forgotten past, 
 Each in the perfect mould of pre-existence cast. 
 
 I, though no conjuror, have far outdone 
 
 Such Archimages, 
 For, as I culled and pondered, one bj one, 
 
 These scattered pages, 
 From the dark past, and memory's eclipse, 
 Up rose in vision clear my life's Apocalypse. 
 
4 PREFATORY STANZAS. 
 
 Mutely each re-creative lay outpoured 
 
 Its own revealings ; 
 Youth, manhood, age, were momently restored, 
 
 With all their feelings. 
 Friends long deceased were summoned from the tomh ; 
 Forgotten scenes reo-ained their vividness and bloom. 
 
 Again did I recline in copses green, 
 
 Gazing from under 
 Some oak's thwart boughs upon the sky serene, 
 
 In reverent wonder ; 
 Or starting from the sward with ear acute. 
 To hear the cuckoo sound its soft two-noted flute. 
 
 Association ! thy transcendant power 
 
 What art can rival ? 
 Muse-haunted strolls by river, field, or bower, 
 
 At thy revival. 
 Return once more, and in their second birth 
 Bring back each former scent and sound of air and earth. 
 
 In social joys where song and music's zest 
 
 Made beauty fairer, 
 In festive scenes with all their mirth and jest, 
 
 Once more a sharer, 
 I see the smiles, and hear the laughter loud, 
 Of many a friend, alas ! now mouldering in his shroud. 
 
PREFATORY STAXZAS. O 
 
 Soj when the hands are dust that now entwine 
 
 These prompting pages, 
 Some future reader, as a jest or line 
 
 His thought engages, 
 Feeling old memories from their grave arise, 
 May thus, in pensive mood, perchance soliloquise : 
 
 " I knew the bardling; 'twas his nature's bent, 
 
 His creed's chief feature. 
 To hold that a benign Creator meant 
 
 To bless the creature, 
 And giving man a boon denied to brute, 
 Loved him to exercise his laughing attribute. 
 
 " He felt that cheerfulness, when unalloyed 
 
 "With auglit immoral. 
 Was piety, on earth, in heaven enjoyed ; 
 
 And Avished his laurel 
 To be a Misletoe, whose grace should make 
 The mirth-devoted year one hallowed Christmas wake. 
 
 '' In mystic transcendental clouds to soar 
 
 Was not his mission. 
 Yet could he mould at times the solid ore 
 
 ~ Of admonition ; 
 Offenceless, grave or gay, at least that praise 
 May grace his name, and speed his unpretending lays." 
 
6 PREFATORY STAI^^ZAS. 
 
 If such thy welcome, little Book ! discard 
 
 Fears of thine ordeal ; 
 Go forth, and tell thy readers that the Bard, 
 
 With fervent, cordial 
 Feelings of gratitude and hope combined. 
 Bids them all hail, and wafts them every feeling kind. 
 
HYMN TO THE FLOWEES. 
 
 Day-stars ! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle 
 
 From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
 And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
 As a libation. 
 
 Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowly 
 
 Before the uprisen Sun, God's lidless eye, 
 Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
 Incense on high. 
 
 Ye bright Mosaics ! that with storied beauty. 
 
 The floor of Nature's temple tesselate, 
 What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
 Your forms create ! 
 
 'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth 
 
 And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
 Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
 A call to prayer. 
 
 Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column 
 
 Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, 
 But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
 
 Which God hath planned ; 
 
HYMN TO THE FLOWEKS. 
 
 To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 
 
 Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply ; 
 Its choir the winds and waves — its organ thunder — 
 Its dome the sky. 
 
 There, as in solitude and shade I wander 
 
 Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod, 
 Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
 The ways of God, 
 
 Your voiceless lips, Flowers ! are living preachers, 
 
 Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book, 
 Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
 From loneliest nook. 
 
 Floral Apostles ! that in dewy splendour 
 
 " Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," 
 may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender 
 Your lore sublime ! 
 
 " Thou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory, 
 
 Arrayed," the lilies cry — " in robes like ours; 
 How vain your grandeur ! ah, how transitory 
 Are human flowers !" 
 
 In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist ! 
 
 With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall, 
 What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
 Of love to all ! 
 
 Not useless are ye. Flowers ! though made for pleasure: 
 
 Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night, 
 From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
 Harmless delio;ht. 
 
ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 9 
 
 Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 
 
 For such a Avorld of thought could furnish scope ? 
 Each fading calyx a inemento 'iiiorl^ 
 Yet fount of hope. 
 
 Posthumous glories ! an gel- like collection ! 
 
 Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth. 
 Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
 And second birth. 
 
 Were I in churchless solitudes remaining, 
 
 Far from all voice of teachers and divines, 
 My soul would find, in flowers of God's ordaining, 
 Priests, sermons, shrines ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 
 
 And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) 
 In Thebes' s streets three thousand years ago. 
 
 When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 
 And time had not begun to overthrow 
 
 Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
 
 Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 
 
 Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy. 
 
 Thou hast a tongue — come — let us hear its tune ; 
 Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above-ground. Mummy ! 
 
 Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, 
 Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 
 But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features. 
 
10 ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 
 
 Tell US — for doubtless thou canst recollectj 
 
 To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? 
 
 Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 
 
 Of either pyramid that bears his name ? 
 
 Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? 
 
 Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? 
 
 Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden 
 By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade — 
 
 Then say what secret melody was hidden 
 
 In Memnon's statue which at sunrise played ? 
 
 Perhaps thou wert a Priest — if so, my struggles 
 
 Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles. 
 
 Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, 
 Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass j 
 
 Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat, 
 Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass ; 
 
 Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 
 
 A torch at the great Temple's dedication. 
 
 I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed. 
 Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled, 
 
 For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, 
 Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : 
 
 Antiquity appears to have begun 
 
 Long after thy primeval race was run. 
 
 Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue 
 Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, 
 
 How the world looked when it was fresh and young, 
 And the great Deluge still had left it green — 
 
 Or was it then so old that History's pages 
 
 Contained no record of its early ages ? 
 
ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. 11 
 
 Still silent ! incommunicative elf ! 
 
 Art sworn to secrecj ? then keep thj vows ; 
 But prytliee tell us something of thyself — 
 
 Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house ; 
 Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, 
 What hast thou seen — what strange adventures numbered? 
 
 Since first thy form was in this box extended, 
 
 We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations. 
 
 The Roman empire has begun and ended, 
 
 New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations, 
 
 And countless Kings have into dust been humbled, 
 
 While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 
 
 Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 
 When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 
 
 Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, 
 O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, 
 
 And shook the Pyramids w^ith fear and wonder, 
 
 When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? ' 
 
 If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 
 
 The nature of thy private life unfold : 
 A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast, 
 
 And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled : — 
 Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? 
 What was thy name and station, age and race ? 
 
 Statue of flesh — Immortal of the dead ! 
 
 Imperishable type of evanescence ! 
 Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, 
 
 And standest undecayed within our presence. 
 Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, 
 When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning. 
 
12 ADDRESS TO 
 
 Why should this worthless tegument endure. 
 
 If its undying guest be lost for ever ? 
 Oh ! let us keep tiie soul embalmed and pure 
 
 In living virtue, that when both must sever, 
 Although corruption may our frame consume, 
 The immortal Spirit in the skies may bloom ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE ORANGE-TREE AT 
 VERSAILLES, 
 
 CALLED TIIE GREAT I50UHBON, WHICH IS ABOVE FOUK HTTNDEED YEABS OLD. 
 
 When France with civil wars was torn, 
 And heads, as well as crowns were shorn 
 
 From royal shoulders, 
 One Bourbon, in unaltered plight. 
 Hath still maintained its legal right, 
 And held its court — a goodly sight 
 
 To all beholders. 
 
 Thou, leafy monarch, thou alone. 
 Hast sat uninjured on thy throne. 
 
 Seeing the war range ; 
 And when the great Nassaus were sent 
 Crownless away (a sad event !) 
 Thou didst uphold and represent 
 
 The House of Orange. 
 
 To tell what changes thou hast seen. 
 Each grand monarque, and king and queen, 
 
 Of French extraction, 
 Might puzzle those who don't conceive 
 French history, so I believe 
 Comparing thee with ours will give 
 
 More satisfaction. 
 
THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES. 13 
 
 Westminster Hall,^ whose oaken roof 
 The papers saj (but that's no proof), 
 
 Is nearly rotten, 
 Existed but in stones and trees, 
 When thou wert waving in the breeze, 
 And blossoms (what a treat for bees !) 
 
 By scores hadst gotten. 
 
 Chaucer, so old a bard that time 
 
 Has antiquated every chime, 
 
 And from his tomb outwoi'n each rhyme 
 
 Within the Abbey ; 
 And Gower, an older poet whom 
 The Borough Church enshrines (his tomb, 
 Though once restored, has lost its bloom, 
 
 And got quite shabby), 
 
 Lived in thy time — the first perchance 
 Was beating monksf when thou in France 
 
 By monks wert beaten, 
 "WTio shook beneath this very tree 
 Their reverend beards, w4th glutton glee. 
 As each down-falling luxury 
 
 Was caught and eaten. 
 
 Perchance when Henry gained the fight 
 Of Agincourt, some Gaulish knight 
 (His bleeding steed in w^oful plight, 
 
 With smoking haunches), 
 Laid down his helmet at thy root. 
 And, as he plucked the grateful fruit, 
 Sufiered his poor exhausted brute 
 
 To crop thy branches. 
 
 * Rebuilt 1399. 
 
 f There is a tradition (though not authenticated) that Chaucer was 
 fined for beating a monk in Fleet-street, 
 
14 THE ORANGE-TREE AT VERSAILLES. 
 
 Thou wert of portly size and look, 
 When first the Turks besieged and took 
 
 Constantinople ; 
 And eagles in thy boughs might perch, 
 When, leaving Bullen in the lurch, 
 Another Henry changed his church, 
 
 And used the Pope ill. 
 
 What numerous namesakes hast thou seen 
 Lounging beneath tliy shady green, 
 
 With monks as lazy ; 
 Louis Quatorze has pressed that ground. 
 With his six mistresses around — 
 A sample of the old and sound 
 
 Legitimacy. 
 
 And when despotic freaks and vices 
 Brought on the inevitable crisis 
 
 Of revolution. 
 Thou heard'st the mob's infuriate shriek, 
 Who came their victim Queen to seek. 
 On guiltless heads the wrath to wreak 
 
 Of retribution. 
 
 Oh ! of what follies, vice, and crime. 
 Hast thou, in thine eventful time, 
 
 Been made beholder ! 
 What wars, what feuds — the thoughts appal! 
 Each against each, and all with all, 
 Till races upon races fall, 
 
 In earth to moulder. 
 
 Whilst thou, serene, unaltered, calm 
 (Such are the constant gifts and balm 
 Bestowed by Nature!) 
 
SICILIAN ARETHUSA. 15 
 
 Hast year by year renewed thy floAvers, 
 And perfumed the surrounding bowers, 
 And poured down grateful fruit by showers, 
 And proffered shade in summer hours 
 To man and creature. 
 
 Thou green and venerable tree ! 
 Whate'er the future doom may be, 
 
 By fortune given, 
 Remember that a rhymester brought 
 From foreio;n shores thine umbrao;e sought. 
 Recalled the blessings thou hadst wrought, 
 And, as he thanked thee, raised his thought 
 
 To heaven ! 
 
 SICILIAN ARETHUSA. 
 
 Sicilian Arethusa ! thou, whose arms 
 
 Of azure round the Thymbrian meadows wind, 
 
 Still are thy margins lined 
 
 With the same flowers Proserpina was weaving 
 
 In Enna's field, beside Pergusa's lake, 
 
 When swarthy Dis, upheaving. 
 
 Saw her, and, stung to madness by her charms, 
 
 Down snatched her, shrieking, to his Stygian couch. 
 
 Thy waves, Sicilian Arethusa, flow 
 
 In cadence to the shepherd's flageolet 
 
 As tunefully as when they wont to crouch 
 
 Beneath the banks to catch the pipings low 
 
 Of old Theocritus, and hear him trill 
 
 Bucolic songs, and Amoebasan lays. 
 
 And still, Sicilian Arethusa, still, 
 
16 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Though Etna dry thee up, or frosts enchain, 
 
 Thy music shall be heard, for poets high 
 
 Have dipped their wreaths in thee, and by their praise 
 
 Made thee immortal as themselves. Thy flowers, 
 
 Transplanted, an eternal bloom retain, 
 
 Rooted in words that cannot fade or die. 
 
 Thy liquid gush and gurgling melody 
 
 Have left undying echoes in the bowers 
 
 Of tuneful poesy. Thy very name, 
 
 Sicilian Arethusa, had been drowned 
 
 In deep oblivion, but that the buoyant breath 
 
 Of bards uplifted it, and bade it swim 
 
 Adown the eternal lapse, assured of fame, 
 
 Till all things shall be SAvallowed up in death. 
 
 Where, Immortality ! where canst thou found 
 
 Thy throne unperishing, but in the hymn 
 
 Of the true bard, whose breath encrusts his theme 
 
 I^ike to a petrifaction, which the stream 
 
 Of time will only make more durable? 
 
 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 
 
 STTQGESTED 1$Y A PASSAGE IN THE SECOND BOOK OF APOLLOXIUS EHODIUS. 
 
 Fresh was the breeze and the rowers plied 
 Their oars with simultaneous motion, 
 
 When the Argo sailed in her stately pride 
 By the laurelled shores of the Pontic Ocean. 
 
 The island of Mars with its palmy coves. 
 The Sacred Mount, and Aretia's strands, 
 
 And Philyra's Isle with its linden groves, 
 And Ophir's flood with its shelly sands, 
 
THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 17 
 
 Swiftlj tbej passed — till, stretching far, 
 On tlieir right Bechiria's coast appears, 
 
 Where painted Sapirians, fierce in war, 
 Bristle the beach with bows and spears. 
 
 At distance they saw the sunbeams quiver 
 
 "Where the long-sought towers of Colchis stood. 
 
 And marked the foam of the Phasis river, 
 As it flung from its rocky mouth the flood. 
 
 The Argonauts gaze with hungry eyes 
 
 On the land enriched by the Golden Fleece, 
 
 Already in fancy they grasp the prize, 
 
 And hear the shouts of applauding Greece. 
 
 Jason looked out with a proud delight, 
 Castor and Pollux stood hand in hand, 
 
 Showino; each other the welcome sio;ht : 
 While fierce Meleager unsheathed his brand. 
 
 LaocJon bade the rowers check 
 
 Their oars, as the sun to the w^ater slanted, 
 Eor Orpheus sate Avith his harp on the deck. 
 
 And sweetly the hymn of evening chanted, 
 
 While the heroes around, at each pause of sound, 
 Stretched their right hands to the god of day, 
 And fervently joined in the choral lay. 
 
 THE HYMX OF ORPHEUS. 
 
 Twin-born with Dian in the Delos isle. 
 Which after the Ogygian deluge thou 
 
 Didst first illume with renovating smile, 
 Apollo ! deign to hear our evening vow. 
 
18 THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When thou'rt dim^ our liarp <iiid hymn 
 Thy downward course shall follow : 
 
 Hail to thee I — hail to thee ! 
 Hail to thee, Apollo ! 
 
 God of the art that heals the shattered frame, 
 And poetry that soothes the wounded mind, 
 
 Ten thousand temples, honoured with thy name, 
 Attest thy ceaseless blessings to mankind. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymn 
 Thy downward course shall follow : 
 
 Hail to thee ! — hail to thee ! 
 Hail to thee, Apollo ! 
 
 Thy golden bow emits a gushing strain 
 Of musio when the Pythian serpent dies : 
 
 His eyes flash fire — his writhings plough the plain : 
 Hissing he leaps aloft — then lifeless lies. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymn 
 Thy downward course shall follow: 
 
 Hail to the3 ! — hail to thee ! 
 Hail to thee, Apollo ! 
 
 Pan of his pipe and rural science proud, 
 
 Dreamt that his music might with thine aspire ; 
 
 The mour.tiin Tmoluswas the judge — and bowed 
 His nodding woods in homage to thy lyre. 
 
THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 19 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When tliou'rt dim^ with harp and hjmn 
 
 Thy downward course we follow : 
 Hail to thee ! — hail to thee ! 
 Hail to thee, Apollo 1 
 
 From bowers of Daphne on Parnassus' Mount, 
 While Delphic girls their lo Paeans sing, 
 
 The gifted Muses by Castalia's Fount 
 
 AVith choral symphonies salute their king. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When thou'rt dim, with harp and hymn 
 
 Thy downward course we follow : 
 Hail to thee ! — hail to thee I 
 
 Hail to thee Apollo ! 
 
 God of the golden lyre and laurel wreath, 
 To thee each poet turns with yearning heart 
 
 And thoughtful eyes, invoking thee to breathe 
 Thine inspiration 
 
 With a start 
 The minstrel ceased — for over all the bark 
 
 A baleful shadow on a sudden spread ! 
 The Argonauts looked up, and saw a dark 
 
 And monstrous eagle hovering o'er their head ; 
 So vast and fearful, that transfixed and pale 
 
 They stood, with wild amaze o'ertaken : — 
 The vessel trembles, and the shivering sail 
 
 Flaps as if with terror shaken. 
 Entranced they gazed — and silent till 
 
 Philas, the son of Bacchus, seized his bow, 
 
 And would have aimed it at the feathered foe, 
 But Mopsus, gifted with an augur's skill, 
 
) THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Gently held back his arm, and bade him wait 
 This dread portent — pronounce no word, 
 Nor dare to challenge Jove's own bird, 
 
 The minister of unrelentino- fate. 
 
 Extending now his oar-like wings, 
 Twice round the ship the monster swings, 
 
 As if prepared to pounce upon his prey; 
 His eyes from forth his sable shroud 
 Shot fire, like lightning from a cloud ; 
 
 But with a sudden dart he rushed away, 
 And clove the northward distance, where 
 
 The heights of Caucasus their barrier throw, 
 Where crag on crag, chaotic giants bare 
 Their granite foreheads to the sky, and sit 
 
 In desolate state beneath their crowns of snow. 
 Within these topmost peaks, there is a pit — ■ 
 
 A dizzy, gaunt, precipitous ravine. 
 Upon whose rocky floor environed round 
 
 With walls of ice — by every eye unseen, 
 With adamantine chains Prometheus lies bound. 
 
 Thither the ravenous v/onder w^ino;ed his flight — 
 They saw him clear the intervening height. 
 
 And sink behind it : — every eye 
 Is fixed upon the spot, and every heart 
 
 Throbs with expectant agony. — 
 But naught is seen — no sounds impart 
 
 The secret of that dread abyss : — 
 
 Still do they gaze half-willing to dismiss 
 Their fears and hopes, for over plain and hill, 
 And smiling ocean — all is hushed and still. 
 
 Gracious God, what a shriek ! 
 The monster with his beak 
 
THE SHRIEK OE PROMETHEUS. 21 
 
 Is tearing out his victim's heart ! 
 
 Lo ! as that desolating cr j 
 Echoes from the mountains high, 
 
 And throws its fear afar, a start 
 Of horror seems to darken nature's face. — 
 
 Athwart the quaking deep, 
 
 Revolting shudders creep. 
 Earth trembles to her very base — 
 Air seems to swoon — the skj to frown — 
 The sun w^ith ghastly glare sinks fiister down. — 
 
 Hark ! what a furious clash of chains ! 
 Victim ! thou never canst unlock 
 The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock ; 
 
 Vain are thy struggles and convulsive strains. 
 Ah me ! what dreadful groans are those 
 
 Wrung from the very depths of agonies ; — 
 Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes, 
 
 The fainting wretch exhausted lies, 
 And all again is grim repose. 
 
 But still w^ith throbbing breasts and steadfast eyes 
 
 The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak. 
 Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise 
 
 With blood-stained claws, and breast, and beak : 
 And as above them he resumed his flight. 
 
 The arrested vessel shakes. 
 
 The flapping main -sail quakes. 
 And all seemed turned to statues at the sight, 
 All but the son of Bacchus, who 
 
 With flashing eyes and visage red. 
 Again upreared his boAV and drew 
 
 His lonsest arrow to the head — 
 When from the eagle's beak a drop of gore, 
 
 (The heart's blood of Prometheus) fell 
 
22 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE, 
 
 Warm on his hand ! upon the vessel's floor 
 Down falls his bow ; — with shuddering yell, 
 And haggard eyes still staring on the drop, 
 He staggers back, clasping the mast to prop 
 His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead 
 The dews of terror stood, 
 And all in awe-struck mood 
 Pondered in silence on that omen horrid. 
 
 The sun Avent down, and far into the gloom 
 
 The monster shot away — but none 
 Of the bewildered Argonauts resume 
 
 The vessel's guidance as her way she won. — 
 None spake — none moved — all sate in blank dismay, 
 
 Revolving in their minds this dread portent j 
 And thus, abandoned to the sway 
 
 Of the blind wind and watery element, 
 Through the whole night the Argo bore 
 Those throbbing hearts along the Pontic shore. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 
 
 O Scene of enchantment ! vision of bliss ! 
 
 What Paradisaical glory is this ! 
 
 A garden ! a garden ! rapturous sight ! 
 
 More stately in beauty, more rich in delight, 
 
 Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour, 
 
 Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower, 
 
 Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest 
 
 In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest. 
 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 23 
 
 AVell, well, may its flowerets thus brightly expand. 
 For they feel the fresh touch of the Deity's hand; 
 And the trees that are rustling their branches on high, 
 Are raising their arms and their voice to the sky, 
 To give thanks to the Lord, at whose fiat sublime 
 They sprung from the earth in maturity's prime ; 
 And the newly-born river that flows at their feet. 
 Is lisping an anthem its Maker to greet. 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
 What odorous incense upsprings from the sod. 
 Which has lately been pressed by the foot of its God ! 
 What fragrance Sabsean the zephyrs exhale. 
 Where celestial breath has been left on the gale ! 
 Behold ! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun 
 Has stamped his first kiss upon every one ! 
 And hark ! how the birds in sweet choral accord, 
 Send their voices' first oflerings up to the Lord ! 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
 No solace is wanting, no charms that dispense 
 
 A rival delight to the soul and the sense ; 
 
 It is blissful to quaff" the nectareous air ; 
 
 To pluck from the branches ambrosial fare; 
 
 To list to the music of birds and of trees, 
 
 The chiming of waters, the song of the breeze ; 
 
 To gaze on the Paradise blooming around. 
 
 And scent the rich breath of its flowery ground. 
 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
 The creatures now savage, not then beasts of prey, 
 'Mid the flocks and the herds fondly pasture and play: 
 
24 THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. 
 
 The lion lies down with the kidling ; the lamb 
 
 Disports with the tiger; the wolf with its dam; 
 
 The elephant, twining his trunk round the boughs 
 
 Of the palm, scatters dates for his friends to carouse ; 
 
 The giraffe plucks the high-growing fruits ; and each beast 
 
 ]\Iakes the banquet of Nature a fellowship feast. 
 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
 'Tis the garden of Eden, where joy, peace, and love, 
 
 Join the creatures below to their Maker above. 
 
 Behold ! from yon verdant alcove, hand in hand, 
 
 Wander Adam and Eve, till admiring they stand 
 
 Beneath the resplendent pre-eminent tree 
 
 Of knowledge, whose fruit is forbidden. And see 1 
 
 In the guise of a serpent, where Satan appears, 
 
 And whispers melodious guilt in their ears. 
 
 Lovely or rare, none can compare 
 
 With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair ! 
 
 horror of horrors ! the dark deed is done : 
 
 They have tasted the fruit. Lo ! the shuddering sun 
 
 Rushes out of the sky ; all is terror and gloom. 
 
 The tears of the angels, bewailing man's doom, 
 
 Rain woe upon earth ; the wild animals roar. 
 
 As their fangs, stainless once, are polluted with gore ; 
 
 Flocks and herds fly before them, astounded, aghast ; 
 
 Shrieks of anguish are borne on the terrible blast. 
 
 Fear and despair are on earth and in air, 
 
 For thunder has ravao^ed that garden so lair. 
 
 Degraded, ashamed, sinful Adam and Eve 
 From its precincts are driven to toil and to grieve ; 
 Then earth gave a groan, a soul-harrowing sound. 
 And thrilled in her depths with a shudder profound, 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. ZD 
 
 That withered each Paradiso tree to its root, 
 And shook down for ever and ever its fruit, 
 And scattered the rivers — till all was o'erthrown, 
 That the site of the garden might never be known. 
 And Record is all that is left, since the fall. 
 Its exquisite beauties and bliss to recall. 
 
 Then, then in the desert's profoundest abyss, 
 
 Where the winds o'er the waste fiercely whistle and hiss, 
 
 In the blackness of night, with convulsions and throes, 
 
 Did Earth her sepulchral recesses unclose. 
 
 And heave up a monster, the world to aiTright, 
 
 Terrific of purpose, tremendous in might. 
 
 Though his features to none might he ever reveal. 
 
 Gladness and mirth fled from the earth, 
 
 When that fearful invisible monster had birth. 
 
 The hopes and the courage of Adam to daunt, 
 
 It ceased not, the spectre, his footsteps to haunt ; 
 
 His children it touched, and converted to dust 
 
 In a moment his tenderest objects of trust ; 
 
 Birds and beasts fell around him ; where'er Adam walked, 
 
 Before him, in fmcy, the murderer stalked; 
 
 ^lore dread to the heart when unseen by the eye, 
 
 'Twas vain from the phantom to hide or to fly ; 
 
 Wrinkles and bloom met the same doom — 
 
 One touch of the Gorgon sent all to the tomb. 
 
 It lurked in the wave, in the air, in the bower — 
 An ubiquitous curse, an all withering power — 
 Still snatching from Adam his hope and his joy, 
 And scaring with dread when, it failed to destroy; 
 Till weakened with age, worn with sorrow and fear, 
 He felt a cold hand on his heart, and his ear 
 Was chilled by the spectre's cadaverous breath. 
 As in accents sepulchral it groaned — I AM Death 1 
 
 2 
 
2d THE SANCTUARr.- 
 
 THE SA^^GTUARY. 
 
 Ix Israel was^ many a refuge city, 
 
 Whereto tiie blameless liomicidc might fleey 
 And claim, pi-otectioii, susteimnce, and pitj, 
 
 Safe from the^ blood-avenger's enmity, " 
 Until the law's- acquittal sent him thence, 
 Free from oiFence. 
 
 Uound old cathedral, abbey-church, and palace^ 
 
 Did "we ourselves- a sanctuary draw, 
 Vriiere no stern creditor could glut his malicCy 
 
 And even criminals miMit brave the law ; 
 Nor judge nor justice in that cha^rtered verge 
 Their rio-hts^ could uro-e. 
 
 These times are gone ; felons and knavish debtors 
 May mourn the change, but who bewails their case ? 
 
 For why should God and King, be made abettors 
 Of guilt and fraud^ the champions of the base ? 
 
 l^Tever may such a desecration stain 
 Our land again. I 
 
 But all arc not divested of their charter ; 
 
 One refuge still is^ left for human woes. 
 Victim of care ! or persecution's martyr \ 
 
 Who seek'st a sure asylum from thy foe&, 
 Learn that the holiest, safest, purest, best, 
 Is man's own breast 1 
 
 There is a solemn sanctuary founded 
 By God himself; not for transgressors meant; 
 
 But that the man oppressed, the Spirit-Avounded, 
 And all beneath the world's injustice bent, 
 
 Mi2;ht turn from outward wTono;. turmoih and din, 
 To peace withiix 
 
THE SANCTUARY. 27 
 
 Each bosom is a temple ; when its altar, 
 The living heart, is unprofanecl and pure, 
 
 Its verge is hallowed ; none need fear or falter 
 Who thither flj; it is an ark secure, 
 
 Winning, above a world o'erwhelmed Avith wrath. 
 Its peaceful path. 
 
 O Bower of Bliss ! Sanctuary holy ! 
 
 Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy ! 
 Never ! oh, never may misdeed or folly 
 
 My claim to thy beatitudes destroy ! 
 Still may I keep this Paradise unlost, 
 Where'er I'm tost. 
 
 Even in the flesh, the spirit disembodied, 
 
 Unchecked hj time and space, may soar elate, 
 
 In silent awe to commune Avith the Godhead — 
 Or the millennium reign anticipate. 
 
 When earth shall be all sanctity and love, 
 Like heaven above. 
 
 How sweet to turn from anguish, guilt, and madness, 
 From scenes where strife and tumult never cease, 
 
 To that Elysian world of bosom" d gladness. 
 Where all is silence, charity, and peace ; 
 
 And sheltered from the storm the soul may rest 
 On its own nest ! 
 
 When, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa, 
 
 We shrink from Winter's touch and Nature's gloom. 
 
 There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa, 
 
 Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom, 
 
 And the heart dances in the sunny glade 
 Fancy has made. 
 
28 THE EgPPY. 
 
 But, would ^ye dedicate to nobler uses, 
 
 This bosom sanctuary, let us there 
 Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses ; 
 
 While high and charitable thoughts and prayer, 
 May teach us gratitude to God, combined 
 With love of kind. 
 
 Reader ! this i i no lay unfelt and hollow, 
 But prompted by the happy, grateful heart 
 
 Of one who, having humbly tried to follow 
 The path he counsels, would to thee impart 
 
 The love and holy quiet which have blest 
 His own calm breast. 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 The man who roams by wild-flowered ditch or hedge 
 
 Skirting the mead, 
 
 Or treads the cornfield path — along its edge, 
 
 May mark a Aveed, 
 
 Whose ragged scarlet gear might well denote 
 
 A road-side be2;2rar in a soldier's coa,t. 
 
 Hence ! terms misplaced, and thoughts disparaging 
 
 Poppy FloAver ! 
 
 Thou art the Croesus of the field — its king — 
 
 A mystic power, 
 
 With emblems deep and secret blessings fraught. 
 
 And potent properties that bafile thought. 
 
 When thy hues catch, amid the growing corn, 
 
 The traveller's eye, 
 
 "Weeds ! weeds !" he cries, and shakes his head in scorn 
 
 But when on high 
 
THE POPPY. 29 
 
 The grain uplifts its liarA^est-bearing crest, 
 The Poppy's hidden, and the taunt suppressed. 
 
 So, when our early state is poor and mean, 
 
 Our portion small. 
 
 Our scarlet-blushing moral weeds are seen. 
 
 And blamed by all ; 
 
 But as we rise in rank we win repute. 
 
 Our faults gold-hidden, our accusers mute. 
 
 Why does the Poppy with its chaliced store 
 
 Of opiate rare, 
 
 Flush in the fields, and grace the hovel door, 
 
 But to declare 
 
 That, from the City's palaces forlorn, 
 
 Sleep flies to bless the cottage in the corn ? 
 
 And oh ! how precious is the Anodyne 
 
 Its cells exude, 
 
 Charming the mind's disr^uietude malign 
 
 To peaceful mood. 
 
 Soothing the body's anguish with its balm, 
 
 Lulliu'i; the restless into slumbers calm. 
 
 o 
 
 Vriiat though the reckless suicide — oppressed 
 
 By fell despair, 
 
 Turns to a poison-cup thy chalice, blessed 
 
 With gifts so rare ; 
 
 And basely flying, while the brave remain, 
 
 Deserts the post God gave him to maintain. 
 
 Such art perverted does but more enhance 
 
 That higher power 
 
 Which, planting by the corn — (man's sustenance), 
 
 The Poppy flower, 
 
30 THE murderer's CONFESSION. 
 
 Both in one soil, one atmosphere their breath, 
 RearSj side by side, the means of hfe and death ! 
 
 Who, who can mark thee, Poppy, when the air 
 
 Fans thy lips bright^ 
 
 Kor move his own in sympathetic prayer 
 
 To Him whose might 
 
 Combined the powers — thought-bewildering deed I 
 
 Of death — sleep — health — oblivion — in a weed I 
 
 THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION. 
 
 I PAUSED not to question the Devil's suggestion, 
 
 But o'er the cliff, headlong, the living was thrown; 
 A scream and a plashing, a foam and a flashing. 
 And the smothering water accomplished his slaughter, 
 All was silent, and I w^as alone ! 
 
 With heart-thrilling spasm I leant o'er the chasm ,* 
 
 There was blood on the wave that closed o'er his head, 
 
 And in bubbles his breath, as he struggled Avith death, 
 Bose up to the surface. I shuddered and fled. 
 
 With footsteps that staggered and countenance haggard, 
 I stole to my dwelling, bewildered, dismayed, 
 
 Till whisperings stealthy said — •' Psha ! he was wealthy, 
 Thou'rt his heir — no one saw thee — then be not 
 afraid." 
 
 I summoned the neighbours, I joined in their labours. 
 
 "\Ye sought for the missing by day and by night ; 
 We ransacked each single height, hollow, or dingle. 
 Till shoreward we wended, when starkly extended, 
 
 His corpse lay before us — God ! what a sight ! 
 
THE murderer's confessiox. 81 
 
 And vet was thero nothing for terror or loathing. 
 
 The blood had been washed from Jiis face and his clothing, 
 
 But bj no language, no pen, his life-like wide open 
 
 Ejes can be painted ; — 
 Thcj stared at me, flared at me, ungrilj glaxcd nt me, 
 
 I felt murder-attainted ; 
 Yet nij guiltj commotion seemed truth and devotion, 
 
 When I shuddered and fainted. 
 
 No hint finds emission that breathes of suspicion, 
 None dare utter a sound when an inquest has found 
 
 His death accidental ; 
 TOience then and wherefore, having nothing to care for, 
 
 Tliese agonies mental ? 
 Tvlij grieve and whj sicken^ frame-withered, soul- 
 stricken ? 
 
 Age-23araljsed, sickly, he must have died cjuicklj, 
 
 Each day brought some new ill ; 
 Why leave him to languish and sti^uggle with anguish, 
 Tlie deed that relieved him from all that aggrieved him, 
 Was kindly, not cruel. 
 
 In procession extended a funeral splendid, 
 
 With bannered displays and escutcheons emblazoned, 
 
 To church slowly passed, 
 Wlien aclread apparition astounded jnj vision-; 
 Like an aspen leaf shaking, dumfounded and qualdng, 
 
 I stood all aghast] 
 
 Erom its nailed coffin prison tlie corpse liad arisen, 
 And in all its shroud vesture, with menacing gestii.re, 
 And -eye-balls that stared at me^ flared at me^ glared 
 at me. 
 
32 THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION. 
 
 It pointed — it flouted its slayer, and shouted 
 
 In accents that thrilled me, 
 '' That ruthless dissembler, that guilt-stricken trembler, 
 
 Is the villain who killed me !" 
 
 'Twas fancy's creation — mere hallucination — 
 
 A lucky delusion, for again my confusion, 
 
 Guilt's evidence sinister, seemed to people and minister 
 
 The painful achievement of grief and bereavement. 
 
 Then why these probations, these self-condemnations 
 
 Incessant and fearful ? 
 Some with impunity snatch opportunity. 
 Slay — and exult in concealment's immunity; 
 Free from forebodings and heartfelt corrodings, 
 They fear no disclosure no public exposure, 
 And sleeping ui-haunted and waking undaunted, 
 
 Live happy and cheerful. 
 
 To escape the ideal let me dwell on the real ; 
 
 I, a pauper so lately. 
 In abundance possessing life's every blessing, 
 Tine steeds in my stable, rare wines on my table, 
 Servants dressed gaily, choice banquets daily, 
 A wife fond and beautiful, children most dutiful, 
 I, a pauper so lately, live rich and greatly, 
 
 In a mansion-house stately. 
 
 Life's blessings? liar! all are curses most dire; 
 
 In the midst of my revels, 
 His eyes ever stare at me, flare at me, glare at me. 
 Before me when treading my manors outspreading, 
 There yawns an abysmal cliff precipice dismal. 
 Isolation has vanished, all silence is banished, 
 Where'er I immew me his death-shrieks pursue me, 
 
 I am hunted by devils. 
 
THE murderer's CONFESSION. 33 
 
 My wine clear and rucldj seems turbid and bloody, 
 I cannot quaff water : — recalling his slaughter, 
 My terror it doubles — 'tis beaded with bubbles, 
 
 Each filled with his breath, 
 And every glass in each hisses—" Assassin ! 
 My curse shall affright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight 
 thee 
 
 In life and in death !" 
 
 My daughters, their mother, contend with each other 
 Who shall show mo^t affection, best soothe my dejec- 
 tion : 
 Revolting endearments ! their garments seem cerements, 
 And I shudder with loathing at their grave-tainted 
 clothing. 
 
 Home and the mercies 
 That to others are dearest, to me are the drearest 
 And deadliest curses. 
 
 When free from this error I thrill with the terror, 
 
 (Thought horrid to dwell on!) 
 That the wretch whom they cherish may sh^Jnefully 
 
 perish, 
 Be publicly gibbeted, branded, exhibited. 
 As a murderous felon ! 
 
 punishment hellish ! the house I embellish 
 
 From centre to corner upbraids its adorner — 
 
 A door's lowest creaking swells into a shrieking, 
 
 Against me each column bears evidence solemn, 
 
 Each statue 's a Nemesis. 
 
 They follow, infest me, they strive to arrest me^ 
 
 Till in terrified sadness that verges on madness, 
 
 I rush from the premises. 
 2-s 
 
34 THE murderer's confession. 
 
 The country's amenity brings no serenity. 
 
 Each rural sound seeming a menace or screaming, 
 
 There is not a bird or beast but cries — '• Murder 1 
 
 There goes the offender ! 
 Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him, 
 
 And make him surrender !" 
 
 My flower-beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended, 
 His eyes, ever flaring, and staring, and glaring ! 
 I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly 
 
 Drive me hither and thither. 
 I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly. 
 Quitting grandeur and revelry to fly from this devilry. 
 
 But whither — whither? 
 
 Hence idle delusions ! hence fears and confusions 1 
 Not a sing-le friend^ s severance lessens men's reverence, 
 No neighbour of rank quits my sumptuous banquets 
 
 Without lauding their donor ; 
 Throughout the Avide county I'm famed for my bounty, 
 
 All hold me in honour. 
 
 Let the dotard and craven by fear be enslaven. 
 
 They have vanished ! How fast fly these images ghastly, 
 
 When in firm self-reliance, 
 You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating, 
 
 With scorn and defiance ! 
 
 Ha ha ! I am fearless henceforward and tearless. 
 
 No coinage of fancy, no dream's necromancy 
 
 Shall sadden and darken — God help me ! — hist — hearken ! 
 
 'Tis the shriek soul-appalling he uttered when falling I 
 
 By day thus afirighted, 'tis worse when benighted ; 
 With the clock's midnight boom, from the church on his 
 tomb. 
 
THE CONTRAST. 85 
 
 There comes a sharp screamioof too feai'ful for -dreaminor • 
 Bone fingers unholy draw the foot curtains slowly, 
 
 God ! how they stare at me, flare at me, glare at me, 
 
 Those eyes of a Gorgon ! 
 Beneath the clothes sinkino; with shudderimr shrinking", 
 A mental orgasm and bodily spasm 
 
 Convulse every organ. 
 
 Kerves a thousand times stronsrer could bear it no longer. 
 Grief, sickness, compunction, dismay in conjunction, 
 Kights and days ghost-prolific, more grim and terrifie 
 
 Than judges and juries, 
 Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and 
 
 halter. 
 Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcufi", immure me ! 
 
 1 own my transgression — will make full confession, 
 Quick — quick i Let me plunge in some dark- vaulted 
 
 dungeon, 
 IVherCj tho' tried and death-fated, I may not be baited 
 By devils and furies ! 
 
 THE COXTEAST. 
 
 WKXTTEX TJNDEK WIXDSOP. TEEEA-IT, THE PAY AFTEH THE FPNERAI. OP GEOBGB 
 THE TIimi>. 
 
 I SAW him last on this Terrace proud, 
 
 Walking in health and gladness, 
 Begirt with his Court ; and in all the crowd 
 
 JS^ot a sinde look of sadness. 
 
 Bright was the pun, and the leaves were green, 
 
 Blithely tho birds were singing, 
 The cymbal replied to the tambourine, 
 
 And the bells were merrily ringing. 
 
36 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 I have stood with the crowd beside his bier. 
 
 When not a word was spoken ; 
 But every eye was dim with a tear, 
 
 And the silence by sobs was broken. 
 
 I have heard the earth on his coffin pour 
 To the muffled drum's deep rolling. 
 
 While the minute-gun with its solemn roar, 
 Drowned the death-bell's tolling. 
 
 The time since he walked in his glory thus, 
 To the grave till I saw him carried, 
 
 Was an age of the mightiest change to us, 
 But to /mri a night unvaried. 
 
 We have fought the fight ; — fi^om hjs lofty throne 
 The foe of our land we have tumbled ; 
 
 And it gladdened each eye, save his alone, 
 For whom that foe we humbled. 
 
 A daughter beloved — a Queen — a son — 
 And a son's sole child have perished ; 
 
 And sad was each heart, save the only one 
 By which they were fondest cherished. 
 
 For his eyes were sealed, and his mind was dark, 
 
 And he sat in his age's lateness. 
 Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark 
 
 Of the frailty of human greatness. 
 
 His silver beard o'er a bosom spread, 
 
 Un vexed by life's commotion. 
 Like a yearly-lengthening snow-drift shed 
 
 On the calm of a frozen ocean. 
 
THE bard's song TO HIS DAUGHTER. 3T 
 
 O'er him oblivion's waters boomed, 
 As the stream of time kept flowing ; 
 
 And Ave only heard of our king when doomed 
 To know that his strength was going. 
 
 At intervals thus the waves disgorge, 
 
 By weakness rent asunder, 
 A part of the wreck of the Royal George, 
 
 For the people's pity and wonder. 
 
 THE BARD'S SONG TO HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Daughter dear, my darling child, 
 
 Prop of my mortal pilgrimage. 
 Thou who hast care and pain beguiled, 
 
 And wreathed Avith Spring my wintry age- 
 Through thee a second prospect opes 
 
 Of life, when but to live is glee, 
 And jocund joys, and youthful hopes. 
 
 Come thronging to my heart through thee. 
 
 Backward thou lead'st me to the bowers 
 
 Where love and youth their transports gave ; 
 While forward still thou strewest flowers, 
 
 And bidst me live beyond the grave. 
 For still my blood in thee shall flow. 
 
 Perhaps to warm a distant line. 
 Thy face my lineaments shall show, 
 
 And even my thoughts survive in thine. 
 
 Yes, Daughter, when this tongue is mute— 
 This heart is dust — these eyes are closed, 
 
 And thou art singing to thy lute 
 Some stanza by thy sire composed, 
 
88 THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 
 
 To friends around thou may 'st impart 
 A thought of him who wrote the lays, 
 
 And from the grave my form shall start, 
 Embodied forth to fancy's gaze. 
 
 Then to their memories will throng 
 
 Scenes shared with him who lies in earth, 
 The cheerful page, the lively song, 
 
 The woodland walk, or festive mirth ; 
 Then may they heave the pensive sigh 
 
 That friendship seeks not to control, 
 And from the fixed and thoughtful eye 
 
 The half unconscious tears may roll ; 
 
 Such now bedew my cheek — ^l3ut mine 
 
 Are drops of gratitude and love, 
 That mingle human with divine — 
 
 The gift below, its source above.— 
 How exquisitely dear thou art 
 
 Can only be by tears express'd. 
 And the fond thrilling of my heart 
 
 While thus I clasp thee to my breast. 
 
 THE FLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 
 
 From the prisons dark of the circling bark 
 The leaves of tenderest green are glancing ; 
 
 They gambol on high in the bright blue sky, 
 Fondly with spring's young- Zephyrs dancing, 
 
 While music and joy and jubilee gush 
 
 From the lark and linnet, the blackbird and thrush. 
 
39 
 
 THE TLOWER THAT FEELS NOT SPRING. 
 
 The butterfly springs on its new-born wings, 
 The dormouse starts from his wintry sleepmg; 
 
 The flowers of earth find a second birth, 
 
 To light and life from the darkness leaping : 
 
 The roses and tulips will soon resume 
 
 Their youth's first perfume and primitive bloom. 
 
 What renders me sad when all nature glad 
 The heart of each living creature cheers ? 
 
 I laid in the bosom of earth a blossom. 
 And watered its bed with a father's tears; 
 
 But the grave has no spring, and I still deplore 
 
 That the floweret I planted comes up no more! 
 
 That eye whose soft blue, of the firmament's hue, 
 Expressed all holy and heavenly thmgs,— 
 
 Those rino-lets bright, which scattered a light 
 Such as angels shake from their sunny wings— 
 
 That cheek, in whose freshness my heart had trusts 
 
 All— all h^ve perished— my daughter is dust ! 
 
 Yet the blaze sublime of thy virtue's prime, 
 Still gilds my tears and a balm supplies, 
 
 As the matin ray of the god of day 
 
 Brightens the dew which at last it dries : 
 
 Yes, fanny ! I cannot regret thy clay. 
 
 When I think where thy spirit has winged its way. 
 
 So wither we all— so flourish and fiill, 
 
 Like the flowers and weeds that in churchyards wave ; 
 Our leaves we spread over comrades dead. 
 
 And blossom and bloom with our root in the grave ;— 
 Springing from earth into earth we arc thrust, 
 Ashes to ashes and dust to dust 1 
 
40 MORAL RUINS. 
 
 If death's worst smart is to feel that we part 
 From those we love and shall see no more, 
 
 It softens its stinoj to know that we wino- 
 
 Our flight to the friends who have gone before 
 
 And the grave is a boon and a blessing to me, 
 
 If it waft me, Fann j, my daughter, to thee ! 
 
 MORAL RUINS. 
 
 Asia's rock-hollow^ed Fanes, first-born of Time, 
 In sculpture's prime, 
 
 Wrought by the ceaseless toil of many a race, 
 Whom none may trace, 
 
 Have crumbled back to wastes of rao-ored stone 
 
 And formless caverns, desolate and lone ; — 
 
 Egypt's stern Temples, whose colossal mound, 
 
 Spb inx-guarded , frowned 
 
 From brows of Granite challen2;es to Fate, 
 And human hate, 
 
 Are giant ruins in a desert land, 
 
 Or sunk to sculptured quarries in the sand. 
 
 The marble miracles of Greece and Rome, 
 Temple and Dome, 
 
 Art's masterpieces, awful in the excess 
 Of loveliness. 
 
 Hallowed by statued Gods which might be thought 
 
 To be themselves by the Celestials wrought, 
 
MORAL RUINS. 41 
 
 Where are they now ? — their majesty august 
 
 Grovels in dust. 
 Time on their altars prone their ruins flings 
 
 As offerings, 
 Formino- a lair whence ominous bird and brute 
 Their wailful Misereres howl and hoot. 
 
 Down from its height the Druid's sacred stone 
 In sport is thrown, 
 
 And many a Christian Fane have change and hate 
 Made desolate, 
 
 Prostrating saint, apostle, statue, bust, 
 
 With Pagan deities to mingle dust. 
 
 On these dear sepulchres of buried days 
 How sad to gaze! 
 
 Yet, since their substances were perishable, 
 And hands unstable 
 
 Uprearcd their piles, no wonder that decay 
 
 Both man and monument should sweep away. 
 
 Ah me I how much more saddened is my mood, 
 How heart-subdued, 
 
 The ruins and the wrecks when I behold 
 By time unrolled, 
 
 Of all the Faiths that man has ever known. 
 
 World- Avorshipped once — now spurned and overthrown ! 
 
 Religions — from the soul deriving breath. 
 
 Should know no death ; 
 
 Yet do they perish, mingling their remains 
 With fallen fanes ; 
 
 Creeds, canons, dogmas, councils, are the wrecked 
 
 And mouldering Masonry of intellect. 
 
42 MORAL RUINS. 
 
 Apis, Osiris, paramount of jore 
 
 On Egypt's shore, 
 
 Woden and Thor, through the wide North adored, 
 With blood outpoured; 
 
 Jove, and the multiform Divinities, 
 
 To whom the Pagan nations bowed their knees 
 
 Lo ! the J are cast aside, dethroned, forlorn, 
 Defaced, out-worn. 
 
 Like the world's childish dolls, w^hich but insult 
 Its age adult. 
 
 Or prostrate scarecrows, on whose rags we tread, 
 
 With scorn proportioned to our former dread. 
 
 Alas for human reason ! all is change 
 
 Ceaseless and strange ; 
 
 All ages form new systems, leaving heirs 
 To cancel theirs : 
 
 The future can but imitate the past, 
 
 And instability alone will last. — 
 
 Is there no compass left, by which to steer 
 
 This erring sphere ? 
 
 No tie that may indissolubly bind 
 
 To God, mankind ? 
 
 No code that may defy time's sharpest tooth? 
 
 No fixed, immutable, unerring truth ? 
 
 There is ! there is ! — one primitive and sure 
 
 Religion pure. 
 Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes 
 
 Wear myriad modes. 
 
 Contains all creeds within its mighty span 
 
 The love of God, displayed in love of Man. — 
 
MORAL ALCHEMY. 43 
 
 This is the Christian's faith, when rightly read ; — 
 Oh ! may it spread 
 
 Till Earth, redeemed from every hateful leaven, 
 
 Makes peace with heaven : 
 
 Below — one blessed brotherhood of love ; 
 
 One Father — worshipped with one voice — above I 
 
 MOEAL ALCHEMY. 
 
 Tub toils of Alchemists, whose vain pursuit 
 
 Sought to transmute 
 
 Dross into gold, — their secrets and their store 
 
 .Of mystic lore, 
 
 What to the jibing modern do they seem? 
 
 An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream ! 
 
 Yet for enlightened moral Alchemists 
 
 There still exists 
 
 A philosophic stone, whose magic spell 
 
 No tongue may tell, 
 
 Which renovates the soul's decaying health, 
 
 And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth. 
 
 This secret is revealed in every trace 
 
 Of Nature's face, 
 
 Whoso seeming frown invariably tends 
 
 To smiling ends. 
 
 Transmuting ills into their opposite, 
 
 And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight. 
 
44 MORAL ALCHEMY. 
 
 Seems Earth unlovely in her robe of snow ? 
 
 Then look below, 
 Where Nature in her subterranean Ark, 
 
 Silent and dark, 
 Already has each floral germ unfurled 
 That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world. 
 
 Behold those perished fl.owers to earth consigned — 
 
 They, like mankind. 
 
 Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's poAver 
 
 Each in its hour 
 
 Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring, 
 
 And from its tube or chalice heavenw^ard incense fling. 
 
 Laboratories of a wider fold 
 
 I nov/ behold, 
 Where arc prepared the harvests yet unborn 
 
 Of wine, oil, corn, — 
 In those mute rayless banquet-halls I see 
 Myriads of .coming feasts with all their revelry. 
 
 Yon teeming and minuter cells enclose 
 
 Tiie embryos 
 
 Of fruits and seeds, food for the feathered race, 
 
 AY hose chaunted grace, 
 
 Swelling in choral gratitude on high, 
 
 Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky. 
 
 And what materials, mystic Alchemist ! 
 
 Dost thou enlist 
 To fabricate this ever- varied f^'ast, 
 
 For man, bird, beast? 
 Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom ? 
 Erom silence, languor, death, unsiglitliness and gloom ! 
 
MORAL ALCHEMY. 45 
 
 From Nature's magic hand whose touch makes sadness 
 
 Eventual gladness, 
 
 The reverent moral Alchemist maj learn 
 
 The art to turn 
 
 Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross, 
 
 Into the mental gold that knows not change or loss. 
 
 Lose we a valued friend ? — To soothe our woe 
 
 Let us bestow 
 
 On those who still survive an added love, 
 
 So shall we prove, 
 
 Howe'er the dear departed we deplore. 
 
 In friendship's sum and substance no diminished store. 
 
 Lose we our health ? — Now may we fully know 
 
 What thanks we owe 
 
 For our sane jears, perchance of lengthened scope ; 
 
 Now does our hope 
 
 Point to the day when sickness, taking flight. 
 
 Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight. 
 
 In losing fortune, many a lucky elf 
 
 Has found himself. — 
 As all our moral bitters are design 'd 
 
 To brace the mind, 
 And renovate its healthy tone, the wise 
 Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise. 
 
 There is 7io gloom on earth ; for God above 
 
 Chastens in love, 
 
 Transmuting sorrows into golden joy 
 
 Free from alloy. 
 
 His dearest attribute is still to bless, 
 
 And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerfulness. 
 
46 MORAL COSMETICS. 
 
 MORAL COSMETICS. 
 
 Ye who would save your features florid, 
 Lithe limbs, bright eyes, uiiwrinkled forehead 
 From ao-e's devastation horrid, 
 
 Adopt this plan : — 
 'Twill make, in climates cold or torrid, 
 
 A hale old man. 
 
 Avoid, in youth, luxurious diet, 
 Restrain the passions' lawless riot ; 
 Devoted to domestic quiet, 
 
 Be wisely gay : 
 So shall ye, spite of age's fiat, 
 
 Resist decay. 
 
 Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure, 
 But find your richest, dearest treasure. 
 In books, friends, music, polished leisure ; 
 
 The mind, not sense, 
 Made the sole scale by which ye measure 
 
 Your opulence. 
 
 This is the solace, this the science, 
 Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, 
 That disappoints not man's reliance, 
 
 Whate'er his state ; 
 But challenges, with calm defiance. 
 
 Time, fortune, fate. 
 
THE OLD MxiN'S P.^AN. 4T 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S P^AX. 
 
 Vainly, ye libellers ! your page 
 Assaults and villilies old age, 
 
 'Tis still life's golden c^ra; 
 Its pleasures, wisely understood, 
 An unalloyed unfailing good, 
 
 Its evils a cliimDera. — 
 
 Time's victor, I am victor still — 
 Holding the privilege at will 
 
 To seize him by the forelock ; 
 On me would he return the grasp. 
 He finds there's nothing left to clasp— 
 
 I^ot even a single hoar lock. — 
 
 We blame the idolatrous divine 
 AYho gilds and decorates his shrine, 
 
 The Deity neglected ; 
 Yet our self-adoration blind 
 Is body- worship —to the mind 
 
 No reverence directed. 
 
 Greybeards there are, v^dio thinking art 
 Can conquer nature, play the part 
 
 Of adolescent friskers ; 
 Swindlers and counterfeits of truth. 
 They strive to cheat us by false youth, 
 
 False teeth, hair, eyebrows, w^hiskers. 
 
 While to the frame due care I give, 
 No masquerader will I live, 
 To no disguises pander j 
 
48 THE OLD man's PiEAN". 
 
 But rather seek to save from blight 
 My mind in all its pristine plight 
 Of cheerfulness and candor. 
 
 A youthful cheer sustains us old, 
 As arrows best their course uphold 
 
 Winged by a lightsome feather. — - 
 Happy the young old man who thus 
 Bears, like a human arbutus, 
 
 Life's flowers and fruit together. 
 
 To dark oblivion I bequeath 
 
 The ruddy cheek, brown hair, white teeth. 
 
 And eyes that brightly twinkle ; — 
 Crows' feet may plough with furrows deep 
 My features, if I can but keep 
 
 My mind without a wrinkle. 
 
 Young, I was never free — my soul 
 Still mastered by the stern control 
 
 Of some tyrannic passion ; 
 While my poor body, servile tool ! 
 The livery wore of fop and fool, 
 
 An abject slave of fashion. 
 
 Thanks to thy welcome touch, old age 1 
 Which strongest chains can disengage, 
 
 The bondman 's manumitted : — 
 Released from labour, thraldom, strife, 
 I pasture in the park of life, 
 
 Unsaddled and unbitted. 
 
 If drawn for the Militia— called 
 On Juries, where the heart is galled 
 With crime, chicane, disaster, 
 
THE OLD Mx\N'S PiEAN. 49 
 
 *' Begone," I cry — " avaunt ! avast ! 
 
 TliaiLk heaven! I'm sixty, and at last 
 
 Am of myself free master." 
 
 An actor once in every strife 
 That agitates the stage of life, 
 
 A lover, fearer, hater, 
 Now in senility 's snug box 
 I sit, aloof from all their shocks, 
 
 A passive, pleased spectator. 
 
 Free-traders, Chartists, Puseyites! 
 Your warfare, with its wrongs and rights, 
 
 In me no rage arouses ; 
 I read the news, and cry, if hurt 
 At Whigs and Tories throwing dirt, 
 
 ^' A plague on both your houses!'' 
 
 Tailors ! avaunt your bills and spells ! 
 When fashion plays on folly's bells. 
 
 No haddock can be deafer ; — 
 Comfort and neatness all my care, 
 I stick to broadcloth, and forswear 
 
 Both Macintosh and Zephyr. — 
 
 'Tis but our sensual pleasures' zest 
 That time can dull ; — our purest, best 
 
 Defy decay or capture. 
 A landscape — book — a work of art — 
 My friends, my home — still fill my heart 
 
 With undiminished rapture. 
 
 Fled some few years, old Time may try 
 Again to wake my rhyme, when I, 
 Obeying the vagary, 
 3 
 
50 . ANSWER TG- 
 
 May thus subscribe the muse's frisk r 
 '' My pensive public — yaurs ! — A-BRtsS 
 Young Septuagenary 1" 
 
 ANSWER TO "AN OLI> MAX'S P^AN.'^ 
 
 WRITTEN (invitd Minerva} at TrtE iNSnGAnoN of j. h. 
 
 Thou greybeard gay ! wliase inuse — (perchancef 
 In second childhood s ignorance.) 
 
 Inspired '• An Old Man's Paean/ ^ 
 Hear how a brother senior sings 
 Sexagenarian suflferings, 
 
 In strains antipodean I 
 
 Young, I could take a morning's sport ; 
 Play matches in the Tennis Court,, 
 
 So strong was I and plastic ; 
 Dine out, and yet with spirit light 
 And body unflitignied, at night, 
 
 Could sport the toe fantastic. 
 
 Behold me now ! — my limbs are stiff: 
 An open door, an east- wind's whiff, 
 
 Brings sharp rheumatic touches; 
 A chamber-horse my only nag, 
 I mope at home, or slowly drag 
 
 My gouty feet on crutches. 
 
 Once I devoured whatever came, 
 And never knew, except by name, 
 
 The heartburn, bile, dyspepsy : 
 Now I must fast — eat w^iat I hate, 
 Or all my ailments aggravate, 
 
 From ache to epilepsy. 
 
''an old Max's p.ean." 51 
 
 How starving Tantalus of old 
 Was punished bj the gods, is told 
 
 In many a classic stanza ; 
 And all must recollect the wand 
 That whisked the viands from the hand 
 
 Of hungry Sancho Panza : — 
 
 Their fiite without their fliult is mine. 
 Champagne and claret, drinks divine 
 
 As nectar or ambrosia, 
 I may not quaff, but — (horrid bore !) 
 My sherry from a cruet pour 
 
 And think of past symposia. 
 
 At home my wife id ill supervise 
 Each meal I take. I wish her eyes 
 
 Were sometimes touched with blindness ! 
 But no — they move not from my plate : 
 God bless her ! how I love, yet hate 
 
 Her ever watchful kindness. 
 
 ^' My dear ! you know you 're bilious — pray 
 Avoid the turtle soup to-day, 
 
 And do not touch the salmon ; 
 Just take a chicken wing, or leg, 
 But no rich sauce — and let me beg 
 
 You will not taste the g-ammon.'' 
 
 Shell-fish — of yore my favourite food, 
 Are now my bane ; yet crabs eschew'd, 
 
 Miojht make an angel crabbed — 
 No wonder if I quit the treat 
 Of dainties that I may not eat, 
 
 Half starving and half rabid. 
 
 o 
 
52 INVOCATION. 
 
 Debarred by fond affection's care 
 From all my palate yearns to share, 
 
 A kindness still more cruel 
 Gives me carte blanche in all I loathe- 
 Bread-puddings, sago, mutton-broth, 
 
 Rice-milk, and Avater-gruel ! 
 
 i:>rA"OCATroN. 
 
 [WEITTEK rN THE NETGnUOtTPJIOOD OF Ain;OTSFOED DTHIING THE T.AST ILLNESS 
 OF SIE WALTEll SCOTT. 
 
 Spirits ! Intelligences 1 Passions ! Dreams ! 
 
 Ghosts ! Genii ! Sprites ! 
 Muses, that haunt the Heliconian streams, 
 
 Inspiring Lights ! 
 Whose intellectual fires, in Scott combined. 
 Supplied the sun of his omniscient mind ! 
 
 Ye who have o'er-informed and overwrought 
 
 His teeming soul, 
 Bidding it scatter galaxies of thought 
 
 From pole to pole ; 
 Enlightening others till itself grew dark — 
 A midnight heaven, without one starry spark ; — 
 
 Spirits of Earth and Air — of Light and Gloom 1 
 
 Awake ! arise ! 
 Restore the victim you have made — relume 
 
 His darkling eyes. 
 Wizards ! be all your magic skill unfurl' d, 
 To charm to health the Charmer of the World ! 
 
INVOCATION. 53 
 
 The scabbard, by its s^yo^d outworn, repair ; 
 
 Give to his lips 
 Their lore, than Chrysostom's more rich and rare : 
 
 Dispel the eclipse 
 That intercepts his intellectual light, 
 And saddens all mankind with tears and night. 
 
 Not only for the Bard of highest worth, 
 
 But best of men, 
 Do I invoke ye, Powers of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
 Oh ! where and when 
 Shall we again behold his counterpart — 
 Such kindred excellence of head and heart ? 
 
 So good and great — ^benevolent as wise — 
 
 On his high throne 
 How meekly hath he borne his faculties ! 
 
 How finely shown 
 A model to the irritable race, 
 Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace ! 
 
 If he must die, how great to perish thus 
 
 In glory's blaze ; 
 A world, in requiem unanimous. 
 
 Weeping his praise ! 
 While Angels wait to catch his parting breath- 
 Who would not give his hfe for such a death ? 
 
54 THE mother's mistake. 
 
 THE I^IOTIIER'S MISTAKE. 
 
 Heard ^^ou that piercing shriek — the throe 
 Of fear and agonising woe ? 
 It is a mother, who with w^ild 
 
 Despairing looks and gasping breath, 
 Thinks she behokls her only chikl - 
 
 Extended on the floor in death 1 
 That darling Bal^e whose natal cry 
 Had thrilled her heart with ecstacj, 
 As with baptizing tears of bliss 
 
 Her nestling treasure she bedewed, 
 Then clasped him with a silent kiss, 
 
 And heavenward looked her gratitude 
 That darling babe who, while he pressed 
 His rosebud lips around her breast, 
 Would steal an upward glance, and bless 
 With smiles his mother's tenderness ; 
 Confining laughter to his eyes, 
 Lest he should lose the teeming prize : — 
 That darling Babe wdio, sleeping, proved, 
 More than wdien waking, how she loved. 
 Then was her ever watchful ear 
 
 Prepared to catch the smallest noise, 
 Which sometimes hope and sometimes fear 
 
 Would liken to her infant's voice. 
 With beating heart and timid flush, 
 
 On tiptoe to his cot she crept, 
 Lifting the curtain w4th a hush. 
 
 To gaze upon him as he slept, 
 Then would she place his outstretched arm 
 Beside his body, close and w^arm ; 
 
THE MOTHEU'S MISTAKE. 55 
 
 Adjust Lis scattered clotlies aiiglit, 
 And shade his features from the light, 
 And look a thousand fond caressings 
 And move her lips in speeeliless blessings. 
 Then steal away with eyes that glisten, 
 Again to linger round and listen. 
 Oh ! can she bear to think that he 
 Tfhom she has loved so tenderly, 
 Her only earthly hope and stay, 
 Tor ever should be wrenched away ? 
 ITo, no !— to sucb overpowering grief 
 
 Oblivion brings a short relief: 
 
 She hears no sound ; all objects swim 
 
 Before her sight confused and dim ; 
 
 She feels each sickening sense decay, 
 
 Sinks shuddering down, and faints away! 
 
 Her child revives — its lit is o'er ; 
 
 When with affrighted zeal it tries 
 Ey voice and kisses to restore 
 
 The mother's dormant faculties ; 
 Till nature's tides with quickened force 
 E-esume their inten'upted coui'se :: 
 Her eyes she opens, sees her boy, 
 
 Gazes with sense-bewildered start. 
 Titters a thrilling cry of joy, 
 
 Clasps liim in transport to ber beart, 
 Stamps kisses on his mouth, his cheek, 
 Looks up to heaven, and tries to speak ; 
 But voice is drowned in heaving throbs, 
 Outgushing tears, and gasping soba. 
 
56 
 
 THE SUN'S ECLIPSE.— July 8th, 1842. 
 
 'TiS cloudlesa morning, but a frown misplaced^ 
 Cold — lurid — strange, 
 
 The summer smile from Nature's brow hath chased. 
 What fearful change. 
 
 What menacing catastrophe is thus 
 
 Ushered by such prognostics ominous ? 
 
 Is it the light of daj, this livid glare, 
 
 Death's counterpart : — 
 
 What means the withering coldness in the air 
 That chills mj heart, 
 
 And what the gloom portentous that hath made 
 
 The glow of morning a funereal shade ? 
 
 O'er the Sun's disc a dark orb wins its slow 
 Gloom-deepening way, 
 
 Climbs — spreads — enshrouds — extinguishes — ^and lo I 
 The god of day 
 
 Hangs in the sky, a carpse ! the usurper's might 
 
 Hath stormed his throne, and quenched the life of light I 
 
 A pall is on the earth — the screaming birds 
 
 To covert speed ; 
 Bewildered and aghast, the bellowing herds 
 
 Rush o'er the mead ; 
 Wliile men, pale shadows in the ghastly gloomy 
 Seem spectral forms just risen from the tomb. 
 
 Transient, though total, was that drear eclipse ; 
 
 With might restored 
 The Sun regladdened earth — but human lips 
 
 Have never poured 
 
THE sun's eclipse. 57 
 
 In mortal ears the horrors of the sight 
 That thrilled nij soul that memorable night. 
 
 To everj distant zone and fulgent star 
 
 Mine eyes could reach, 
 
 And the "wide Avaste was one chaotic war ; 
 O'er all and each, 
 
 Above — beneath — around me — e ver j wh ere, 
 
 Was anarchy — convulsion — death — despair. 
 
 'Twas noon, and yet a deep unnatural night 
 Enshrouded Heaven, 
 
 Save where some orb unsphered, or satellite 
 Franticly driven, 
 
 Glared as it darted through the darkness dread, 
 
 Blind — rudderless — unchecked —unpiloted. 
 
 A thousand simultaneous thunders crashed, 
 
 As here and there 
 Some rushing planet 'gainst another dashed. 
 
 Shooting through air 
 Volleys of shattered wreck, when, both destroyed, 
 Foundered and sank in the engulfing void. 
 
 Others, self-kindled, as they whirled and turned 
 
 Without a guide. 
 Burst into flames, and rushing as they burned 
 
 With range more wide, 
 Like fire-ships tliat some stately fleet surprise. 
 Spread havoc through the constellated skies. 
 
 While stars kept falling from their spheres — as though 
 The heavens wept fire. 
 
 Earth was a raging hell of war and woe 
 
 Most deep and dire, 
 3* 
 
58 LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 
 
 Virtue was vice — vice virtue — all was strife, 
 Brute force was law — justice the assassin's knife. 
 
 From that fell scene mj space-commanding eye 
 Glad to withdraw, 
 
 I pierced the empyrean palace of the sky 
 
 And shuddering saw 
 
 A vacant throne — a sun's extinguished sphere^ 
 
 All else a void — dark, desolate, and drear. 
 
 "What mean," I cried, " these sights unparalleled^ 
 Thes3 scenes of fear?" 
 
 When lo ! a voice replied, and Nature held 
 Her breath to hear, 
 
 " Mortal, the scroll before thine eyes unfurled, 
 
 Displays a soul eclipse — an atheist worldP 
 
 I woke — my dream was o'er ! What ecstacy 
 
 It was to know 
 That God was guide and guardian of the sky. 
 
 That man below 
 Deserved the love I felt — I could not speak 
 The thrilling joy, whose tears were on my cheek ! 
 
 LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 
 
 Ye human screech-owls, who delight 
 
 To herald woe — whose day is night, 
 Whose mental food is misery and moans, 
 
 If ye must needs uphold the pall. 
 
 And walk at Pleasure's funeral, 
 Be INIutes — and publish not your cries and groans. 
 
LACHRYMOSE WRITERS, 59 
 
 IN'ear a menagerie to dwell, 
 
 Annoyed bj ceaseless groan and yell, 
 Is sad, altlio' we cannot blame the brutes -, 
 
 A far worse neighbour is tlie man 
 
 "Whose study is a Caravan, 
 "V^Tienee the caged monster ever howls and hoots. 
 
 Ye say that Earth's a charnel — -life 
 Incessant wretchedness and strife — - 
 
 That all is doom below, and wrath above, 
 The Bun and moon sepulchral lamps, 
 The sky a vault, whose baleful damps 
 
 Soon blight and moulder all that live and love- 
 Man, as your diatribes aver. 
 Only makes reason minister 
 
 To deeds irrational and schemes perverse ; 
 Human in name, he proves in all 
 His acts a hateful animal, 
 
 And woman (monstrous calumny) is worse. 
 
 This earth, whose walls are stony gloom, 
 
 Whose roof rains tears, whose floor 's a tomb 
 With its chain-rattling beach and lashing waves, 
 
 Is, ye maintain, a fitting jail 
 
 Where felon man the woes may wail. 
 From which no prudence guards, no mercy saves. 
 
 Even were it true, this lachrymose 
 
 List of imaginary woes. 
 Why from our sympathy extort more tears ? 
 
 AVhy blazon grief — why make the Press 
 
 Groan with repinings and distress. 
 Why knell despair for ever in our ears ? 
 
60 LACHRYMOSE WRITERS. 
 
 Ungrateful and calumnious crew,. 
 
 "Whose plaints, as impious as untrue^ 
 From morbid intellects derive their birth ; 
 
 Away ! begone to mope and moan, 
 
 And Aveep in some asylum lone, 
 Where ye may rail unheard at heaven and earth. 
 
 Earth ! on whose stage in pomp arrayed 
 Life's joyous interlude is played, 
 
 Earth I with thy pageants ever new and bright. 
 Thy woods and waters, hills and dales. 
 How dead must be the soul that fails 
 
 To see and bless thy beauties infinite I 
 
 Man ! whose high intellect supplies 
 
 A never-failing Paradise 
 Of holy and enrapturing pursuits. 
 
 Whose heart 's a fount of fresh delight, 
 
 Pity the Cynics who would blight 
 Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutes. 
 
 Oh Woman ! who from realms above 
 
 Hast brought to Earth the heaven of love, 
 Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure ! 
 
 No pains, no penalties dispense 
 
 On thy traducers — their offence 
 Is its own punishment most sharp and sure. 
 
 Father and God ! whose love and might 
 To every sense are blazoned bright 
 
 On the vast three-leaved Bible — earth — sea — sky, 
 Pardon the impugners of thy laws, 
 Expand their hearts and give them cause 
 
 To bless the exhaustless grace they nov>f deny. 
 
WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 61 
 
 WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 
 
 The following Stanzas were composed while the author was sitting outside a 
 country church in Sussex, much regretting that, as it was week day, he could 
 not gain admittance to the sacred edifice. 
 
 Why are our Churches shut with jealous care, 
 Bolted and barred against our bosom's yearningj 
 
 Save for the few short hours of Sabbath prayer, 
 With the belTs tolling steadily returning? 
 
 Why are they shut? 
 
 If with diurnal drudgeries o'erwrought, 
 
 Or sick of dissipation's dull vagaries, 
 We wish to snatch one little space for thought, 
 
 Or holy respite in our sanctuaries. 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
 What ! shall the Church, the House of Prayer, no more, 
 Give tacit notice from its fastened portals, 
 
 That for six days 'tis useless to adore, 
 
 Since God will hold no communings with mortals ? 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
 Are there no sinners in the churchless week, 
 Who wish to sanctify a vowed repentance ; 
 
 Are there no hearts bereft which fain would seek 
 The only balm for Death's unpitying sentence ? 
 
 Why are they shut? 
 
 Are there no poor, no wronged, no heirs of grief, 
 
 No sick, who when their strength or courage falters? 
 
 Long for a moment's respite or relief. 
 
 By kneeling at the God of mercy's altars? 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
62 WHY ARE THEY SHUT? 
 
 Are there no wickedj whom, if tempted in, 
 
 Some quahn of conscience or devout suggestion 
 
 Might suddenly redeem from future sin ? 
 
 Oh ! if there be, how solemn is the question, 
 
 Why are thej shut? 
 
 In foreio;n climes mechanics leave their tasks 
 
 To breathe a passing prayer in their Cathedrals : 
 There they have week-day shrines, and no one asks. 
 When he would kneel to them, and count his bead- 
 rolls, 
 
 "Why are they shut? 
 
 Seeing them enter sad and disconcerted. 
 
 To quit those cheering fanes with looks of gladness- 
 How often have my thoughts to ours reverted ! 
 
 How oft have I exclaimed in tones of sadness, 
 
 Why are they shut? 
 
 For who within a Parish Church can stroll. 
 Wrapt in its week-day stillness and vacation. 
 
 Nor feel that in the very air his soul 
 
 Receives a sweet and hallowing lustration ? 
 
 Why are they shut? 
 
 The vacant pcAvs, blank aisles, and empty choir, 
 All in a deep sepulchral silence shrouded, 
 
 An awe more solemn and intense inspire. 
 
 Than when with Sabbath congregations crowded. 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
 The echoes of our footsteps, as we tread 
 
 On hollow graves, are spiritual voices ; 
 And holding mental converse with the dead, 
 
 In holy reveries our soul rejoices. 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 63 
 
 If there be one— one only — who might share 
 
 This sanctifying week-day adoration, 
 Were but our churches open to his prayer, 
 
 "Vyhy — I demand with earnest iteration — 
 
 Why are they shut ? 
 
 THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 
 
 They warned me by all that affection could urge, 
 To repel his advances and fly from his sight. 
 
 They called him a fiend, a destroyer, a scourge, 
 And whispered his name with a shudder of fright. 
 
 They said that disease went as herald before, 
 While sorrow^ and severance followed his track, 
 
 They besought me if ever I came to his door. 
 Not a moment to pause, but turn instantly back. 
 
 <'His breath," they exclaimed, ''is a pestilence foul, 
 His aspect more hateful than language can tell, 
 
 His touch is pollution, — no Gorgon or Ghoul 
 
 In appearance and deeds is more loathsome and fell." 
 
 Such stern prohibitions, descriptions so dire, 
 
 By which the most dauntless might w^ell be dismayed, 
 
 In me only wakened a deeper desire 
 
 To gaze on the monster so darkly portrayed. 
 
 I sought him— I saw him- he stood by a marsh, ^ 
 Where henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined ; 
 
 He was pale, he was grave, but no feature was harsh. 
 His eye was serene, his expression was kind. 
 
64 THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. 
 
 " This stigmatized being," I cried in surprise, 
 
 ' ' Wears a face most benignant ; but looks are not facts. 
 
 Physiognomy often abuses our eyes ; 
 
 I'll follow his footsteps and judge by his acts." 
 
 There came from a cottage a cry of alarm, 
 
 An infant Avas writhing in agonies sore, 
 His hand rocked the cradle, its touch was a charm, 
 
 The babe fell asleep, and its anguish was o'er. 
 
 He reached a proud mansion where, worn by the woe 
 Of consumption, a Beauty lay withered, in bed ; 
 
 Her pulse he compressed with his finger, and lo ! 
 The complaint of long years in a moment had fled ! 
 
 He paused where he heard the disconsolate groan 
 Of a widow with manifold miseries crushed ; 
 
 Where a pauper was left in his sickness to groan: 
 
 Both were healed at his sight, and their sorrows were 
 hushed. 
 
 He sped where a king, sorely smitten with age, 
 In vain sought relief from the pangs he endured 
 
 " I come," said the stranger, ''your woes to assuage; 
 He spoke, and the monarch was instantly cured. 
 
 Astounded by deeds which appeared to bespeak 
 In the fiend a benevolent friend of mankind. 
 
 From himself I resolved a solution to seek 
 
 Of the strange contradictions that puzzled my mind. 
 
 " Chase, mystical being," I cried, "this suspense; 
 
 How comes it thou'rt blackened by every tongue, 
 When in truth thou'rt the champion, the hope, the 
 defence 
 
 young ?^ 
 
 
DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET. 65 
 
 "Thou hast witnessed" — he answered — (his voice and 
 his face 
 
 Were all that is musical, bland, and benign), 
 '' Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race 
 
 Who my form and my attributes daily malign. 
 
 *' All distinctions of fortune, of birth, of degree, 
 Disappear where my levelling banner I wave ; 
 
 From his desolate dungeon the captive I free ; 
 His fetters I loose from the sufferino; slave. 
 
 '' And when from their stormy probation on earth. 
 The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss, 
 
 I give them a new and more glorious birth 
 In regions of pure and perennial bliss." 
 
 " Let me bless thee," I cried, '' for thy mission of love, 
 Oh say to what name shall I fashion my breath?" 
 
 " The Angel of Life is my title above. 
 
 But short-sighted mortals have christened me Death !" 
 
 DIRGE FOR A LIVIXG POET.* 
 
 What ! shall the mind of bard — historian — sage^ 
 
 Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier. 
 Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age, 
 " Without the meed of one melodious tear ?" 
 Will none, with genius like his own, 
 Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown, 
 That died in giving life to deathless heirs ? 
 Are worthier voices mute ? then I 
 The Muse's humblest votarv. 
 Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayer. 
 * Writteu during the last illness of Soutliey. 
 
66 DIRGE rOR A LIVING POET. 
 
 \Ye\\ m?j I mourn that mental sun's eclipse, 
 
 Eor in his study have I sate enshrined, 
 And reverently listened while his lips 
 Mastered the master-spirits of mankind, 
 
 As his expanding wisdom took 
 
 New range from his consulted book. 
 Oh, to what noble thoughts didst thou give birth, 
 
 Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind 
 
 In mutual perfectness combined 
 The spirit's loftiest flight, with purest moral worth! 
 
 Eeliold the withering change ! amid the rays 
 
 That formed a halo round those volumed wits, 
 Amid his own imperishable lays 
 In silent, blank fatuity he sits ! 
 
 Seeking a respite from his curse, 
 
 His body, now his spirit's hearse, 
 Btill haunts that book -charmed room, for there alone 
 
 Thought-gleams illume his wandering eyes, 
 
 As lio^htnino-s flicker o'er the skies 
 Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone. 
 
 Oh withering, w^oefal change — oh living death ! 
 
 Lo ! where he strays at Fancy's aimless beckj 
 On his dementate brow the titled wreath, 
 A mournful mockery of reason's wreck. 
 Roaming by Derwent's silent shore 
 Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar, 
 A human statue ! His unconscious stare 
 . Knows not the once familiar spot, 
 Knows not the partner of his lot. 
 Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer. 
 
 Oh flood and fell, lake, moorland, valley, hill ! 
 
 Mourn the dark bard wdio sang your praise of yore. 
 
Campbell's fuxeral. 67 
 
 Oh Rydal- Falls, Loclore, and Dungeon Gill ! 
 
 Down the rock's cheek jour tearful gushes pour. 
 
 Ye crag-enveloped Tarns that sleep 
 
 In your hushed craters, wake and w^eep. 
 Ye mountains ! hide your sorrowing heads in cloud : 
 
 As sobbing winds around ye moan ; 
 
 Helvellyn ! Skiddaw ! wail and groan, 
 And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud. 
 
 "Why make appeal to these ? Ye good and wise 
 
 Who worshipped at his intellectual shrine, 
 Ye kindred natures, who can sympathise 
 With genius 'reft of reason's light divine, 
 
 Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays, 
 
 Taught, guided, charmed in other days, 
 Let all your countless voices be combined. 
 
 As on your knees, ye pour on high 
 
 This choral supplicating cry — 
 Restore, restore, God ! our poet's wandering mind ! 
 
 CAMPBELL'S FUNERAL * 
 
 'TiS well to see these accidental great, 
 
 Noble by birth, or Fortune's favour blind, 
 Gracing themselves in adding grace and state 
 To the more noble eminence of mind, 
 And doing homage to a bard 
 Whose breast by Nature's gems was starred. 
 Whose patent by the hand of God himself was signed. 
 
 * He was Imried in Poets' Corner, AVestniinster Abbey, his pal] 
 being supported by six noblemen. 
 
68 
 
 While monarchs sleep, forgotten, unrevered, 
 Time trims the lamp of intellectual fame : 
 The builders of the pyramids, who reared 
 
 JMountains of stone, left none to tell their name. 
 Though Homer's tomb was never known, 
 A mausoleum of his oivn. 
 Long as the world endures his greatness shall proclaim. 
 
 "What lauding sepulchre does Campbell want ? 
 
 'Tis his to give, and not derive renown. 
 What monumental bronze or adamant. 
 
 Like his own deathless lays can hand him down ? 
 Poets outlast their tombs : the bust 
 And statue soon revert to dust ; 
 The dust they represent still wears the laurel crown. 
 
 The solid Abbey walls that seem time-proof, 
 
 Formed to await the final day of doom ; 
 The clustered shafts and arch-supportLnl roof, 
 
 That now enshrine and guard our Campbell's tomb. 
 Become a ruined shattered fane, 
 May fall and l)ury him again. 
 Yet still the bard shall live, his fame-wreath still shall 
 bloom. 
 
 Methoudit the monumental efRo-ies 
 
 Of elder poets that were grouped around, 
 Leaned from tlieir pedestals with eager eyes, 
 To peer into the excavated ground 
 
 Where lay the gifted, good, and brave, 
 While earth from Kosciusko's grave 
 Fell on his coffin-plate with freedom-shrieking sound. 
 
 And over him the kindred dust was strew' d 
 Of Poets' Corner. misnomer strange ! 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH. 69 
 
 The poet's confine is the amplitude 
 Of the whole earth's illimitable range, 
 
 O'er which his spirit wings its flight, 
 
 Shedding an intellectual light, 
 A sun that never sets, a moon that knows no change. 
 
 Around his grave in radiant brotherhood, 
 
 As if to form a halo o'er his head, 
 Not few of England's master-spirits stood, 
 Bards, artists, sages, reverently led 
 To waive each separating plea 
 Of sect, clime, party, and degree. 
 All honouring him on whom Nature all honours shed. 
 
 To me the humblest of the mourning band, 
 
 Who knew the bard through many a changeful year, 
 It was a proud sad privilege to stand 
 
 Beside his grave and shed a parting tear. 
 Seven lustres had he been my friend. 
 Be that my plea when I suspend 
 This all-unworthy Avreath on such a poet's bier. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH. 
 The Life. 
 
 Hath Momus descended — the god of Mirth — 
 To glad the world with his triumphs thus ? 
 
 Or is it a mortal, who tastes on earth 
 An apotheosis rapturous ! 
 
 While his worshippers hail him with choral cries, 
 
 And Laughter's reverberant ecstacies ! 
 
70 THE LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 He moves like a mental sun, whose light 
 
 Scatters around an electric ray, 
 Which every eye that beholds, is bright, 
 
 And every bosom that feels, is gay — 
 A sun (it is own'd by a nation's lips). 
 That hath ne'er been dimmed — never known eclipse ! 
 
 As this Spirit sits on his throne elate. 
 
 They tender him homage from every sphere : 
 
 From the rich, the noble, the wise, the great — 
 Nay, even the King is a courtier here ; 
 
 And vassal-like makes his crown submit 
 
 To the majesty of sceptred Wit. 
 
 They press him with flattering words and wiles 
 To honour and grace their lordly halls, 
 
 And impart by his mirth, and songs, and smiles, 
 A glory and zest to their festivals. 
 
 For they know that his presence can banish gloom, 
 
 And give light and life to the banquet-room. 
 
 On what aching hearts hath he gladness poured ! 
 
 In scenes unnumbered, what countless throngs. 
 From the public stage to the festive board. 
 
 Have, enraptured, hung on his mirthful songs ! 
 At his wit's incessantly flashing light. 
 What shouts have startled the ear of nia-ht ! 
 
 Q 
 
 Ask you the name of the gifted man, 
 
 Whose genius thus could enchant the w^orld ; 
 
 Whose fame through both the hemispheres ran- 
 Whose flag of triumph was never furled ? — 
 
 You ask it not, for you know that none 
 
 But Mathews alone has such trophies won ! 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH. 71 
 
 The Death. 
 
 Hark to the toll of the passing bell, 
 
 Y/hich " swinmiio; slow with solemn roar," 
 
 Carries the dismal funeral knell 
 
 O'er the thrilling waves of the Plymouth shore 5 
 
 And is borne afar by the shuddering breeze, 
 
 Trom Wembury's cliffs to Mount-Edgecombe's trees. 
 
 Nature appears to have thrown a pall 
 
 Over that landscape so rich and fair, 
 For a Avitherino; o-loom and sadness fall 
 
 Alike upon ocean, earth, and air, 
 And the darkling heights in the distance show 
 Like spectral mourners, grim with woe. 
 
 The bittern's wail and the sea-mew's cry, 
 Seem to share the deep and wide distress, 
 
 As their wings they spread, and seaward fly 
 Away from that scene of wretchedness : 
 
 And the booming moan of the distant surge 
 
 Falls on the ear like a doleful dirge. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis a female cry — -'tis the sound 
 
 Of a widow's heart with anguish torn; 
 A groan succeeds, and the sob profound 
 
 Of a sireless son, aghast, forlorn ! 
 And oh ! how loving and loved they were. 
 Their own 'reft hearts can alone declare. 
 
 Behold ! from St. Andrew's Church appears 
 
 A funeral train in its sad array, 
 "Whose mourners, blind in their staunchless tears^ 
 
 With faltering footsteps feel their way 
 To the bones and mould thrown up in a heap 
 Beside a sepulchre dark and deep. 
 
72 hope's yearnings. 
 
 The coffin is sunk, the prayer is poured — 
 
 " Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust." 
 They sprinkle earth on the rattling board, 
 
 And they whose heads o'er the grave are thrust, 
 Draw back at the sound with a shuddering start, 
 For its awful echoes thrill their heart. 
 
 As if it were sent to reveal and bless, 
 
 A ray through the lurid vapour beams — 
 
 Pierces the sepulchre's ghastliness. 
 
 And lo ! on the coffin's plate it gleams. 
 
 Th' inscription now may be plainly read — 
 
 " Charles Mathews''' — that '5 the name of the dead. 
 
 God ! can it be ? — is that breath resigned 
 
 Which rendered the brightest joy more bright? 
 
 Does that life of life, and mind of mind,. 
 The circle's soul, and the world's delight, 
 
 Lie stretched in the coffin's silence, dark, 
 
 Cold — lifeless — ghastly — stiff and stark ? 
 
 What proofs of his friendship, wit, and worth, 
 On memory crowd, and recall past years ! 
 
 But I cannot give their record birth, 
 
 For my heart and my eyes are both in tears : 
 
 Let me drop the pen — let me quit the lay. 
 
 And rush from my own sad thoughts away. 
 
 HOPE'S YEARNINGS. 
 
 How sweet it is, w^hen wearied with the jars 
 
 Of wrangling sects, each soured with bigot leaven, 
 
 To let the Spirit burst its prison bars 
 
 And soar into the deep repose of Heaven ! 
 
hope's yearnings. 73 
 
 How sweet it is, when sick with strife and noise 
 Of the fell brood that owes to faction birth, 
 
 To turn to Nature's tranquillizing jojs. 
 
 And taste the soothing harmonies of Earth ! 
 
 But though the lovely Earth, and Sea, and Air, 
 Be rich in joys that form a sumless sum. 
 
 Filled with Nepenthes that can banish care, 
 And wrap the senses in Elysium, 
 
 'Tis sweeter still from these delights to turn 
 Back to our kind — to watch the course of Man, 
 
 And for that blessed consummation yearn. 
 When Nature shall complete her noble plan ; 
 
 When hate, oppression, vice, and crime, shall cease, 
 When War's ensanguined banner shall be furled. 
 
 And to our moral system shall extend 
 The perfectness of the material world. 
 
 Sweetest of all, when 'tis our happy fate 
 
 To drop some tribute, trifling though it prove. 
 
 On the thrice-hallowed altar dedicate 
 
 To Man's improvement, truth, and social love. 
 
 Faith in our race's destined elevation. 
 
 And its incessant progress to the goal, 
 Tends, by exciting hope and emulation. 
 
 To realise the aspirings of the soul. 
 4 
 
74 TO A LOG OF WOOD UPOX THE FIRE. 
 
 TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 
 
 Whex Horace, as the snows descended 
 On Mount Soracte^ recommended 
 
 That logs be doubled, 
 Until a blazing fire arose, 
 I wonder whether thoughts like those 
 Which in my noddle intei-pose, 
 
 His fancy troubled. 
 
 Poor Log ! I cannot hear thee sigh, 
 And groan, and hiss, and see thee die, 
 
 To warm a Poet, 
 Without evincing thy success. 
 And as thou wanest less and less, 
 Inditing a farewell address 
 
 To let thee know it. 
 
 Peeping from earth — a bud unveiled. 
 Some " bosky bourne" or dingle hailed 
 
 Thy natal hour ; 
 While infant w^inds around thee blew, 
 And thou wert fed with silver dew. 
 And tender sunbeams oozing through 
 
 Thy leafy bower. 
 
 Earth — water — air — thy growth prepared j 
 And if perchance some robin, scared 
 
 From neighbouring manor, 
 Perched on thy crest, it rocked in air, 
 Making his ruddy feathers flare 
 In the sun's ray, as if they were 
 
 A fairy banner. 
 
TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 75 
 
 Or if some nightingale impressed 
 Against thy branching top her breast 
 
 Heaving with passion, 
 And in the leafy nights of June, 
 Outpoured her sorrows to the moon, 
 Thj trembling stem thou didst attune 
 
 To each vibration. 
 
 Thou grew'st a goodly tree, with shoots 
 Fanning the sky, and earth-bound roots 
 
 So grappled under. 
 That thou whom perching birds could swing, 
 And zephyrs rock with lightest wing^ 
 From thy firm trunk unmoved didst fling 
 
 Tempest and thunder. 
 
 Thine offspring leaves — death's annual prey. 
 Which Herod Winter tore away 
 
 From thy caressing, 
 In heaps, like graves, around thee blown, 
 Each morn thy dewy tears have strown, 
 O'er each thy branching hands been thrown, 
 
 As if in blessing. 
 
 Bursting to life, another race 
 
 At touch of Spring in thy embrace, 
 
 Sported and fluttered ; 
 Aloft^ where wanton breezes played. 
 In thy knit boughs have ringdoves made 
 Their nest, and lovers in thy shade 
 
 Their vows have uttered. 
 
 How oft thy lofty summits won 
 Morn's virgin smile, and hailed the sun 
 With rustling motion ; 
 
76 TO A LOG OF WOOD UPON THE FIRE. 
 
 How oft in silent depths of niglit, 
 When the moon sailed in cloudless light, 
 Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight 
 In hushed devotion — 
 
 'Twere vain to ask ; for doomed to fall, 
 The day appointed for us all 
 
 O'er thee impended ; 
 The hatchet, with remorseless blow, 
 First laid thee in the forest low, 
 Then cut thee into logs — and so 
 
 Thy course was ended. 
 
 But not thine use — for moral rules, 
 Worth all the wisdom of the schools, 
 
 Thou may'st bequeath me; 
 Bidding me cherish those who live 
 Above me, and the more I thrive, 
 A wider shade and shelter give 
 
 To those beneath me. 
 
 So when death lays his axe on me, 
 I may resign, as calm as thee, 
 
 My hold terrestrial ; 
 Like thine my latter end be found, 
 Diffusing light and warmth around. 
 And like thy smoke my spirit bound 
 
 To realms celestial. 
 
UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 
 
 UNPOSSESSED POSSESSIONS. 
 
 Whose are Windsor and Hampton, the pride of the land, 
 With their treasures and trophies so varied and grand ? 
 
 The Queen's, you replj : 
 
 Deuce a bit ! you and I 
 Through their gates, twice a week, making privileged way, 
 
 Tread their gilded saloons, 
 
 Yiew their portraits, cartoons, 
 And, like Crusoe, are monarchs of all we survey. 
 
 And whose are our nobles' magnificent homes, 
 
 With their galleries, gardens, their statues and domes ? 
 
 His Grace's, my Lord's ? 
 
 Ay, in law and in words. 
 But in fact they are ours, for the master, poor wight ! 
 
 Gladly leaving their view 
 
 To the visiting crew, 
 Keeps a dear exhibition for others' delight. 
 
 And whose are the stag-haunted parks, the domains, 
 The woods and the waters, the hills and the plains? 
 
 Yours and mine, for our eyes 
 
 Daily make them our prize : 
 What more have their owners? — The care and the cost ! 
 
 Alas ! for the great. 
 
 Whose treasures and state, 
 Unprized when possessed, are regretted when lost. 
 
 When I float on the Thames, or am whisked o'er the roads, 
 To the numerous royal and noble abodes 
 
 Whose delights I may share, 
 
 Without ownership's care, 
 
78 TO THE FURZE BUSH. 
 
 With what pity the titled and rich I regard, 
 And exultingly cry, 
 Oh ! how happy am I 
 
 To be only a poor unpatrician bard ! 
 
 TO THE FURZE BUSH. 
 
 Let Burns and old Chaucer unite 
 
 The praise of the Daisy to sing — 
 Let Wordsworth of Celandine write, 
 
 And crown her the Queen of the Spring; 
 The Hyacinth's classical fame 
 
 Let Milton embalm in his verse ; 
 Be mine the glad task to proclaim 
 
 The Charms of untrumpeted Furze ! 
 
 Of all other bloom when bereft, 
 
 And Sol wears his wintery screen, 
 Thy sunshining blossoms are left 
 
 To light up the common and green. 
 O why should they envy the peer 
 
 His perfume of spices and myrrhs, 
 When the poorest their senses may cheer 
 
 With incense diffused from the Furze ? 
 
 It is bristled with thorns, I confess ; 
 
 But so is the much-flattered Rose : 
 Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less 
 
 Because amid prickles it grows ? 
 'Twere to cut off an epigram's point. 
 
 Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs, 
 If we foolishly wished to disjoint 
 
 Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze. 
 
THE FIRST OF MARCH. 79 
 
 Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch 
 
 The wealth which their bowels enfold ; 
 See ! Nature, Avith Midas-like touch. 
 
 Here turns a whole common to gold ; 
 No niggard is she to the poor. 
 
 But distributes whatever is hers, 
 And the wajftiring beggar is sure 
 
 Of a tribute of gold from the Furze. 
 
 Ye worldlings ! learn hence to divide 
 
 Your wealth with the children of want, 
 Nor scorn, in your fortune and pride. 
 
 To be taught bj the commonest plant. 
 If the wisest new wisdom may draw 
 
 From things humble, as reason avers, 
 "VYe too may receive Heaven's law, 
 
 And beneficence learn from the Furze ! 
 
 THE FIRST OF MARCH. 
 
 The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, 
 And Earth 's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood, 
 Which, warmed by summer suns in the alembic of the 
 
 vine, 
 From her founts will overrun in a ruddy gush of wine. 
 
 The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the 
 
 flower. 
 Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower ; 
 And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits, 
 Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots. 
 
80 THE FIRST OF MARCH. 
 
 How awful is the thought of the wonders underground, 
 Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent,dark profound ; 
 How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed, 
 And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed ! 
 
 The summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinion'd day 
 Is commissioned to remark whether Winter holds her 
 
 sway; 
 Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy 
 
 wing. 
 Say, that floods and tempests cease and the world is ripe 
 
 for Spring. 
 
 Thou hast fanned the sleeping Earth till her dreams are 
 
 all of flowers, 
 And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging 
 
 bowers ; 
 The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves. 
 And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer 
 
 eves. 
 
 Thy vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave, 
 
 By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave ; 
 
 And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their 
 
 wing. 
 Have started from their sleep at the summons of the 
 
 Spring. 
 
 The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills, 
 And the feathered race rejoices with a gush of tuneful 
 
 bills. 
 And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee, 
 thou sunny first of March ! be it dedicate to thee. 
 
INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 81 
 
 INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 0, PURSUIVANT and herald of the spring ! 
 
 Whether thou still dost dwell 
 
 In some rose-laurelled dell 
 Of that charmed island, whose magician king 
 
 Bade all its rocks and caves, 
 
 Woods, winds, and waves, 
 Thrill to the dulcet chaunt of Ariel, 
 
 Until he broke the spell. 
 And cast his w\and into the shuddering sea — 
 
 hither, hither fleet. 
 
 Upon the south w^nd sweet, 
 And soothe us with thy vernal melodj ! 
 
 Or whether to the redolent Azores, 
 
 Amid whose tufted sheaves 
 
 The floral goddess w^eaves 
 Her garland, breathing on the glades and shores 
 
 Intoxicating air, 
 
 Truant ! thou dost despair ; 
 Or lingerest still in that meridian nest, 
 
 Where myriad piping throats 
 
 Rival the warbler's notes, 
 The saffron namesakes of those islands blest — 
 
 hither, hither wino- 
 Thy flight, and to our longing woodlands sing. 
 
 Or in those sea-girt gardens dost thou dwell, 
 
 Of plantain, cocoa, palm. 
 
 And that red tree, whose balm 
 Fumed in the holocausts of Israel ; 
 
 Beneath banana shades, 
 
 Guava, and fig-tree glades, 
 4* 
 
82 INVOCATION TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 Painting thy plumage in the sapphirine hue 
 
 Thrown from the heron blue, 
 
 Or rays of the prismatic parroquet — 
 
 0, let the perfumed breeze 
 
 From those Hesperides 
 Waft thee once more our eager ears to greet ! 
 
 For lo ! the young leaves flutter in the south, 
 
 As if they tried their wings, 
 
 While the bee's trumpet brings 
 News of each bud that pouts its honeyed mouth ; 
 
 Blue-bells, yellow-cups, jonquils, 
 
 Lilies wild and daffodils 
 Gladden our meads in intertangled wreath ; 
 
 The sun enamoured lies, 
 
 Watching the violets' eyes 
 On every bank, and drinks their luscious breath ; 
 
 With open lips tlie thorn 
 
 Proclaims that May is born, 
 And darest thou, bird of spring, that summons scorn' 
 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" welcome, welcome notes ! 
 
 Fields, woods, and waves rejoice 
 
 In that recovered voice, 
 As on the wind its fluty music floats. 
 
 At that elixir strain 
 
 My youth resumes its reign. 
 And life's first spring comes blossoming again : 
 
 Oh, wonderous bird ! if thus 
 
 Thy voice miraculous 
 Can renovate my spirits' vernal prime, 
 
 Nor thou, my Muse, forbear 
 
 That ecstacy to share — 
 I laugh at Fortune, and defy old Time. 
 
MAN. 83 
 
 MAN. 
 
 VEE8IFIED FBOM AN APOLOGUE BY DK. SHKBIDAW. 
 
 Affliction one day, as she harked to the roar 
 Of the stormy and strugghng billow, 
 
 Drew a beautiful form on the sands of the shore, 
 With the branch of a weeping-willow. 
 
 Jupiter, struck with the noble plan, 
 
 As he roamed on the verge of the ocean, 
 
 Breathed on the figure, and calling it Man, 
 Endued it with life and motion. 
 
 A creature so glorious in mind and in frame. 
 So stamped with each parent's impression. 
 
 Among them a point of contention became, 
 Each claiming the right of possession. 
 
 He is mine, said Affliction ; I gave him his birth, 
 
 I alone am his cause of creation ; 
 The materials were furnished by me, answered Earth : 
 
 I gave him, said Jove, animation. 
 
 The gods, all assembled in solemn divan. 
 After hearing each claimant's petition, 
 
 Pronounced a definitive verdict on Man, 
 And thus settled his fate's disposition : 
 
 ''Let Affliction possess her own child, till the woes 
 
 Of life cease to harass and goad it ; 
 After death give his body to Earth, whence it rose, 
 
 And his spirit to Jove who bestowed it." 
 
84 SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 
 
 SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 
 
 There 's a charm when Spring is young, 
 
 And comes laughing on the breeze, 
 When each leaflet has a tongue, 
 
 That is lisping in the trees. 
 When morn is fair and the sunny air 
 
 With chime of beaks is ringing, 
 Through fields to rove with her we love, 
 
 And listen to their singing. 
 
 The sportsman finds a zest, 
 
 Which all others can outvie, 
 With his lightning to arrest 
 
 Pheasants whirring through the sky; 
 With dog and gun from dawn of sun 
 
 Till purple evening hovers, 
 O'er field and fen, and hill and glen, 
 
 The happiest of rovers. 
 
 The hunter loves to dash 
 
 Throudi the horn-resoundinsi; woods, 
 Or plunge with fearless splash 
 
 Into intercepting floods ; 
 O'er gap and gate he leaps elate, 
 
 The vaulting stag to follow, 
 And at the death has scarcely breath 
 
 To give the whoop and hallo ! 
 
 By the river's margin dank, 
 
 With the weeds and rushes mixed, 
 
SPORTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 85 
 
 Like a statue on a bank, 
 
 See the patient angler fixed ! 
 A summer's day he ^Yhiles away 
 
 Without fatigue or sorrow, 
 And if the fish should baulk his wish, 
 
 He comes again to-morrow. 
 
 In air let pheasants range, 
 
 'Tis to me a glorious sight, 
 Which no fire of mine shall change 
 
 Into srovellinf]^ blood and nio-ht ; 
 I am no hound, to pant and bound 
 
 Behind a stag that's flying ; 
 Nor can I hook a trout from brook, 
 
 On grass to Avatch its dying. 
 
 And yet no sportsman keen 
 
 Can sweeter pastime ply, 
 Or enjoy the rural scene 
 
 With more ecstacy than I : 
 There's not a view, a form, a hue, 
 
 In earth, or air, or ocean. 
 That does not fill my heart, and thrill 
 
 My bosom w^ith emotion. 
 
 clouds that paint the air ! 
 
 fountains, fields, and groves ! 
 Lights, sounds, and odours rare. 
 
 Which my yearning spirit loves ! 
 While thus I feel, and only steal 
 
 From visions so enchanting, 
 In tuneful lays to sing your praise, 
 
 What charm of life is wanting ? 
 
86 THE QUARREL OF 
 
 THE QUARREL OF FAITH, HOPE, AI^D CHARITY. 
 
 Once Faith, Hope, and Charity traversed the land, 
 
 In sisterhood" s uninterrupted embraces, 
 Performing their office of love hand in hand, 
 
 Of the Christian world the appropriate Graces. 
 
 But tiffs since those primitive days have occurred. 
 That threaten to sever this friendly relation, 
 
 As may well be surmised when I state, word for word, 
 The terms of their latest and worst altercation : 
 
 " Sister Charity, pry thee allow me to state," 
 Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering, 
 
 "That while you affect to be meek and sedate, 
 A^our conduct is cunning, your tone domineering. 
 
 " In the times that are gone, my world-harassing name, 
 Received some accession of strength every hour ; 
 
 St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallowed my fame, 
 And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power. 
 
 "When martyrs in multitudes rushed at my call, 
 To peril their lives for Theology's sake, 
 
 Mine too was the voice that cried, ' Sacrifice all, 
 With jail and with gibbet, with faggot and stake.' 
 
 " When the banner of orthodox slaughter was furled, 
 And subjects no more from each other dissented, 
 
 I set them at war with the rest of the world. 
 And for centuries national struggles fomented. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AXD CHARITY. 87 
 
 ^' What are all the great heroes on history's page, 
 But puppets who figured as I pulled the strings? 
 
 Crusades I engendered in every age, 
 
 And Faith was the leader of armies and kings. 
 
 '• In those days of my glory Hope followed my track, 
 
 In warfare a firm and impartial ally, 
 For she constantly patted both sides on the back, 
 
 And promised them both a reward in the sky." 
 
 Here Charity, heaving disconsolate sighs, 
 That said " I admit what I deeply deplore," 
 
 Uplifted to heaven her tear-suffused eyes, 
 
 Which seemed but to anger her sister the more. 
 
 '' Nay, none of your cant, hypocritical minx !" 
 
 She cried in a louder and bitterer tone, 
 '' If you feel any fancy to whimper, metliinks 
 
 You might w^eep that the days of my glory are gone. 
 
 ^' What wreck of my palmy puissance is left? 
 
 What braves and bullies my greatness declare? 
 Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft. 
 
 All my fierce fulminations are impotent air. 
 
 *' No racks and no pincers — no limbs piecemeal torn, 
 No screams of the tortured my prowess display ; 
 
 And to crown all these slights, I am shamefully shorn 
 Of my own proper triumph, an aulo da fc. 
 
 '^ The Pope, who could once, in my terrible name, 
 Spread warfare and havoc all Christendom round, 
 
 Is sunk to such pitiful dotage and shame, 
 
 That the Vatican thunder "s a ridiculed sound. 
 
88 THE QUARREL OF 
 
 " Naj, even in England, my latest strong-hold, 
 And the firmest support of my paramount sway, 
 
 (In Gath or in Askelon be it not told,) 
 
 All my orthodox bulwarks are crumbling away. 
 
 " Dissenters, untested, may now, nothing loth, 
 As municipal officers feast and carouse; 
 
 And emancipate Catholics, taking the oath, 
 horror of horrors ! may sit in the House. 
 
 "If Erin no longer my altar-flame fanned, 
 By ceasing to murder for tithe now and then, 
 
 It might well be surmised that my paralysed hand 
 Had lost all control o'er the actions of men. 
 
 '' And what though each orthodox candidate swears 
 To my thirty-nine Articles — 'tis but a jest, 
 
 Since a bishop {proh pudor I) ^ a bishop, declares 
 That such oaths are a form — never meant as a test. 
 
 " .\nd who is the cause that I'm laid on the shelf, 
 Disowned and deserted by all but a few ? 
 
 My downfall and ruin I trace to yourself, 
 To you, I repeat, sister Charity — you! 
 
 " Your looks and your whining expressions of ruth, 
 Your appeals — ever urged with insidious wiles, 
 
 To reason and justice — to love and to truth, 
 Your tears of deceit, and your plausible smiles, 
 
 "Have inveigled the bulk of my subjects aw^ay, 
 
 And have swelled your own ranks with deserters 
 from mine : 
 
 Such conduct is base, and from this very day, 
 
 Hope and I mean to leave you and take a new line." 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 89 
 
 With the look of an angel, the voice of a dove, 
 Thus Charity answered — " Since Concord alone, 
 
 Can prosper our partnership mission of love, 
 And exalt the attraction that calls her her own, 
 
 " I would not, dear sisters, even harbour a thought, 
 That might peril a friendship so truly divine ; 
 
 And if in our feelings a change has been wrought, 
 I humbly submit that the fault is not mine. 
 
 '' Christianity's attributes, holy and high. 
 
 When first, sister Faith, you delighted to teach, 
 
 And Hope only wafted your words to the sky, 
 I seconded gladly the labours of each : 
 
 '' But when, in crusades ! you began to affect 
 A thousand disguises and masquerades new, 
 
 When you dressed yourself up in the badges of sect, 
 Nay, even of Mussulman, Pagan, and Jew, 
 
 *' And when in each garb, as yourself have just said, 
 You scattered a firebrand wherever you went, 
 
 While Hope spent her breath as she followed or led, 
 In fanning the flames of religious dissent, 
 
 "I raised up my voice in a solemn appeal 
 
 Against your whole course of unchristian life, 
 
 Tho' its accents were drowned in the clashing of steel, 
 In the clamour of councils, and schismatic strife ; 
 
 " But now when men, turning from dogmas to deeds, 
 Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind, 
 
 That salvation depends not on canons and creeds, 
 But on love of the Lord, and the love of our kind, 
 
90 WINTER, 
 
 " My voice can be heard and mj arguments weighed : 
 Which explains why such numerous converts of late 
 
 Are under my love-breathing standard arrayed, 
 Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate. 
 
 " Superstition must throw off Religion's disguise ; 
 
 For men, now enlightened, not darkling like owls, 
 While they reverence priests who are holy and wise, 
 
 Will no longer be hoodwinked by cassocks or cowls. 
 
 *'If, Sisters ! forgetting your primitive troth, 
 
 You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves, 
 
 What wonder that sages should look on you both 
 As the virtues of dupes, for the profit of knaves ? 
 
 '' You would separate? Do so — I give you full scope ; 
 
 But reflect, you are both of you naught when wc part ; 
 While I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and Hope, 
 
 When I choose for my temple an innocent heart." 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 The mill-wheel 's frozen in the stream, 
 
 The church is decked with holly, 
 Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam, 
 
 To fright away melancholy ; 
 Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail, 
 
 Younkers skate on the pool below, 
 Blackbirds perch on the garden rail. 
 
 And hark, how the cold winds blow I 
 
THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 91 
 
 There goes the squire to shoot at snipe, 
 
 Here runs Dick to fetch a log ; 
 You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe 
 
 In the frosty morning fog. 
 Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine, 
 
 Old and young cough as they go, 
 The round red sun forgets to shine, 
 
 And hark, how the cold winds blow ! 
 
 THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 
 
 [on HEAEING it BAID that this DISEASII only ATTACircn THE P002.] 
 
 It comes ! it comes ! from England's trembling tongue 
 One low and universal murmur stealeth : — 
 
 By dawn of day, each journal is o'erhung 
 
 With startling eyes, to read what it revealeth, 
 
 And all aghast, ejaculate one word — 
 
 The Cholera — no other sound is heard ! 
 
 Had Death upon his ghastly horse revealed, 
 
 From his throat-rattling trump a summons sounded, 
 
 Kot more appallingly its blast had pealed 
 
 Upon the nation's ear : — awe-struck, astounded, 
 
 Men strive in vain their secret fears to smother, 
 
 And gaze in blank dismay on one another. 
 
 Now are all cares absorbed in that of health ; 
 
 Hushed is the song, the dance, the voice of gladness, 
 Wliile thousands in the selfishness of wealth, 
 
 With looks of confidence, but hearts of sadness, 
 Dream they can purchase safety for their lives 
 By nostrums, drugs, and quack preventitives. 
 
92 THE CHOLERA MORBUS. 
 
 The wretch who might have died in squalid want, 
 Unseen, unmourned bj our hard-hearted blindness, 
 
 Wringing from fear what pitj would not grant. 
 Becomes the sudden object of our kindness, 
 
 Now that his betters he may implicate. 
 
 And spread infection to the rich and great. 
 
 Yet still will wealth presumptuously cry, 
 
 " What though the hand of death be thus outstretched? 
 It will not reach the lordly and the high, 
 
 But only strike the lowly and the wretched. 
 Tush ! what have zoo to quail at ? Let us fold 
 Our arms, and trust to luxury and gold." 
 
 They do belie thee, honest Pestilence ! 
 
 Thou 'rt brave, magnanimous, not mean and dastard 
 Thou 'It not assert thy dread omnipotence 
 
 In mastering those already overmastered 
 By want and woe — trampling the trampled crowd. 
 To spare the unsparing, and preserve the proud. 
 
 Usurpers of the people's rights ! prepare 
 
 For death by quick atonement. — Stony-hearted 
 
 Oppressors of the poor ! — in time beware ! 
 When the destroying angel's shaft is darted, 
 
 'Twill smite the star on titled bosoms set. 
 
 The mitre pierce, transfix the coronet. 
 
 Take moral physic. Pomp ! not drugs and oil, 
 And learn, to broad philanthropy a stranger, 
 
 That every son of poverty and toil. 
 
 With whom thou sharest now an equal danger, 
 
 Should as a brother share, in happier hours, 
 
 The blessin2:s which our common Father showers. 
 
THE RECANTATION^. 93 
 
 thou reforming Cholera ! thou'rt sent 
 Not as a scourge alone, but as a teacher — 
 
 That thej who shall survive to mark the event 
 
 Of thy dread summons thou death-dealing preacher ! 
 
 By piety and love of kind may best 
 
 Requite the love that snatched them from the Pest. 
 
 THE EECANTATION. 
 
 Young, saucy, shallow in my views, 
 The world before me — free to choose 
 
 My calling or profession, 
 I canvassed, one by one, the list. 
 And thus, a tyro satirist. 
 
 Condemned them in succession : 
 
 The Law ? — its sons cause half our ills, 
 By plucking clients in their bills. 
 
 As sparrowhawks do sparrows ; 
 Shrinking the mind it whets, their trade 
 Acts as the grindstone on the blade, 
 
 Which, while it sharpens, narrows. 
 
 What makes the Pleader twist and tear 
 Statutes to wronor the rio-htful heir, 
 
 And bring the widow sorrow ? 
 A fee ! — What makes him change his tack, 
 Eat his own words, and swear white's black ?- 
 
 Another fee to-morrow. 
 
 A Curate ? — chained to some dull spot, 
 Even at church he mourns his lot, 
 Repining with thanksgiving. 
 
94 THE RECANTATION. 
 
 'Mid stupid clodpoles and their wives, 
 The Scholar 's buried while he lives, 
 And dies without a living. 
 
 And what are Bishops ? — hypocrites 
 Who preach against the world's delights 
 
 In purple and fine linen ; 
 Who brand as crime, in humbler elves, 
 All vanities, while they themselves 
 
 Have palaces to sin in. 
 
 A Soldier ? — What ! a bravo paid 
 To make man-butchery a trade — 
 
 A Jack-a-dandy varlet, 
 Who sells his liberty — perchance 
 His very soul's inheritance — 
 
 For feathers, lace, and scarlet ! 
 
 A Sailor? — worse ! — he 's doomed to trace 
 With treadmill drudgery the space 
 
 From foremast to the mizzen ; 
 A slave to the tyrannic main, 
 Till some kind bullet comes to brain 
 
 The brainless in his prison. 
 
 Physic ? — a freak of times and modes, 
 Which yearly old mistakes explodes 
 
 For new ones still absurder : 
 All slay their victims — disappear, 
 And only leave this doctrine clear, 
 
 That " killing is no murder." 
 
 A Poet? — To describe aright 
 His lofty hopes and abject plight, 
 
 The quickest tongue would lack Vi^ords ! 
 
THE RECAN'EATI0:N'. 95 
 
 Still like a ropemaker, he twines 
 From morn to even lines on lines, 
 
 And still keeps going backwards. 
 
 Older and wiser gi'own, my strain 
 Was changed, and thus did I arraign 
 
 My crude and cynic sallies : 
 Railer ! — like most satiric scribes, 
 Your world-condemnino; diatribes 
 
 Smack less of truth than malice. 
 
 Abuse condemns not use — all good 
 Perverted or misunderstood, 
 
 May generate all badness, 
 Reason itself — that gift divine. 
 To folly may be turned by wine, 
 
 By long excess to madness. 
 
 From the professions thus portray' d, 
 As prone to stain, corrupt, degrade, 
 
 Have sprung, for many ages, 
 All that the world with pride regards. 
 Our statesmen, patriots, heroes, bards. 
 
 Philanthropists and sages. 
 
 Not from our callings do we take 
 Our characters : — men's actions make 
 
 Or mar their reputations. 
 The good, the bad, the false, the true. 
 Would still be such, though all their crew 
 
 Should- interchange vocations. 
 
96 DEATH. 
 
 YVhate'cr the compass-box's hue, 
 Substance, or form — the needle's true, 
 
 Alike in calms or surges : 
 Even thus the virtuous heart, whate'er 
 Its owner's plight or calling — ne'er 
 
 From honour's pole diverges. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Fate ! fortune ! chance ! whose blindness, 
 
 Hostility or kindness, 
 Plays such strange freaks with human destinies. 
 
 Contrasting poor and wealthy, 
 
 The life-diseased and healthy, 
 The blessed, the cursed, the witless, and the wise, 
 
 Ye have a master — one 
 
 Who mars what ye have done, 
 Levelling all that move beneath the sun — 
 Death ! 
 
 Take courage ye that languish 
 
 Beneath the witherincr anguish 
 Of open wrong, or tyrannous deceit, 
 
 There comes a swift redresser, 
 
 To punish your oppressor, 
 And lay him prostrate — helpless at your feet. 
 
 champion strong ! 
 
 E-ighter of wTong, 
 Justice — equality to thee belong — 
 Death ! 
 
 Where conquest crowns his quarrel, 
 And the victor, wreathed with laurel. 
 
DEATH. 97 
 
 While trembling nations bow beneath his rod, 
 
 On his guarded throne reposes, 
 
 In living apotheosis, 
 The Lord's anointed, and earth's demigod, 
 
 What form of fear 
 
 Croaks in his ear, 
 *' The victor's car is but a funeral bier." — 
 Death ! 
 
 Who — spite of guards and yeomen, 
 
 Steel phalanx and cross-bowmen. 
 Leaps at a bound the shuddering castle's moat, 
 
 The tyrant's crown down dashes, 
 
 His brandished sceptre smashes, 
 With rattling fingers grasps him bj the throat, 
 
 His breath out-wrings, 
 
 And his corpse down flings 
 
 To the dark pit where grave- worms feed on kinn-s ? 
 
 Death! "" * 
 
 When the murderer 's undetected, 
 
 When the robber 's unsuspected, 
 And night has veiled his crime from every eye ; 
 
 When nothing living daunts him, 
 
 And no fear of justice haunts him. 
 Who wakes his conscience-stricken agony ? 
 
 Who makes him start 
 
 With his withering dart. 
 And wrings the secret from his bursting heart ? 
 Death ! 
 
 To those who pine in sorrow, 
 Whose wretchedness can borrow 
 Kg moment's ease from any human act. 
 To the widow comfort-spurning, 
 To the slave for freedom yearning, 
 
98 THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 
 
 To tlio diseased Avitli cureless anguish rack'd, 
 
 \Ylio brings release 
 
 And whispers peace, 
 And points to realms where pain and sorrow cease ?- 
 Death ! 
 
 THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 
 
 Oak is the noblest tree that grows, 
 
 Its leaves are freedom 's type and herald, 
 
 If we may put our faith in those 
 Of Literary-Fund Fitzgerald. 
 
 Willow's a sentimental wood. 
 
 And many sonneteers, to quicken 'em, 
 
 A relic keep of that which stood 
 
 Before Pope's Tusculum at Twickenham. 
 
 The Birch-tree, with its pendent curves, 
 
 Exciting many a sad reflection, 
 Not only present praise deserves, 
 
 But our posterior recollection. 
 
 The Banyan, though unknown to us, 
 
 Is sacred to the Eastern Magi ; 
 Some like the taste of Tityrus, 
 
 "Recubans sub tegmine fagi." 
 
 Some like the Juniper — in gin ; 
 
 Some fancy that its berries droop, as 
 Knowing a poison lurks within, 
 
 More rank than that distilled from th' Upas. 
 
THE POET AMOXG THE TREES. 99 
 
 But he who wants a useful word, 
 
 To tag a line or point a moral, 
 Will find there "s none to be preferred 
 
 To that inspiring tree — the Laurel. 
 
 The hero-butchers of the sword. 
 
 In Rome and Greece, and many a far land, 
 Like Bravos, murdered for reward, 
 
 The settled price — a laurel-garland. 
 
 On bust or coin we mark the wreath, 
 
 Forgetful of its bloody story. 
 How many myriads Avrithed in death. 
 
 That one might bear this type of glory. 
 
 Caesar first wore the badge, 'tis said, 
 
 'Cause his bald sconce had nothing on it, 
 
 Knocking some millions on the head, 
 
 To get his own a leafy bonnet. ^ 
 
 Luckily for the Laurel's name, 
 
 Profaned to purposes so frightful, 
 'Twas worn by nobler heirs of fame. 
 
 All innocent, and some delightful. 
 
 With its green leaves were victors crowned 
 
 In the Olympic games for running. 
 Who wrestled best, or galloped round 
 
 The Circus with most speed and cunning. 
 
 Apollo, crowned with Bays, gives laws 
 
 To the Parnassian Empyrean ; 
 And every schoolboy knows the cause, 
 
 Who ever dipped in Tooke's Pantheon. 
 
100 THE POET AMONG THE TREES. 
 
 Daphne, like many another fair, 
 To whom connubial ties are horrid, 
 
 ried from his arms, but left a rare 
 Memento sprouting on his forehead. 
 
 Tor Bays did ancient bards compete. 
 Gathered on Pindus or Parnassus, 
 
 They by the leaf were paid, not sheet, 
 And that 's the reason they surpass us. 
 
 One wreath thus twines the heads about. 
 
 Whose brains have brightened all our sconces, 
 
 And those who others' brains knocked out, 
 'Cause they themselves were royal dunces. 
 
 Men fight in these degenerate days. 
 For crowns of gold, not laurel fillets ; 
 
 And bards who borrow fire from bays. 
 Must have them in the grate for billets. 
 
 Laureats w^e have (for cash and sack) 
 
 Of all calibres and diameters. 
 But 'stead of poetry, alack ! 
 
 They give us lachrymose Hexameters. 
 
 And that illustrious leaf for w^hich 
 
 Folks wrote and wrestled, sang and bluster 'd, 
 Is now boiled down to give a rich 
 
 And dainty flavour to our custard ! 
 
TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 101 
 
 TO THE LADIES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Beauties I— (for, dressed with so much taste, 
 All maj with such a term be graced,) — 
 
 Attend the friendly stanza, 
 Yf hich deprecates the threatened change 
 Of English modes for fashions strange, 
 
 And French extravao-anza. 
 
 "What ! when her sons renown have won 
 In arts and arms, and proudly shone 
 
 A pattern to the nations. 
 Shall England 's recreant daughters kneel 
 At Gallic shrines, and stop to steal 
 
 Fantastic innovations? 
 
 Domestic —simple — chaste — sedate — 
 Your fashions now assimilate 
 
 Your virtues and your duties : — 
 With all the dignity of Rome, 
 The Grecian Graces find a home 
 
 In England's classic Beauties. 
 
 When we behold so fit a shrine, 
 We deem its inmate all divine. 
 
 And thoughts licentious bridle ; 
 But if the case be tasteless, rude, 
 Grotesque, and glaring —we conclude 
 
 It holds some worthless idol. 
 
 Let Gallia's nymphs of ardent mind, 
 To every wild extreme inclined, 
 In folly be consistent; 
 
102 NIGHT-SONa, 
 
 Their failings let their modes express, 
 From simple ness of soul and dress, 
 For ever ec[ui-distant. 
 
 True to your staid and even port, 
 Let mad extremes of every sort 
 
 With steady scorn be treated; 
 Nor by art's modish follies mar 
 The sweetest, loveliest work by far 
 
 That nature has completed : — 
 
 For oh ! if in the world's wide round 
 One peerless object may be found, 
 
 A something more than human ; 
 The faultless paragon confessed 
 May in one line be all expressed — 
 
 A WELL-DRESSED ENGLISH WOMAN. 
 
 NIGHT-SONG. 
 
 WRITTEN AT SEA. 
 
 'Tis night — ^my Bark is on the Ocean, 
 
 No sound I hear, no sight I see, 
 Not even the darkened waves whose motion 
 
 Still bears me, Fanny, far from thee ! 
 But from the misty skies are gleaming 
 
 Two smiling stars that look, my love I 
 As if thine eyes, though veiled, were beaming 
 
 Benignly on me from above. 
 
 Good night and bless thee, Fanny dearest ! 
 
 Nor let the sound disturb thy sleep, 
 If, when the midnight wind thou hearest, 
 
 Thy thoughts are on the distant deep : — 
 
THE SONG-VISION. 103 
 
 Thj Lover thei^e is safe and fearless, 
 
 For Heaven still guards and guides mj track; 
 
 Isor can my dreaming heart be cheerless. 
 For still to thee 'tis wafted back. 
 
 'Tis sweet on the benighted billow, 
 
 To trust in Him whom all adore ; 
 'Tis sweet to think that from her pillow 
 
 Her prayers for me shall Fanny poux\ 
 The winds, self-lullabied, are dozing, 
 
 The winking stars withdraw their light. 
 Fanny ! methinks thine eyes are closing — 
 
 Bless thee, my love ! good night, good night 
 
 THE SONG^VISIOI^. 
 
 Oh, w^arble not that fearful air ! 
 
 For sweet and sprightly though it be, 
 It wakes in me a deep despair 
 
 By its unhallowed gaiety. 
 
 It was the last my Fanny sung, 
 The last enchanting playful strain, 
 
 That breathed from that melodious tongue, 
 Which none shall ever hear again. 
 
 From Memory's fount what pleasures past 
 At that one vocal summons flow ; 
 
 Bliss which I vainly thought would last- 
 Bliss which but deepens present woe ! 
 
104 THE SONG-VISION. 
 
 Where art thou, Fanny ! can the tomb 
 
 Have chilled that heart so fond and warm — 
 
 Have turned to dust that cheek of bloom — 
 Those eyes of light— that angel form? 
 
 Ah no ! the grave resigns its prey : 
 See, see ! my Fanny 's sitting there ; 
 
 While on the harp her fingers play 
 A prelude to my favourite air. 
 
 There is the smile which ever blessed 
 The gaze of mine enamoured eye — 
 
 The lips that I so aft have pressed 
 In tribute for that melody. 
 
 She moves them now to sing ! — hark, hark I 
 But ah ! no voice delights mine ears : 
 
 And now she Mes in shadows dark ; — 
 Or am I blinded by my tears ? 
 
 Stay yet awhile, my Fanny, stay, 
 
 Nor from these outstretched arms depart ;— 
 
 'Tis gone ! the vision's snatched away ! 
 I feel it by my breaking heart. 
 
 Lady, forgive this burst of pain. 
 That seeks a sad and short relief, 
 
 In coining from a 'wildered brain 
 A solace for impassioned grief. 
 
 But sing no more that fearful air, 
 For sweet and sprightly though it be, 
 
 It wakes in me a deep despair, 
 By its unhallowed gaiety. 
 
THE poet's song TO HIS WIFE. 105 
 
 THE POET'S WINTER SONG TO HIS WIFE. 
 
 The birds that sang so sweet in the summer skies are 
 
 fled, 
 And we trample 'neath our feet leaves that fluttered o'er 
 
 our head ; 
 The verdant fields of June wear a winding-sheet of white, 
 The stream has lost its tune, and the glancing waves 
 
 their light. 
 
 We too, my faithful wife, feel our winter coming on, 
 And our dreams of early life like the summer birds are 
 
 gone : 
 My head is silvered o'er, while thine eyes their fire have 
 
 lost, 
 And thy voice, so sweet of yore, is enchained by age's 
 
 frost. 
 
 But the founts that live and shoot through the bosom of 
 the earth, 
 
 Still prepare each seed and root to give future flowers 
 their birth ; 
 
 And we, my dearest Jane, spite of age's wintry blight, 
 
 In our bosoms will retain Spring's florescence and de- 
 light. 
 
 The seeds of love and lore that we planted in our youth, 
 Shall develop more and more their attractiveness and 
 
 truth ; 
 The springs beneath shall run, though the snows be on 
 
 our head, 
 For Love's declining sun shall with Friendship's rays be 
 
 fed. 
 
 5* 
 
106 SONGS TO FANNY. 
 
 Thus as happy as when young shall we both grow old, 
 
 my wife, 
 On one bough united hung of the fruitful Tree of Life ; 
 May we never disengage through each change of wind 
 
 and weather, 
 Till in ripeness of old age we both drop to earth together ! 
 
 SONG TO FANNY. 
 
 Nature ! thy fair and smiling face 
 Has now a double power to bless, 
 
 For 'tis the glass in which I trace 
 My absent Fanny's loveliness. 
 
 Her heavenly eyes above me shine, 
 The rose reflects her modest blush, 
 
 She breathes in every eglantine, 
 She sings in every warbling thrush 
 
 That her dear form alone I see 
 Need not excite surprise in any, 
 
 For Fanny 's all the world to me. 
 And all the world to me is Fanny. 
 
 SONG TO FANNY. 
 
 Thy bloom is soft, thine eyes are bright, 
 And rose-buds are thy lips, my Fanny, 
 
 Thy glossy hair is rich with light, 
 Thy form unparagoned by any ; 
 
THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRINa. 107 
 
 But thine is not the brief array 
 
 Of charms Avhich time is sure to borrow, 
 
 Which accident may blight to-day, 
 Or sickness undermine to-morrow. 
 
 No — thine is that immortal grace 
 
 Which ne'er shall pass from thy possession, 
 That moral beauty of the face 
 
 Which constitutes its sweet expression ; 
 This shall preserve thee what thou art, 
 
 When age thy blooming tints has shaded, 
 For while thy looks reflect thy heart, 
 
 How can their charms be ever faded? 
 
 Kor, Fanny, can a love like mine 
 
 With time decay, in sickness falter; 
 'Tis like thy beauty — half divine. 
 
 Born of the soul, and cannot alter : 
 For when the body's mortal doom 
 
 Our earthly pilgrimage shall sever, 
 Our spirits shall their loves resume, 
 
 United in the skies for ever. 
 
 THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING. 
 
 Cry Holiday ! Holiday ! let us be gay, 
 
 And share in the rapture of heaven and earth ; 
 
 For see ! what a sunshiny joy they display. 
 
 To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth ; 
 
 "While the elements, gladly out}X)uring their voice, 
 
 Nature's Paean proclaim, and in chorus rejoice ! 
 
10^ THE BIRTHDAY OF SPRING. 
 
 Loud carols each rill as it leaps in its bed ; 
 
 The wind brings us music and balm from the south, 
 And Earth in delight calls on Echo to spread 
 
 The tidings of joj with her many-tongued mouth; 
 O'er sea, and o'er shore, over mountain and plain, 
 Far, far does she trumpet the jubilee strain. 
 
 Hark ! hark to the cuckoo ! its magical call 
 Awakens the flowerets that slept in the dells ; 
 
 The snow-drop, the primrose, the hyacinth, all 
 Attune at this summons their silvery bells. 
 
 Hush! ting-a-ring-ting ! don't you hear hoAV they sing! 
 
 They are pealing a faiiy-like welcome to Spring. 
 
 The love-thrilling hedge-birds are wild with delight ; 
 
 Like arrows loud whistling the swallows flit by ; 
 The rapturous lark, as he soars out of sight, 
 
 Sends us sun-lighted melody down from the sky. 
 In the air that they quafi", all the feathery throng 
 Taste the spirit of Spring that out-bursts in a song. 
 
 To me do the same vernal whisperings breathe 
 In all that I scent, that I hear, that I meet. 
 
 Without and within me, above and beneath, 
 Every sense is imbued with a prophecy sweet. 
 
 Of the pomp and the pleasantness Earth shall assume 
 
 When adorned, like a bride, in her flowery bloom. 
 
 In this transport of nature each feeling takes part ; 
 
 I am thrilling with gratitude, reverence, joy ; 
 A new spring of youth seems to gush from my heart, 
 
 And the man 's metamorphosed again to a boy, 
 Oh ! let me run wild, as in earlier years ; 
 If my joy be suppressed, I shall burst into tears. 
 
AN OLD man's aspiration. 109 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S ASPIlLiTION. 
 
 GLORIOUS Sun ! whose car sublime 
 
 Unerring since the birth of time, 
 In glad magnificence hath run its race ; 
 
 day's delight — God-painted skj, 
 
 moon and stars, whose galaxy 
 Illuminates the night thro' all the realms of space. 
 
 poetry of forms and hues, 
 
 Resplendent Earth ! whose varied views 
 In such harmonious beauty are combined ; — 
 
 And thou, palpitating Sea, 
 
 Who boldest this fair mystery 
 In the wide circle of thy thrilling arms enshrined 
 
 Hear me, hear while I impart 
 
 The deep conviction of my heart. 
 That such a theatre august and grand, 
 
 Whose author, actors, awful play. 
 
 Are God, mankind, a. judgment day, 
 Was for some higher aim, some holier purpose plann'd 
 
 I will not, nay I cannot, deem 
 
 This fair creation's moral scheme, 
 That seems so crude, mysterious, misapplied, 
 
 Meant to conclude as it began. 
 
 Unworthy the material plan 
 With whose perfections rare its failures are allied. 
 
 As in our individual fate, 
 Our manhood and maturer date. 
 Correct the faults and follies of our youth, 
 
110 GIPSIES. 
 
 So will the world, I fondly hope, 
 With added years give fuller scope 
 To the display and love of wisdom, justice, truth. 
 
 'Tis this that makes my feelings glow, 
 My bosom thrill, my tears o'erflow, 
 
 At any deed magnanimous — sublime ; 
 'Tis this that re-assures my soul. 
 When nations shun the forward goal, 
 
 And retrograde awhile in ignorance and crime. 
 
 Mine is no hopeless dream of some 
 
 Impeccable Millennium, 
 When saints and angels shall inhabit earth ; 
 
 But a conviction deep, intense, 
 
 That man was meant by Providence 
 Progressively to reach a higher moral worth. 
 
 On this dear faith's sustaining truth 
 Hath my soul brooded from its youth, 
 
 As heaven's best gift, and earth's most cheering dower. 
 ! may I still in life's decline, 
 Hold unimpaired this creed benign. 
 
 And mine old age attest its meliorating power ! 
 
 GIPSIES. 
 
 Whether from India's burning plains, 
 Or wild Bohemia's domains. 
 
 Your steps were -first directed; 
 Or whether ye be Egypt's sons, 
 Whose stream, like Nile's, for ever runs 
 
 With sources undetected : 
 
GIPSIES. Ill 
 
 Arabs of Europe ! Gipsy race! 
 Your Eastern manners, garb, and face, 
 
 Appear a strange chimaera ; 
 None, none but you can now be styled 
 Romantic, picturesque, and wild, 
 
 In this prosaic aera. 
 
 Ye sole freebooters of the w^ood, 
 Since Adam Bell and Robin Hood : 
 
 Kept everywhere asunder 
 From other tribes — King, Church, and State 
 Spurning, and only dedicate 
 
 To freedom, sloth, and plunder ; 
 
 Your forest-camp — the forms one sees 
 Banditti-like amid the trees, 
 
 The ragged donkeys grazing, 
 The Sybil's eye prophetic, bright 
 With flashes of the fitful light 
 
 Beneath the caldron blazing, — 
 
 O'er my young mind strange terrors threw : 
 Thy History gave me, Moore Carew ! 
 
 A more exalted notion 
 Of Gipsy life ; nor can I yet 
 Gaze on your tents, and quite forget 
 
 My former deep emotion. 
 
 For " auld lang syne" I'll not maltreat 
 Yon pseudo-tinker, though the cheat, 
 
 As sly as thievish Reynard, 
 Instead of mending kettles, prowls, 
 To make foul havoc of my fowls, 
 
 And decimate my hen-yard. 
 
112 LIFE. 
 
 Come thou, too, black-eyed lass, and try 
 That potent skill in palmistry. 
 
 Which sixpences can wheedle ; 
 Mine is a friendly cottage — here 
 No snarling mastiff need you fear, 
 
 No Constable or Beadle, 
 
 'Tis yours, I know, to draw at will 
 Upon futurity a bill, 
 
 And Plutus to importune ; — 
 Discount the bill — take half yourself, 
 Give me the balance of the pelf, 
 
 And both may laugh at fortune. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 There are who think this scene of life 
 A frightful gladiatorial strife, 
 
 A struggle for existence. 
 Where class contends with class, and each 
 Must plunder all within his reach, 
 
 To earn his own subsistence. 
 
 Shocked at the internecine air 
 Of this Arena, they forswear 
 
 Its passions and its quarrels ; 
 They w411 not sacrifice, to live. 
 All that to life its charms can give, 
 
 Nor sell for bread their morals 
 
 Enthusiasts ! check your reveries, 
 Ye cannot always pluck at ease 
 
 From Pleasure's cornucopia; 
 
TO A LADY. 113 
 
 Ye cannot alter Nature's plan, 
 Change to a perfect being Man, 
 Nor England to Utopia. 
 
 Plunge in the busy current — stem 
 The tide of errors ye condemn, 
 And fill life's active uses ; 
 Begin reform yourselves, and live 
 To prove that Honesty may thrive 
 Unaided by abuses. 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 [on giving the writer a little bronze ctjpid from pompeh.] 
 
 Thanks for thy little God of Love, 
 Dug from Pompeii — whose fate 'tis 
 
 Henceforth to be installed above 
 My household Lares and Penates. 
 
 Oh ! could its lips of bronze unclose, 
 How sad a tale might they recall ! 
 How thrill us w^ith the appalling woes 
 
 Of the doomed City's burial ! 
 
 Perchance, on that benighted day 
 This tiny imp the table graced 
 
 Of one whose mansion might display 
 The choicest stores of classic taste. 
 
 Of some one w^hose convivial board 
 With all embellishments was deck'd, 
 
 "While her rich cabinets outpoured 
 A constant feast of Intellect. 
 
114: TO A LADY. 
 
 Of one wliOj tho' she ne'er declined 
 In social chat to bear a part', 
 
 Loved more to fill her house and mind 
 With lettered lore, and varied art. 
 
 Of one who thus could give delight 
 To guests of every mental hue, 
 
 Whether unlearned or erudite — 
 Of one, in short, resembling Yoii I 
 
 To the dark tomb, thou Pagan Sprite ! 
 
 For many centuries consigned. 
 Thrice Avelcome to this world of light, 
 
 Where worshippers thou still wilt find. 
 
 Methinks thy new abode is one 
 
 Thou wilt not, Cupid ! disapprove, 
 
 For all my married life has run 
 
 A lengthened course of constant love. 
 
 Prompt me, thou type of higher hope ! 
 
 To spread that love from me and mine, 
 Until, in its ascending scope. 
 
 It soar to social and divine. 
 
 So, little Elf! shalt thou be eyed 
 With doubled favour by thine owner, 
 
 Both as a tutelary guide. 
 
 And a memorial of thy donor. 
 
THE CHARMS OF LIFE. 115 
 
 THE CHARMS OF LIFE. 
 
 What hath life to charm us ? Flowers 
 Whose sweet lips have ever sunor 
 
 Carols from the fields and bowers, 
 In perfume's universal tongue. 
 
 Choral fairies bright and merry ! 
 Hark ! I hear your silver bells, 
 Chiming from the tufted dells 
 
 A May-day welcome — hey down derry ! 
 
 Hark again ! those jocund calls 
 
 Are Echo's voice, who loves to mock 
 
 The laughter of the waterfalls 
 
 That leap for joy from rock to rock. 
 
 And now the winds their organ ply, 
 Tuned to the music of the birds, 
 And rustlinor leaves and lowing herds, 
 
 ! what a thrillinfr har 
 
 o 
 
 ^mony 
 
 Joys there are of wider scope, — 
 
 Our social and domestic ties, 
 Faith, love, charity, and hope. 
 
 With all their mingled ecstacies. 
 And mental bliss that never cloys, 
 
 But charms the head and thrills the heart 
 
 Life ! how grand a boon thou art I 
 Life ! how sumless are thy joys ! 
 
116 A HINT TO CYNICS. — MUSIC. 
 
 A HINT TO CYNICS. 
 
 Youth, beauty, love, delight. 
 
 All blessings bright and dear, 
 
 Like shooting stars bj night, 
 Flash, fall, and disappear. 
 
 Let Cynics doubt their worth. 
 
 Because they 're born to die, 
 
 The v/iser sons of earth 
 
 Will snatch them ere they fly. 
 
 Tho' mingled with alloy, 
 
 We throw not gold away ; 
 
 Then why reject the joy 
 
 That 's blended with decay ? 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Peace to the tenants of the tomb 
 
 Whom oft we met in hall and bower, 
 Peace to the buried friends with whom 
 
 We shared the charm of Music's hour ; 
 Tho' dead, they are not mute, for still 
 
 Does memory wake some favoured strain 
 That makes our yearning bosoms thrill 
 
 As if they lived and sang again. 
 
 Health to the friends we still possess ; 
 
 ! long and often may we meet, 
 Our yet remaining years to bless 
 
 With Music's pleasures pure and sweet; 
 
THE bard's inscription. 117 
 
 And praises to the power divine 
 
 That gave to man the precious boon, 
 
 Which make's life's social evening shine 
 As brightly as its morn and noon. 
 
 THE BARD'S INSCRIPTION IN HIS DAUGHTER'S 
 ALBUJNI. 
 
 The thoughtful reader here may see 
 A little world's epitome 
 
 In turning each successive folio; — 
 Names, drawings, music, poems, prose, 
 From kindred and from friends compose 
 
 This Album's multifarious olio. 
 
 Its owner, from her circle wide 
 
 Of friends, may here survey with pride 
 
 A cherished tributary Cento ; 
 And when they 're absent — altered — dead — 
 Each contribution will be read 
 
 With double zest as a memento. 
 
 Here with a smile will she recall 
 The walk, the concert, or the ball, 
 
 Shared with the young and merry-hearted ; — 
 And here, perchance, while brooding o'er 
 The song of one who sings no more, 
 
 A tear may drop for the departed. 
 
 Yet— daughter dear ! my heart foretells 
 That thou wilt quit all other spells. 
 
 Of friends, however loved — and rather 
 Hang o'er the page that thus records, 
 With feelings ill- expressed by words, 
 
 The fervent blessing; of a Father ! 
 
118 ANTI-CORN-LAW BAZAAR STANZAS. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ■WRITTEN FOB THE BAZAAB OF THE NATIONAL ANTI-CORN LAW LEAGUE, COVENI 
 GARDEN THEATRE, 1S45. 
 
 Why with its ring has the connecting sea 
 
 Married the Hemispheres and joined their hands, 
 
 Why has the Magnet's guiding ministry 
 
 JMade paths athwart the deep to distant lands ? 
 
 Why are the winds to our control resigned ? 
 
 Why does resistless steam our will obey, 
 Why are all arts, all elements, combined 
 
 To speed us o'er the ocean-world's highway ? 
 
 That from wide earth, and from the watery waste, 
 Creation's sacred flag may be unfurled. 
 
 Whereon the finger of the Lord hath traced 
 
 Creation's law — '" Free trade with all the 
 World !" 
 
 Thus nature — lier maternal hands untied, 
 
 Shall scatter fresh supplies of wealth and food. 
 
 And from each varied soil and clim« provide 
 
 Some separate blessing for the common good. 
 
 So shall the severed races of mankind, 
 
 Bidding all barriers and restrictions cease, 
 
 By constant intercourse become combined 
 In one vast family of love and peace. 
 
 Let no man part whom God would thus unite ! 
 
 They who would speed this high and holy aim, ' 
 Leagued in the cause of universal right, 
 
 All factious ends, all party views disclaim* 
 
A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 119 
 
 Their weapons, Faith, and Charity, and Hope, 
 
 Justice and Truth the champions of their cause, 
 
 Firmly but peaceably they seek to cope 
 
 With selfish interests and mistaken laws. 
 
 Ye who love man's advancement — peace — free trade. 
 Ye Avho would blessings win from every land, 
 
 Oh ! give the liberating League your aid. 
 
 And speed its course with zealous heart and hand ! 
 
 A HINT TO THE FAKIMERS. 
 
 Farmers, whose income, day by day, 
 Slides on the Sliding Scale away, 
 
 Whatever its direction ; 
 When favoured most still most forlorn, 
 Starved by monopoly of Corn, 
 
 And ruined by protection ; — 
 
 Farmers ! who dying, seldom see 
 One penny left for Charon's fee, 
 
 When o'er the Styx ye' re ferried, 
 But in your landlord's pocket trace 
 (Like Mecca to the Turks) the place 
 
 Wherein your profit 's buried — 
 
 Farmers ! who find in Cobden's breath. 
 And Brio-ht's harano-ues, a menaced death 
 
 For all of yeoman station, 
 And most appropriately brand 
 The Corn-law Leaguers as a band 
 
 Prone to ass — ass — ination : — 
 
120 A HINT TO THE FARMERS. 
 
 When landlords cry, " We must be fed, 
 Go — grind jour bones to make our bread, 
 
 From Earth more harvests ravish; 
 Study Liebig, ye clodpole elves ! 
 Buy Guano — Soda — stint yourselves, 
 
 That we may still be lavish :" — 
 
 Farmers ! ye ought to patronise 
 Whate'er improvements may arise 
 
 To lessen your expenses, 
 So hear my tale — there's little in 't, 
 'Tis merely meant to give a hint 
 
 For making cheap field fences. 
 
 Queen Bess — I mean Elizabeth, 
 Favoured, as the historian saith. 
 
 The handsome Earl of Leicester, 
 To whom she made large grants of land. 
 For which he doubtless kissed her hand, 
 
 And duly thanked and blessed her. 
 
 These lands were commons, on whose turf, 
 Many a cottager and serf 
 
 Had fed his goose or donkey ; 
 And being dispossessed, the crowd 
 Began to murmur in a loud, 
 
 I need n't add a wrong key. 
 
 What cared his lordship ! down he came, 
 With carpenters to fence the same. 
 
 And shut out clowns and cattle ; 
 Riding each morn the men to w^atch, 
 So that no moment they might snatch 
 
 For drink or tittle-tattle. 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT. 121 
 
 One daj, a peasant bj his side 
 
 Bowed his graj head and humbly cried, 
 
 " I ax your lorship's pardon. 
 I've got a notion in my nob, 
 Whereby this here expensive job 
 
 Need hardly cost a farden." 
 " Not cost a farthing, doting clown !" 
 Exclaimed his lordship with a frown, 
 
 Half angry and half comic ; — 
 " Braggart most vain and over free, 
 Thinkst thou that I can learn from thee 
 
 A plan more economic ?' ' 
 
 "Yes," quoth the rustic — "yes, my lord, 
 You need n't buy another board, 
 
 Or oaken plank or paling, 
 Think not my words are brags and boasts. 
 For if your lordship finds the posts. 
 
 The public will find raUiiKj V^ 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 Joy ! joy ! my lover's bark returns, 
 
 I know her by her bearing brave : 
 How gallantly the foam she spurns, 
 
 And bounds in triumph o'er the wave ! 
 Why dost thou veil the glorious sight. 
 
 In lurid rain, thou summer cloud ? 
 See ! see ! the lisrhtnino; flashes bright ! 
 
 Hark 1 to the thunder long and loud ! 
 The storm is past — the skies are fair, 
 
 But Where's the bark? — there was but one : — 
 Ha ! she is yonder, shattered — bare — 
 
 She reels — she— sinks — Heaven ! she's wne I 
 
 
122 THE DYING POEt'S FAREWELL. 
 
 THE DYING POET\S i^ AREWELL. 
 
 Animula vagula, blandula, 
 Hosjies comesque corporis 
 Quae nunc abibis in loca '? 
 
 Adrian, 
 
 THOU wondrous arch of azure, 
 Sun, and starry plains immense! 
 
 Glories that astound the gazer, 
 By their dread magnificence 1 
 
 O thou ocean, whose commotion 
 
 Awes the proudest to devotion ! 
 
 Must I — must I from ye fly, 
 
 Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 
 
 ye keen and gusty mountains, 
 On whose top I braved the sky! 
 
 ye music-pouring fountains. 
 On whose marge I loved to lie ! 
 
 ye posies — :lilies, roses, 
 
 All the charms that earth discloses 1 
 
 Must I - must I from ye fly, 
 
 Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 
 
 ye birds whose matin chorus 
 Taught me to rejoice and bless ! 
 
 And ye herds, whose voice sonorous 
 Swelled the hymn of thankfulness I 
 
 Learned leisure, and the pleasure 
 
 Of the Muse, my dearest treasure ; 
 
 Must I — must I from ye fly. 
 
 Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 
 
 domestic ties endearing, 
 
 Which still chain my soul to earth ! 
 
THE DYIJTG poet's FAREWELL. 123 
 
 ye friends whose converse cheering, 
 Winged the hours with social mirth ! 
 Songs of ghidness, chasing sadness, 
 Wine's delight, without its madness ; 
 Must I, must I from ye fly, 
 Bid ye all adieu — and die ? 
 
 Yes — I now fulfil the fiction 
 
 Of the swan that sings in death ;— 
 
 Earth, receive my benediction, 
 Air, inhale my parting breath ; 
 
 Hills and valleys, forest alleys, 
 
 Prompters of my muse's sallies. 
 
 Fields of green and skies of blue, 
 
 Take, ! take my last adieu. 
 
 Yet perhaps when all is ended, 
 
 And the grave dissolves my frame, 
 
 The elements from which 'twas blended 
 May their several parts reclaim ; 
 
 Waters flowing, breezes blowing, 
 
 Earth, and all upon it growing, 
 
 Still may have my altered essence, 
 
 Ever floating in their presence ; 
 
 While my disembodied spirit 
 
 May to fields Elysian soar, 
 And some lowest seat inherit 
 
 Near the mighty bards of yore ; 
 Never, never to dissever. 
 But to dwell in bliss for ever, 
 Tuning an enthusiast lyre 
 To that high and laurelled quire. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 Eternal and Omnipotent Unseen ! 
 
 Who badest the world, with all its lives complete, 
 
 Start from the void and thrill beneath thj feet, 
 Thee I adore with reverence serene ; 
 
 Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet, 
 Built bj thyself, star- roofed, and hung with green, 
 
 Wherein all breathing things in concord sweet, 
 
 Organed by winds, perpetual hymns repeat : 
 Here hast thou spread that book to every eye, 
 
 Whose tongue and truth all, all may read and prove, 
 On whose three blessed leaves — Earth, Ocean, Sky, 
 
 Thine own right hand hath stamped might, justice, 
 love; 
 Grand Trinity, which binds in due degree, 
 God, man, and brute, in social unity. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Beautiful Earth ! how can I refrain 
 
 From falling down to worship thee ? Behold, 
 Over the misty mountains springs amain 
 
 The glorious Sun ; his flaming locks unfold 
 Their gorgeous clusters, pouring o'er the plain 
 
 Torrents of light. Hark ! Chanticleer has tolled 
 His matin bell, and the lark's choral train 
 
 Warble on high hosannas uncontrolled. 
 
SONNETS. 125 
 
 All nature worships thee, thou new-born day ! 
 Blade, flower, and leaf, their dewy offerings pay 
 
 Upon the shrine of incense-breathing earth ; 
 Birds, flocks, and insects, chaunt their morning lay ; 
 
 Let me, too, join in the thanksgiving mirth. 
 And praise, through thee, the God that gave thee birth. 
 
 TO THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 Thou central Eye of God, whose lidless ball 
 
 Is vision all around, dispensing heat, 
 And light and life, and regulating all 
 
 With its pervading glance — how calm and sweet 
 
 Is thine unclouded setting ! Thou dost greet. 
 With parting smiles, the earth ; night's shadows fall, 
 
 But long where thou hast sunk shall splendours meet, 
 And, lingering there, thy glories past recall. 
 Oh ! may my heart, like thee, unspotted, cl:ar, 
 Be as a sun to all Avithin its sphere ; 
 
 And when beneath the earth I seek my doom. 
 May I with smiling calmness disappear. 
 
 And friendship's twilight, hovering o'er my tomb, 
 
 Still bid my memory survive and bloom. 
 
 OX THE STATUE OF A PIPING FAUN. 
 
 Hark ! hearest thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping 
 In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain ? 
 
 Dost thou not see embowered wood-nymph. s peeping 
 To watch the graces that around him reign ; 
 
126 SONNETS. 
 
 While distant vintagers, and peasants reaping, 
 
 Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain ; 
 And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping. 
 
 Looks round, and smiles, and drops to sleep again? 
 happy Greece 1 while thj blest sons were rovers 
 Through all the loveliness this earth discovers, 
 
 They in their minds a brighter region founded, 
 Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers, 
 
 Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes 
 bounded. 
 
 By music and enchantment all surrounded. 
 
 ON A STUPENDOUS LEG OF GRANITE, 
 
 DISCOVEKED STANDING BY ITSELF IN THE DESERTS OF EGYPT, WITH THE 
 INSCEiPTlON INSERTED liELOVV. 
 
 In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone. 
 
 Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws 
 The only shadow that the Desert knows. 
 
 " I am great Ozymandias," saith the stone, 
 " The King of kings ; this mighty- city shows 
 
 The wonders of my hand." The city 's gone I 
 Naudit but the leg remainino; to disclose 
 
 The site of that forgotten Babylon. 
 
 We wonder, and some hunter may express 
 
 Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness 
 Where London stood^ holding the wolf in chase, 
 
 He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess 
 What wonderful, but unrecorded, race 
 Once dwelt in that annihilated place. 
 
SONNETS. 127 
 
 ON A GREENHOUSE. 
 
 Here, from earth's daedal heights and dingles loAvly, 
 
 The representatives of Nature meet ; 
 Not like a Congress, or Alliance Holy 
 
 Of Kings, to rivet chains, but with their sweet 
 
 Blossomy mouths to preach the bve complete. 
 That with pearled misletoe, and beaded holly, 
 
 Clothed them in green unchangeable, to greet 
 Winter with smiles, and banish melancholy. 
 I envy not the Emathian madman's fame. 
 Who won the world, and built immortal shame 
 
 On tears and blood ; but if some flower, new found. 
 In its embalming cup might shroud my name, 
 
 Mine werc> a tomb more worthily renowned 
 
 Than Cheops' pile, or Artemisia's mound. 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD CHURCH, 
 ISLE OF WIGHT. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Binstead ! take a fond farewell 
 
 From one unused to sight of woods and seas. 
 Amid the strife of cities doomed to dwell, 
 
 Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these, 
 Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees, 
 
 Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell ; 
 Or listening to the murmur of the breeze. 
 
 Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell. 
 Again farewell ! nor deem that I profme 
 Thy sacred porch ; for while the Sabbath strain 
 
 May fail to turn the sinner from his ways. 
 These are impressions none can feel in vain — 
 
 These are the wonders that perforce must raise 
 
 The soul to God, in reverential praise. 
 
128 SONNETS. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 Oh, what a palace rare hast thou created, 
 Almighty Architect, for man's delight ! 
 
 With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated ; 
 
 Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright, 
 Each painted by thy hand — ^a glorious sight ! 
 
 Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated, 
 All carpeted with flowers ; while all invite 
 
 Each sense of man to be with pleasure sated. 
 
 Fruits hang around us ; music fills each beak ; 
 
 The fields are perfumed ; and to eyes that seek 
 
 For Nature's charms, what tears of joy will start. 
 
 So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek 
 Of sacrifice, but breathings poured apart. 
 And the blood-ofiering of a grateful heart. 
 
 TO A ROSE. 
 
 Thou new-born Rose, emerging from the dew, 
 
 Like Aphrodite, when the lovely bather 
 Blushed from the sea, how fair thou art to view. 
 
 And fragrant to the smell ! The Almighty Father 
 Implanted thee, that men of every hue, 
 
 Even a momentary joy might gather ; 
 And shall he save one people, and pursue 
 
 Others to endless agony ? rather 
 Let me believe in thee thou holy Rose, 
 Who dost alike thy lips of love unclose, 
 
 Be thy abode by saint or savage trod. 
 Thou art the priest whose sermons soothe our woes, 
 
 Preaching, with nature's tongue from every sod. 
 
 Love to mankind, and confidence in God. 
 
SONNETS. 129 
 
 ON AN ANCIENT LANCE, II ANGINQ IN AN ARMOURY. 
 
 Once in the breezy coppice didst thou dance, 
 
 And nightingales amid thy foliage sang ; 
 Formed by man's cruel art into a lance, 
 
 Oft hast thou pierced, (the while the welkin rang 
 
 "With trump and drum, shoutings and battle clang.) 
 Some foeman's heart. Pride, pomp, and circumstance, 
 
 Have left thee, now, and thou dost silent hang, 
 From age to age, in deep and dusty trance. 
 
 What is thy change to ours ? These gazing eyes, 
 To earth reverting, may again ai'ise 
 
 In dust to settle on the self-same space ; 
 Dust; which some offspring, yet unborn, who tries 
 To poise thy weight, may with his hand efface, 
 
 And with his mouldered eyes again replace. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Lone warbler ! thy love-melting heart supplies 
 
 The liquid music-fall, that from thy bill 
 Gushes in such ecstatic rhapsodies. 
 
 Drowning night's ear. Yet thine is but the skill 
 Of loftier love, that hung up in the skies 
 
 Those everlasting lamps, man's guide, until 
 Morning return, and bade fresh flowers arise, 
 
 Blooming by night, new fragrance to distil. 
 Why are these blessings lavished from above 
 
 On man, when his unconscious sense and sight 
 Are closed in sleep ; but that the few who rove, 
 
 From want or woe, or travels urge by night. 
 
 May still have perfumes, music, flowers, and light ; 
 So kind and watchful is celestial love ! 
 
 6* 
 
130 SONNET. CHARADE. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 'Tis sweet to sit beneath these wahiut-trees. 
 And pore upon the sun in splendour sinking, 
 
 And think upon the wond'roiis mysteries 
 
 Of this so lovely world, until, with thinking, 
 Thought is bewildered, and the spirit, shrinking 
 
 Into itself no outward object sees, 
 
 Still, from its inward fount, new visions drinking, 
 
 Till the sense swims in dreamy reveries. 
 
 Awaking from this trance, with gentle start, 
 
 'Tis sweeter still to feel the o'erflowing heart 
 Shoot its glad gushes to the thrilling cheek ; 
 
 To feel as if the yearning soul would dart 
 
 Upwards to God, and by its flutters speak 
 Homaore for which all languao-e is too weak. 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 Sordid and narrow and mean is my First, 
 
 Where in tenements rank with tobacco and gin, 
 Dwells the toiling mechanic with poverty cursed, 
 
 'Mid the breakers of law and the victims of sin. 
 'Tis gone! — a hall uprises — view 
 Yon clamorous prize-fighting crew. 
 Wrangling, jangling, sense entangling, 
 Law new-fan gling, justice mangling — 
 'Tis not Bedlam, but as bad, 
 For money-mania makes them mad. 
 Hey presto pass ! a graced saloon behold 
 
 Where to a brighter star bright stars repair. 
 And beauty decked in jewelry and gold. 
 
 Curtsey to grace and beauty still more rare. 
 
CHARADE. 131 
 
 From each and all of these, at times, 
 
 Prisoned Avithin my second's bound, 
 The sick — the sad — the doomed for crimes, 
 
 The idle and the gaj are found, 
 Swiftly their wingless flight is flown, 
 
 Their guide a lady's plaything, beckoned 
 By hand unseen from spot unknown : — 
 
 What urges thee so fast my second ? 
 What hurts the eye, yet mocks the sight, 
 
 Feels not, yet sighs and makes lament ; — 
 As any floating feather light. 
 
 And yet at times omnipotent. 
 Guarded, my Second, thus, thy might 
 
 Would seem to challenge fate and death, 
 Yet doom and danger track thy flight, 
 
 Threatening around — -above — beneath. 
 See, see, the lightning's angry flash ; 
 
 Hark ! what an elemental roar ? 
 A shuddering cry — a thunder crash— 
 
 My Second 's gone — -'tis seen no more ! 
 Let none but pleasant sights appear, 
 
 Naught but the turtle-dove be heard, 
 W^here Passion-flowers, to lovers dear, 
 
 Enwreathe an arbour for my Third. — 
 There the heart vents in tender sighs 
 
 The feeling that no words can reach, 
 Or makes the love-revealing eyes 
 
 More fond and eloquent than speech. 
 Fulfilled be all the hopes ye raise. 
 
 Enamoured inmates of the bower. 
 And oh ! may all your future days 
 
 Be blissful as the present hour ! 
 
 [Courtship.] 
 
182 CHARADE, 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 Gin-palace Circe ! quit the niche 
 
 Or den that constitutes my First, 
 Nor from below, thou fair foul witch I 
 
 Call spirits baleful and accursed. 
 She 's gone ! — Beware ! your pouch to pick, 
 
 Yon crew throws dust into your eyes : 
 Distrust their flowers of rhetoric, 
 
 They garland whom they victimize. 
 Now to our dearest hopes opposed. 
 
 My changeful Fiist ! thou 'rt all we dread ; 
 And now, in solid gold disclosed. 
 
 How eagerly thou 'rt coveted ! 
 But ah ! most fatal art thou when 
 
 Thou 'rt formed beneath the 'whelming wave. 
 Of women fair and gallant men, 
 
 The Sacrificer and the grave ! 
 
 The friend, the lover, are on thee, 
 
 My Second ! source of many a tear, 
 When their vexed souls they cannot free 
 
 From dark suspense, and jealous fear. 
 On thee, within this prison lone, 
 
 The doomed assassin or the thief. 
 Vents, in his agony, the groan. 
 
 Or prays for death as a relief. 
 I see thee speeding overhead, 
 
 As if thou hadst an eagle's wing, 
 I see thee in the cattle shed, 
 
 A lifeless and unmovino- thing. 
 
CHARADE. 133 
 
 My Third is fashioned to enfold 
 Strange implements of war. — Behold 
 
 Those frames ^Yith human features, 
 By time and artificial means 
 They 're manufactured to machines 
 
 For killing human creatures. 
 Obedient moves — east, west, north, south, 
 Up to the breach, or cannon's mouth : 
 
 Each automatic figure — 
 'Gainst friend or foe, whate'er the cause. 
 With equal nonchalance he draws 
 
 His death-dispensing trigger. 
 Enslaved alike in frame and mind, 
 Life's object for its means resigned, 
 
 What gains the unlucky varlet ? 
 Dying, he sleeps on honour's couch, 
 And living, flaunts with empty pouch, 
 
 In outward gold and scarlet. 
 Never were muscles, bones, and will, 
 By such self-sacrificing skill, 
 
 Made neuter, passive, active. 
 Machine ! thou 'rt mechanism's pride, 
 But never was its art applied 
 
 To purpose less attractive ! 
 
 [Barrack.] 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 Oh ! what a glorious city ! — ])ehold 
 
 Its obelisks, pyramids, sphinx-guarded fanes. 
 
 You gaze on Bubastis in Egypt of old, 
 
 And hark ! to those sacred melodious strains ! 
 
134 CHARADE. 
 
 The dulcimer, harp, shawm, and tabret combine 
 
 With the choral rejoicings and anthems that burst 
 From yon temple's august and magnificent shrine, 
 
 Where prostrated crowds are adoring my First. 
 How strange the conflicting caprices and whims 
 
 Of blind superstition ! some ages are fled, 
 And the object which living was worshipped with hymns, 
 
 And graced with an apotheosis when dead, 
 In Europe is marked for proscription and ban. 
 
 As leagued with the foul and unsanctified crew 
 Who ply the black art that 's forbidden to man, 
 
 And with spirits of darkness dark courses pursue. 
 
 And where is my changeable Second displayed ? 
 
 In the belle and the bird, in the damsel and crone, 
 In the foul and the fair, in the matron and maid. 
 
 In the dabbler in mud, in the queen on her throne. 
 Who can reckon its changes of form and abode ? 
 
 Arched and square, low and dirty, distorted and strait. 
 It is seen in the ditch, on the dunghill, the road. 
 
 In the huts of the poor, in the halls of the great. 
 It is pure flesh and blood, when from Nature's own hand: 
 
 Made by man, its diversified substance is found 
 In the fish of the deep, in the beasts of the land. 
 
 In the trees of the field, in the ore under ground. 
 If sometimes 'tis worn unembellished and plain. 
 
 By the wives or the daughters of niggardly churls, 
 At others 'tis decked Avith a glittering train 
 
 Of diamonds and amethysts, rubies and pearls. 
 
 In my populous Third what a withering change 
 From the bushy Bubastis my first gave to sight : 
 
 No sunbeam, no moon gilds its desolate range ; 
 All is silence profound and perpetual night. 
 
THE ALABASTER SARCOPHAGUS. 135 
 
 It has numberless bouses and eacb one contains 
 
 A single inhabitant ever asleep, 
 No footfall is heard in its streets and its lanes, 
 
 In the midst of a crowd there is solitude deep. 
 Here lov^ers whose union has long been denied. 
 
 Often meet, but no love-breathing whisper is heard ; 
 Here bitterest foemen are placed side by side, 
 
 But the warfare is over : there's peace in my Third! 
 
 [Catacomb.] 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SARCOPHAGUS, 
 
 LATELY DEPOSITED IN THE BRITI8U MUSEUM. 
 
 Thou alabaster relic ! while I hold 
 
 My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, 
 
 Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold, 
 
 Mightst thou relate the changes thou hast known, 
 
 For thou wert primitive in thy formation, 
 
 Launched from th' Almighty's hand at the Creation. 
 
 Yes — Thou wert present when the stars and skies 
 And worlds unnumbered rolled into their places; 
 
 When God from Chaos bade the spheres arise. 
 And fixed the blazing sun upon its basis. 
 
 And with his finger on the bounds of space 
 
 Marked out each planet's everlasting race. 
 
 How many thousand ages from thy birth 
 
 Thou sleptst in darkness, it were vain to ask, 
 
 Till Egypt's sons upheaved thee from the earth, 
 And year by year pursued their patient task ; 
 
 Till thou wert carved and decorated thus, 
 
 Worthy to be a King's Sarcophagus. 
 
136 ADDRESS TO 
 
 What time Elijah to the skies ascended, 
 
 Or David reigned in holj Palestine, 
 Some ancient Theban monarch was extended 
 
 Beneath the lid of this emblazoned shrine. 
 And to that subterranean palace borne 
 Which toilino; ao-es in the rock had worn. 
 
 Thebes from her hundred portals filled the plain 
 To see the car on w hich thou wert upheld : — 
 
 What funeral pomps extended in thy train, 
 
 What banners waved, what mighty music swelled, 
 
 As armies, priests, and crowds, bewailed in chorus 
 
 Their King — tlieir God — their Serapis — their Orus ! 
 
 Thus to thy second quarry did they trust 
 Thee and the Lord of all the nations round. 
 
 Grim King of Silence ! Monarch of the dust ! 
 
 Embalmed — anointed — j eweled — sceptered — crowned, 
 
 Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff, and stark, 
 
 A leathern Pharaoh grinning in the dark. 
 
 Thus ages rolled — but their dissolving breath 
 Could only blacken that imprisoned thing 
 
 Which wore a ghastly royalty in death, 
 As if it struo-o-led still to be a Kino; • 
 
 And each revolving century, like the last. 
 
 Just dropped its dust upon thy lid — and passed. 
 
 The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt poured 
 
 His devastating host — a motley crew ; 
 The steel-clad horsemen — the barbarian horde — 
 
 Music and men of every sound and hue — 
 Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines and brutes — 
 Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes. 
 
THE ALAB.ASTER SARCOPHAGUS. 1S7 
 
 Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away 
 
 The ponderous rock that sealed the sacred tomb ; 
 
 Then did the slowly penetrating ray 
 
 Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom, 
 
 And lowered torches flashed against thy side 
 
 As Asia's king thy blazoned trophies eyed. 
 
 Plucked from his grave, with sacrilegious taunt, 
 The features of the royal corpse they scanned : — 
 
 Dashing the diadem from his temple gaunt, 
 They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand, 
 
 And on those fields, where once his will was law, 
 
 Left him for winds to waste and beasts to gnaw. 
 
 Some pious Thebans^ when the storm was past, 
 Unclosed the sepulchre with cunning skill. 
 
 And nature, aiding their devotion, cast 
 Over its entrance a concealing rill. 
 
 Then thy third darkness came, and thou didst sleep 
 
 Twenty-three centuries in silence deep. 
 
 But he from whom nor pyramid nor sphinx 
 
 Can hide its secrecies, Belzoni, came ; 
 Prom the tomb's mouth unloosed the granite links, 
 
 Gave thee again to light, and life, and fame, 
 And brought thee from the sands and desert forth 
 To charm the pallid children of the North. 
 
 Thou art in London, which, when thou wert new, 
 Was, what Thebes is, a wilderness and waste, 
 
 Where savage beasts more savage men pursue — 
 A scene by nature cursed — by man disgraced. 
 
 Now — 'tis the world's motropohs — the high 
 
 Queen of arms, learning, arts, and luxury. 
 
138 THE ALABASTER SARCOPHAGUS. 
 
 Here, where I hold mj hand, 'tis strange to think 
 What other hands perchance preceded mine ; 
 
 Others have also stood beside thj brink, 
 And vainly conned the moralizing line. 
 
 Kings, sages, chiefs, that touched this stone, like me, 
 
 Where are ye now ? — where all must shortly be ! 
 
 All is mutation ; — he within this stone 
 
 Was once the greatest monarch of the hour : — 
 
 His bones are dust — his very name unknown. 
 Go — learn from him the vanity of power : 
 
 Seek not the frame's corruption to control, 
 
 But build a lasting mansion for thy soul. 
 
COMIC POEMS. 
 
 THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE. 
 
 The realm of France possessed, in days of old, 
 
 A thriving set of literati, 
 Or men of letters, turning all to gold : — 
 
 The standard works they made less weighty 
 By new abridgments — took abundant 
 
 Pains their roughnesses to polish, 
 
 And plied their scissors to abolish 
 The superficial and redundant. 
 
 And yet, instead of fame and praise. 
 Hogsheads of sack, and wreaths of bays, 
 The law, in those benighted ages, 
 
 By barbarous edicts did enjoin 
 That they should cease their occupatioHj 
 Terming these literary sages 
 
 Clippers and filers of the coin ; 
 (Oh 1 what a monstrous profanation !) 
 Nay, what was deeper to be dreaded, 
 These worthies were, when caught, beheaded ! 
 
 But to the point. A story should 
 Be like a coin — a head and tail, 
 
 In a few words enveloped. Good ! 
 I must not let the likeness fail. — ■ 
 
140 SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE. 
 
 A gascon who had long pursued 
 
 This trade of clipping, 
 And filing the similitude 
 
 Of good King Pepin, 
 Was caught bj the police, who found him 
 
 With file and scissors in his hand 
 
 And ounces of Pactolian sand 
 Lying around him. 
 The case admitting no denial, 
 They hurried him forthwith to trial ; 
 When the judge made a long oration, 
 About the crime of profanation, 
 And gave no respite for repentance, 
 But instantly pronounced his sentence, 
 '• Decapitation!" 
 
 "As to offending powers divine," 
 
 The culprit cried — ''be nothing said : 
 
 Yours is a deeper guilt than mine. 
 I took a portion from the head 
 
 Of the king's image ; you, oh fearful odds 1 
 
 Strike the whole head at once from God's !" 
 
 SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE. 
 
 NOSE ! thou rudder in my fjice's centre, 
 Since I must follow thee until I die — 
 
 Since we are bound together by indenture, 
 The master thou, and the apprentice I, 
 
 be to your Telemachus a Mentor, 
 Though oft invisible, for ever nigh ; 
 
 Guard him from all disgrace and misadventure, 
 
THE MILKMAID AND THE BANKER. 141 
 
 From hostile tweak, or love's blind mastery. 
 So shalt thou quit the city's stench and smoke, 
 For hawthorn lanes and copses of young oak, 
 
 Scenting the gales of heaven that have not yet 
 Lost their fresh fragrance, since the nn^rning broke, 
 
 And breath of flowers " with rosy May-dews wet," 
 
 The primrose, cowslip, blue-bell, violet. 
 
 THE MILKMAID AND THE BANKER. 
 
 A Milkmaid, with a very pretty face, 
 
 Who lived at Acton, 
 Had a black Cow the ugliest in the place, 
 
 A crooked-backed one, 
 A beast as dangerous, too, as she was frightful, 
 
 Yicious, and spiteful ; 
 And so confirmed a truant, that she bounded 
 Over the hedges daily, and got pounded : 
 'Twas all in vain to tie her with a tether, 
 For then both Cow and cord eloped together. 
 Armed with an oaken bough — (what folly ! 
 It should have been of thorn, or prickly holly.) 
 Patty one day was driving home the beast. 
 Which had, as usual, slipped its anchor. 
 When on the road she met a certain Banker, 
 Who stopped to give his eyes a feast. 
 By gazing on her features crimsoned high 
 By a long CoAV-chase in July. 
 
 '•Are you from Acton, pretty lass?" he cried; 
 ''Yes" — with a curtesy she replied. 
 
142 THE farmer's wife and the GASCON. 
 
 "Why, then you know the laundress, Sally Wrench?" 
 "Yes, she's my cousin, sir, and next-door neighbour." 
 "That's lucky — I've a message for the wench, 
 
 Which needs dispatch, and you may save my labour. 
 Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it : 
 But mind, you owe me one — I 've only lent it." 
 " She shall know," cried the girl, as she brandish' d her 
 bough, 
 
 "Of the loving intentions you bore me; 
 But since you 're in haste for the kiss, you '11 allow, 
 That you 'd better run forward and give it my Cow, 
 For she, at the rate she is scampering now, 
 
 Will reach Acton some minutes before me." 
 
 THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE GASCON. 
 
 At Neufchatel, in France, where they prepare 
 
 Cheeses that set us longing to be Mites, 
 There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare 
 
 Skill in these small quadrangular delights. — 
 Where they were made, they sold for the immense 
 
 Price of three sous a-piece ; 
 But as salt water made their charms increase. 
 
 In England the fixed rate was eigh teen-pence. 
 
 This damsel had to help her in the farm, 
 To milk her cows, and feed her hogs, 
 
 A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm 
 For digging, or for carrying logs; 
 
 But in his noddle weak as any baby, 
 In fact a gaby, 
 
THE farmer's wipe AND THE GASCON". 143 
 
 And such a glutton when you came to feed liim, 
 
 That Wantley's dragon, who " ate barns and churches, 
 
 As if they were geese and turkeys/' 
 
 (Vide the Ballad,) scarcely could exceed him. 
 
 One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl 
 
 Of cream, like nectar, 
 And wouldn't go to Church (good careful soul!) 
 
 Till she had left it safe with a protector ; 
 So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon 
 
 To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone. 
 
 Watch it he did — he never took his eyes off, 
 But licked his upper, then his under lip, 
 And doubled up his fist to drive the flies off, 
 Begrudging them the smallest sip, 
 Which if they got. 
 Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh. 
 And cried, — '' happy, happy fly, 
 How I do envy you your lot !" 
 
 Each moment did his appetite grow stronger ; 
 
 His bowels yearned ; 
 At length he could not bear it any longer, 
 
 But on all sides his looks he turned, 
 And finding that the coast was clear, he quaffed 
 
 The whole up at a draught. — 
 Scudding from church, the farmer's wife 
 
 Flew to the dairy ; 
 But stood aghast, and could not, for her life. 
 
 One sentence utter, 
 Until she summoned breath enough to mutter, 
 
 ^'Ho]y St. Mary!" 
 
144 
 
 And shortly, with a face of scarlet, 
 The vixen (for she was a vixen) flew 
 
 Upon the varlet. 
 Asking the when, and where, and how, and who 
 
 Had gulped her cream, nor left an atom ; 
 To which he gave not separate replies. 
 
 But with a look of excellent digestion, 
 
 One answer made to every question, 
 ''The Flies!" 
 
 " The flies, you rogue ! the flies, you guzzling dog ! 
 
 Behold your whiskers still are covered thickly ; 
 Thief — liar — villain — gormandizer — hog 1 
 
 I'll make you tell another story quickly." 
 So out she bounced, and brought, with loud alarms, 
 
 Two stout Gens-(F amies. 
 Who bore him to the judge — a little prig. 
 
 With angry bottle nose 
 
 Like a red cabbage rose, 
 While lots of white ones flourished on his wig. — 
 Looking at once both stern and wise. 
 
 He turned to the delinquent, 
 And 'gan to question him and catechise 
 
 As to which way the drink went : 
 Still the same dogged answers rise, 
 " The flies, my Lord— the flies, the flies !" 
 
 "Psha!" quoth the judge, half peevish and half pomp- 
 ous, 
 
 "Why, you're iion com pes. 
 You should have watched the bowl as she desired, 
 
 And killed the flies, you stupid cloAvn." 
 "What, is it lawful then," the dolt enquired, 
 
 " To kill the flics in this here town?" — 
 
THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 145 
 
 (.(. 
 
 TIte man 's an ass ! a prettj question this ! 
 Lawful, you booby? to be sure it is. — 
 You've my authority, wiieneer you meet 'em 
 To kill the rogues, and if you like it, eat 'em." 
 
 " Zooks !" cried the rustic, ''I'm right glad to hear it. 
 
 Constable, catch that thief! may I go hang 
 If yonder blue-bottle, (I know his face.) 
 
 Is n't the very leader of the gang 
 That stole the cream, let me come near it !" 
 
 This said, he started from his place. 
 And aimino; one of his sled<2;e-hammer blows 
 At a large fly upon the Judge's nose, 
 The luckless blue-bottle he smashed, 
 
 And gratified a double grudge, 
 For the same catapult completely mashed 
 
 The bottle-nose belono-inor to the Judoje ! 
 
 THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 
 
 A CITY Auctioneer, one Samuel Stubbs, 
 Did greater execution with his hammer, 
 Assisted by his pufiing clamour. 
 Than Gog and Magog Avith their clubs, 
 Or that great Fee-fa-fum of War, 
 The Scandinavian Thor, 
 Did with his mallet, Avhich (see Bryant's 
 Mythology,) felled stoutest giants; — 
 For Samuel knocked down houses, churches, 
 And woods of oak, and elms, and birches, 
 With greater ease than mad Orlando 
 Tore the first tree he set his hand to. — 
 
146 THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 
 
 He ought in reason to have raised his own 
 
 Lot bj knocking others' down. 
 
 And had he been content with shaking 
 
 His hammer and his hand, and taking 
 
 Advantage oi what brought him grist, he 
 
 Might have been as rich as Christie ; 
 
 But somehow when thj midnight bell, Bow, 
 
 Sounded along Cbeapside its knell, 
 
 Our spark was busy in Pall-Mali 
 Shaking his elbow ; — 
 Marking, with paw upon his mazzard, 
 The turns of hazard ; 
 Or rattling in a box the dice. 
 
 Which seemed as if a grudge thej bore 
 To Stubbs ; for often in a trice, 
 Down on the nail he was compelled to pay 
 All that his hammer brought him in the day. 
 
 And sometimes more. 
 Thus like a male Penelope, our wight 
 What he had done by day undid by night : 
 No wonder, therefore, if like her 
 
 He was beset by clamorous brutes, 
 Who crowded round him to prefer 
 
 Their several suits. 
 
 One Mr. Snipps, the tailor, had the longest 
 Bill for many suits — of raiment, 
 
 And naturally thought he had the strongest 
 Claim for payment. 
 
 But debts of honour must be paid, 
 
 Whate'er becomes of debts of trade ; 
 
 And so our stylish auctioneer, 
 
 From month to month throughout the year, 
 
THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER. 147 
 
 Excuses, falsehoods, pleas, alleo-es; 
 Or flatteries, compliments, and pledges, 
 When in the latter mood one day, 
 He squeezed his hand, and swore to pay. 
 
 '' But when ?" ''Next month, you may depend on 't, 
 My dearest Snipps, before the end on't ; 
 Your face proclaims, in every feature, 
 
 You would n't harm a fellow creature 
 
 You 're a kind soul, I know you are, Snipps."— 
 
 " ^y, so you said six months ago ; 
 
 But such fine words, I'd have you know, 
 
 Butter no parsnips." 
 
 This said, he bade his lawyer draw 
 
 A special writ, 
 
 Serve it on Stubbs, and follow it 
 Up with the utmost rigour of the law. 
 
 This lawyer was a friend of Stubbs; 
 That is to say 
 In a civic way, 
 Where business interposes not its rubs ; 
 For where the main chance is in question, 
 
 Damon leaves Pythias to the stake, 
 
 Pylades and Orestes break, 
 And Alexander cuts Hephgestion ; 
 But when our man of law ?niis^ sue his friends, 
 Tenfold politeness made amends. 
 
 So when he meets our Auctioneer, 
 
 Into his outstretched hand he thrust his 
 
 Writ, and said with friendly leer, 
 
 ''My dear, dear Stubbs, pray do me justice; 
 
148 THE GOUTY MERCHANT. 
 
 In this affair I hope you see 
 No censure can attach to me — 
 
 Don't entertain a wrong impression ; 
 I'm doing noAV what must be done 
 
 In my profession." — 
 
 " And so am I," Stubbs answered with a frown; 
 So crying, "Going — going- going — gone!" 
 
 He knocked him down. 
 
 THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. 
 
 In Broad Street Buiklings, on a winter night, 
 Snug by his parlour fire a gouty wight 
 Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing 
 
 His leg wrapped up in fleecy hose, 
 
 While t'other held beneath his nose 
 The Public Ledger, in whose columns, grubbing, 
 
 He noted all the sales of hops, 
 
 Ships, shops, and slops, 
 Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin. 
 Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin; 
 
 When lo ! a decent personage in black 
 
 Entered, and most politely said — 
 '' Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track, 
 
 To the King's Head, 
 And left your door ajar, which I 
 Observed in passing by. 
 And thought it neighbourly to give you notice." 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks ! how very few get, 
 
 In time of danger, 
 
 Such kind attentions from a stranger ! 
 
THE FAT ACTOR AXD THE RUSTIC. 149 
 
 Assuredly that fellow's throat is 
 
 Doomed to a final drop at NcAvgate, 
 He knows too, the unconscionable elf! 
 That there 's no soul at home except mjself " 
 
 ''Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking grave- 
 " Then he 's a double knave. ' 
 
 He knows that rogues and thieves by scores 
 iNightlj beset unguarded doors ; 
 And see how easily might one 
 
 Of these domestic foes, 
 
 Even beneath jour very nose, 
 Perform his knavish tricks, 
 Enter jour room as I have done, 
 Blow out jour cmidhs—t/ms, and thus 
 Pocket jour silver candlesticks— 
 
 And walk off t/ufsf" 
 
 So said, so done— he made no more remark- 
 Nor waited for replies, ' 
 
 But marched off with his prize. 
 
 Leaving the goutj merchant in the dark. 
 
 THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey was a man 
 
 Of an unbounded stomach, Shakespeare says 
 Meanmg, (in metaphor,) for ever puffing 
 To swell bejond his size and span ; 
 
 But had he seen a plajcr of our days 
 Enacting Falstaff without stuffing' 
 
150 THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC. 
 
 He would have owned that Wolsej's bulk ideal 
 Equalled not that within the bounds 
 This actor's belt surrounds, 
 
 Which is, moreover, all alive and real. 
 
 This player, when the Peace enabled shoals 
 
 Of our odd fishes 
 To visit every clime between the poles, 
 Swam with the stream, a histrionic Kraken : 
 
 Although his wishes 
 Must not in this proceeding be mistaken. 
 For he went out professionally bent 
 To see how money might be made, not spent. 
 
 In this most laudable employ 
 
 He found himself at Lille one afternoon ; 
 And that he might the breeze enjoy, 
 
 And catch a peep at the ascending moon, 
 Out of the town he took a stroll, 
 Refreshing in the fields his soul 
 With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces, 
 And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces. 
 
 When we are pleasantly employed, time flies ; — 
 He counted up his profits in the skies. 
 
 Until the moon began to shine. 
 On which he gazed awhile, and then. 
 
 Pulled out his watch, and cried — " Past nine ! 
 Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten!" 
 Backwards he turned his steps instanter^ 
 
 Stumping along with might and main. 
 
 And though 'tis plain 
 He could n't gallop, trot, or canter, 
 (Those who had seen it would confess it,) he 
 Marched well for one of such obesity. 
 
THE BANK CLERK. 151 
 
 Eyeing liis watch, and now his forehead mopping, 
 
 He puffed and blew along the road, 
 
 Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping ; 
 
 When in his path he met a clown, 
 
 Returning from the town. — 
 
 "Tell me," he panted in a thawing state, 
 
 " Dost think I can get in friend, at the gate?" 
 
 " Get in ?" replied the hesitating loon, 
 Measuring with his eye our bulky wight : 
 " Why yes, sir, I should think you might — 
 
 A load of hay got in this afternoon !" 
 
 THE BANK CLERK AND THE STABLE KEEPERS 
 
 Showing how Peter was undone 
 Bj taking care of Number One. — 
 
 Of Peter Prim (so Johnson would have written,) 
 Let me indulge in the remembrance ; — Peter ! 
 
 Thy formal phiz has oft my fancy smitten. 
 
 For sure the Bank had never a completer 
 
 Quiz among its thousand clerks. 
 
 Than he who elicits our remarks. — 
 
 Prim was a formalist, a prig, 
 
 A solemn fop, an office Martinet, 
 One of those small precisians who look big 
 
 If half an hour before their time they get 
 To an appointment, and abuse those elves 
 Who are not over-punctual like themselves. 
 
152 THE BANK CLERK AND 
 
 If you should mark his powdered head betimes. 
 
 And pohshed shoes in Lothbuiy, 
 You knew the hour — for the three quarters' chimes 
 
 Invariably struck as he went by ; 
 From morning fines he always saved his gammon, 
 Not from his hate of sloth, but love of Mammon. 
 
 For Peter had a special eye 
 To Number One — his charity 
 
 At home beginning, ne'er extends, 
 But where it started had its end too; 
 
 And as to lending cash to friends, 
 Luckily he had none to lend to. 
 
 No purchases so cheap as his, 
 
 While no one's bargains went so far, 
 
 And though in dress a deadly quiz. 
 No Quaker more particular. 
 
 This live automaton, who seemed 
 To move by clockwork, ever keen 
 To live upon the saving plan, 
 Had soon the honour to be deemed 
 That selfish, heartless, cold machine, 
 Called in the City — a warm man. 
 
 A Bank Director once, who dwelt at Chigwell, 
 
 Prim to a turtle-feast invited, 
 And as the reader knows the prig well, 
 
 I need not say he went, delighted ; 
 For great men, when they let you slice their meat, 
 May give a slice of loan — ^a richer treat 
 
THE STABLE-KEEPERS. 153 
 
 No stage leaves Cliigwell after eight, 
 AVhich was too early to come back, 
 
 So, after much debate, 
 
 Peter resolved to hire a hack ; 
 
 The more inclined to this, because he knew 
 
 In London Wall, at Number Two, 
 
 An economic stable-keeper. 
 
 From whom he hoped to get one cheaper. 
 
 Behold him mounted on his jade, 
 
 A perfect Johnny Gilpin figure ; 
 But the good bargain he had made 
 
 Compensating for sneer and snigger, 
 He trotted on — arrived — sat dow^n. 
 
 Devoured enough for six or seven, 
 His horse remounted, and reached town 
 
 As he had fixed, exactly at eleven. 
 But whether habit led him, or the Fates 
 
 To give a preference to Number One, 
 
 (As he had always done,) 
 Or that the darkness jumbled the two gates, 
 Certain it is he gave that bell a drag. 
 
 Instead of Number Two, 
 Rode in — dismounted — left his nao;, 
 
 And homeward hurried without more ado. 
 
 Some days elapsed, and no one came 
 To bring the bill, or payment claim ; 
 He 'gan to hope 'twas overlooked. 
 Forgotten quite, or never booked, 
 An error which the lionesty of Prim 
 Would ne'er have rectified, if left to him. 
 After six weeks, however, comes a pair 
 Of groom-like looking men, 
 7* 
 
154 
 
 Each with a bill, which Peter they submit to ; 
 One for the six weeks' hire of a bay mare, 
 And one for six weeks' keep of ditto : 
 Together— twenty-two pounds ten ! 
 
 The tale got wind. What ! Peter make a blunder ? 
 
 There was no end of joke, and quiz, and wonder. 
 
 Which, with the loss of cash, so mortified 
 Prim, that he suffered an attack 
 Of bile, and bargained with a quack, 
 
 Who daily sw^ore to cure him — till he died ; 
 When, as no will was found. 
 
 His scraped, and saved, and hoarded store, 
 Went to a man to whom, some months before, 
 He had refused to lend a pound ! 
 
 PIRON, AND THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 
 
 PiRON, a Poet of the Gallic nation. 
 
 Who beat all waggish rivals hollow. 
 Was apt to draw his inspiration 
 
 Rather from Bacchus than Apollo. 
 His hostess Avas his deity. 
 His Hippocrene was eau-de-vie ; 
 And though 'tis said 
 
 That poets live not till they die. 
 When living he w^as often dead — 
 That is to say, dead drunk. "While I,'' 
 Quoth Piron, "am by all upbraided 
 
 With drunkenness, the vilest, worst. 
 Most base, detestable, degraded, 
 Of sins that ever man repented, 
 
 None of you blames this cursed thirst 
 
THE JUDGE OF THE POLICE. 155 
 
 With which I'm constantly tormented. — 
 Worse than a cholic or a phthisic, 
 
 Even now it gripes me so severely, 
 That I must fly to calm it, merely 
 Swallowing brandy as a physic." 
 
 To cure this unrelenting fever 
 
 He poured such doses through his lips, he 
 Was shortly what the French call ivre. 
 
 Anglic} — tipsy ; 
 And while the midnight bell was pealing 
 
 Its solemn tolling, 
 Our Bacchanal Avas homeward reeling. 
 
 Tumbling and rolling, 
 Until at last he made a stop, 
 
 Suifering his noddle, which he could not keep 
 Upright, upon the ground to drop, 
 
 And in two minutes was asleep, 
 Fast as a top. 
 
 Round came the guard, and seeing him extended 
 
 Across the gutter 
 
 Incompetent to move or utter. 
 They thought at first his days were ended ; 
 But finding that he was not dead. 
 Having lost nothing but his head. 
 They popped him on a horse's back, 
 
 Just like a sack. 
 And shot him on the guard-house floor, 
 To let him terminate his snore. 
 
 Next morning when our tippling bard 
 
 Had got his senses, 
 They brought a coach into the yard. 
 
 And drove him ofi* to answer his offences. 
 
156 PIRON AND THE JUDGE. 
 
 Before the Judge of the Police, 
 
 Who made a mighty fuss and clamour ; 
 But, like some Justices of peace, 
 
 Who know as much of law as grammar, 
 
 Was an egregious ninny-hammer. 
 "Well, fellow," cried the magistrate, 
 
 " What have you got to say for boozing, 
 Then lying in the street and snoozing 
 All night in that indecent state ?" 
 " Sir," quoth the culprit to the man of law, 
 
 '' It was a frost last night in town, 
 And tired of tripping, sliding, and slipping, 
 
 Methought I might as well lie down, 
 And wait until there came a thaw." 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense ! psha ! 
 Imprisonment must be the lot 
 Of such a vagabond and sot. 
 But, tell me, fellow, what's your name?" 
 
 " PiRON."— " The dramatist?"—" The same.'' 
 
 ''Ah, well, well, well. Monsieur PiRON, 
 
 Pray take your hat and quit the court, 
 
 For wags like you must have their sport; 
 
 But recollect, Avhen you are gone. 
 
 You'll owe me one and thus I shew it : 
 
 I have a brother who's a poet, 
 
 And lives as you do, by his wits." 
 
 Quoth PiRON, " that can never pass, 
 
 For I've a brother who's an ass, 
 So we are quits." 
 
THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR. 157 
 
 THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR. 
 
 A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, 
 
 Who was esteemed a mighty wit, 
 
 Upon the strength of a chance hit 
 Amid a thousand flippancies, 
 And his occasional bad jokes 
 
 In bullying, bantering, browbeating, 
 
 Ridiculino;, and maltreatino; 
 
 CD' O 
 
 Women, or other timid folks. 
 
 In a late cause resolved to hoax 
 A clownish Yorkshire farmer — one 
 
 Who, by his uncouth look and gait, 
 
 Appeared expressly meant by Fate 
 For being quizzed and played upon : 
 So having tipped the wink to those 
 
 In the back rows, 
 Who kept their laughter bottled down, 
 
 Until our wag should draw the cork, 
 He smiled jocosely on the clown, 
 
 And went to work. 
 
 *' Well, Farmer Numscull, how go calves at York?" 
 
 '' Why — not, sir, as they do wi' you, 
 
 But on four legs, instead of two." 
 *'Ofiicer!" cried the legal elf. 
 Piqued at the laugh against himself, 
 
 " Do pray keep silence down below there. 
 Now look at me, clown, and attend ; 
 Have I not seen you somewhere, friend ?" 
 
 " Yees — very like — I often go there." 
 " Our rustic's waggish — quite laconic," 
 The counsel cried, with grin sardonic ; 
 
158 THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 
 
 "I wish I'd known this prodigy, 
 This genius of the clods, when I 
 On circuit was at York residing. 
 Now, Farmer, do for once speak true — 
 Mind, you' re on oath, so tell me, you, 
 Who doubtless think yourself so clever. 
 Are there as many fools as ever 
 
 In the West Riding ?" 
 " Why — no, sir, no; we've got our share, 
 But not so many as when you were there !" 
 
 THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 
 
 At Trin. Coll. Cam. — which means, in proper spelling, 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, there resided 
 
 One Harry Dashington — a youth excelling 
 In all the learning commonly provided 
 
 For those wtio choose that classic station 
 
 For finishing their education : 
 
 That is, he understood computing 
 
 The odds at any race or match ; 
 
 Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting ; 
 
 Could kick up rows, knock down the watch — 
 
 Play truant and the rake at random — 
 
 Drink — tie cravats — and drive a tandem. 
 
 Remonstrance, fine, and rustication. 
 So far from working reformation, 
 
 Seemed but to make his lapses greater. 
 Till he was warned that next offence 
 Would have this certain consequence — 
 
 Expulsion from his Alma Mater. 
 
THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 159 
 
 One need not be a necromancer 
 
 To guess that, with so wild a wight, 
 The next offence occurred next night, 
 When our incurable came rolling- 
 Home as the midnight chimes were tolling. 
 
 And rung the College bell. — No answer. 
 
 The second peal was vain — the third 
 
 Made the street echo its alarum ; 
 When to his great delight he heard 
 The sordid Janitor, old Ben, 
 Rousing and growling in his den. 
 
 " Who's there? — I s'pose young Harum Scarum." 
 " 'Tis I, mj worthy Ben, 'tis Harry." 
 " Aye, so I thought — and there you '11 tarry. 
 
 'Tis past the hour— the gates are closed, 
 You know my orders ; I shall lose 
 
 My place if I undo the door." 
 '' And I (young Hopeful interposed) 
 " Shall be expelled if you refuse ; 
 
 So pry thee" — Ben began to snore. 
 
 ^Tm w^et," cried Harry, "to the skin; 
 
 Hip 1 hallo ! Ben ! — do n't be a ninny ; 
 
 Beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea. 
 So tumble out and let me in." — 
 
 " Humph !" growled the greedy old curmudgeon, 
 Half overjoyed and half in dudgeon, 
 
 "Ao?r, you may pass, but make no fuss, 
 On tiptoe walk, and hold your prate." 
 
 "Look on the stones, old Cerberus," 
 Cried Harry as he passed the gate, 
 " I've dropped a shilling — take the light, 
 You'll find it just outside; — good night." 
 
160. THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER. 
 
 :Behold the porter in liis shirt, 
 
 Cursing the rain which never stopped 
 Orropmg and raking in the dirt, ' 
 
 And all Avithout success ; but that 
 Is hardlj to be wondered at, 
 
 Because no shilling had been dropped • 
 feo he gave o'er the search at last, ' 
 
 Kegained the door and found it fast ! 
 With sundry oaths, and growls, and groans, 
 
 He rang, once, twice, and thrice; and then, 
 Mingled with giggling, heard the tones 
 
 Of Hariy, mimicking old Ben. 
 " Who 's there ?--'Tis realty a disgrace 
 
 To ring so loud.— IVe locked the gate— 
 I know mj dutj— 'tis too late. 
 You would n't have me lose mj place ?" 
 ';Psha! Mr. Dashington: remember, 
 -i-his IS the middle of November, 
 
 I'm stepped, 'tis raining cats' and dogs." 
 Hush, hush !" quoth Hal, '.'I'm fast asleet'' 
 And then he snored as loud and deep 
 As a whole company of hoo-s - 
 "But hark je, Ben, 111 grmt admittance 
 
 At the same rate I paid myself" 
 '' Nay master, leave me half the pittance," 
 
 Keplied the avaricious elf 
 " ^0 : all or none— a full acquittance • 
 The terms, I know, are somewhat hio-h- 
 But you have iixed the price, not I— ' 
 I won't take less, I can't afford it." 
 feo, finding all his haggling vain, 
 Ben, with an oath and groan of pain. 
 
 Drew out the guinea, and restored it. 
 
THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 161 
 
 '' Surely you '11 give me," growled the outwitted 
 Porter, when again admitted, 
 
 " Something, now you 've done your joking, 
 For all this trouble, time, and soaking." 
 
 " Oh surely, surely," Harry said; 
 " Since, as you urge, I broke your rest, 
 And you 're half drowned, and quite undress'd, 
 I'll give you — leave to go to bed !" 
 
 / 
 
 THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 
 
 While he was laying plans for getting 
 The honours of the Chapeau rougc^ 
 The Cardinal Dubois w^as ever fretting ; 
 All his days and nights allotting 
 To bribes and schemes, intriguing, plotting, 
 
 Until his face grew yellow as gamboge, 
 His eyes sepulchral, dull, and gummy. 
 And his whole frame a walking mummy 
 
 Meanwhile his steward, De la Vigne, 
 Seemed to be fattening on his master, 
 
 For, as the one grew lank and lean, 
 The other only thrived the faster. 
 
 Enjoying, as he swelled in figure. 
 Such constant spirits, laugh, and snigger, 
 That it e'en struck his Excellency, 
 Who called him up and asked him whence he 
 Contrived to get so plump and jolly, 
 While he himself, a man of rank, 
 Visibly shrank. 
 And daily grew more melancholy. 
 
162 THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 
 
 '' Really, my lord," the steward said, 
 " There 's nothmg marvellous in that; 
 
 You have a hat for ever in your head. 
 My head is always in my hat." 
 
 Dubois, too wealthy to be marred in all 
 His plots, was presently a Cardinal, 
 
 And wore what he had pined to win ; 
 When jmsquinades soon flew about. 
 Hinting his sconce was deeper red without. 
 
 Than 'twas within. 
 
 Perhaps it was, but that's no matter, 
 The Pope, like any other hatter. 
 Makes coverings, not heads ; and this 
 
 With its new guest agreed so well, 
 That he soon wore an altered phiz : 
 
 Ate heartily, began to swell, 
 Recovered from his ails and ills, 
 And grew quite rosy in the gills. 
 
 'Tis strange, but true, our worthy wore 
 
 Fine robes, and AAaxed both plump and fresh, 
 From the first moment he forswore 
 
 All pomps and appetites of flesh. — 
 His Eminence, on this inflation 
 Both of his stomach and his station, 
 
 His old Chateau resolved to visit. 
 Accompanied by one Dupin, 
 A sandy-headed little man. 
 
 Who daily managed to elicit 
 Jokes from some French Joe Miller's page, 
 Old, and but little of their age ; 
 
THE MAYOR OF MIROBLAIS. 163 
 
 Though they drew forth as never-failing 
 
 A roar of laughter every time, 
 
 As if they were as new and prime 
 As those which we are now retailing. 
 
 To the ChcUeau in Languedoc, 
 
 Whole deputations 
 From the surrounding districts flock, 
 
 With odes, addresses, gratulations, 
 
 And long orations ; 
 And amongst others, the Prefet 
 
 Of Miroblais, 
 
 Famed for its annual Fair of Asses, 
 Began a speech which, by its dull 
 Exordium, threatened to be full 
 
 As long and dry as fifty masses. 
 
 Dupin, w^ho saw his yawning master 
 
 Somewhat annoyed by this disaster, 
 
 And thought it might be acceptable 
 
 To quiz the bore, and stop his gabble, 
 Abruptly cried — '' Pray Mr. Mayor, 
 How much did asses fetch, last Fair?" 
 
 "Why, sir," the worthy mayor replied, 
 
 As the impertinent he eyed — 
 
 ''Small sandy ones, like you, might each 
 
 Sell for three crowns, and plenty too ;" 
 Then quietly resumed his speech. 
 
 And mouthed it regularly through. 
 
164 RABELAIS AND THE LAMPREYS. 
 
 RABELAIS AND THE LAMPREYS. 
 
 When the eccentric Rabelais was physician 
 To Cardinal Lorraine, he sat at dinner 
 Beside that gormandizing sinner ; 
 
 Not like the medical magician 
 
 Who whisked from Sancho Panza's fauces 
 
 The evanescent meats and sauces, 
 But to protect his sacred master 
 Against such diet as obstructs 
 The action of the epigastre, 
 Overloads the biliary ducts, 
 
 The peristaltic motion crosses, 
 
 And puzzles the digestive process. 
 
 The Cardinal, one hungry day. 
 
 First having with his eyes consumed 
 Some lampreys that before him fumed, 
 Had plunged his fork into the prey, 
 When Rabelais gravely shook his head. 
 Tapped on his plate three times and said — 
 
 '• Pah ! — hard digestion ! hard digestion !" 
 And his bile-dreading Eminence, 
 Though sorely tempted, had the sense 
 To send it off without a question. — 
 
 " Hip ! Hallo ! bring the lampreys here!" 
 Cried Rabelais, as the dish he snatched ; 
 
 And gobbling up the dainty cheer. 
 The whole was instantly dispatched. 
 
 Redden'd with vain attempts at stifling 
 At once his wrath and appetite, 
 
THE BITER BIT. 165 
 
 His patron cried, " Your conduct's rude, 
 This is no subject, sir, for trifling ; 
 How dare you designate this food 
 As indigestible and crude, 
 
 Then swallow it before mj sight?" 
 
 Quoth Rabelais, " It may soon be shown 
 
 That I don't merit this rebuff: 
 I tapped the plate ^ and that you'll own, 
 Is indio^estible enough; 
 But as to this unlucky fish, 
 With you so strangely out of favour, 
 
 Not only 'tis a wholesome dish, 
 But one of most delicious flavour !" 
 
 THE BITER BIT. 
 
 Jack Dobson, honest son of tillage, 
 
 The Toby Philpot of his village, 
 Laugh "d and grew fat. Time's gorgon visage braving; 
 
 To hear him cackle at a hoax, 
 
 Or new edition of old jokes, 
 You'd think a Roman Capitol was saving. 
 
 Not Boniface, when at a mug 
 
 Of ale he gave a hearty tug. 
 Was fuller of his subject-matter ; 
 
 And Dobson had a better plea 
 
 For boasting of its pedigree ; 
 
 For his was brewed at home, and he 
 Was infinitely fatter. 
 
166 THE BITER BIT. 
 
 One cask he had better and stronger 
 
 Than all the rest brewed at a christening; 
 To pass it set his eyes a glistening ; 
 
 In short he couldn't tarry longer, 
 
 But seizing spiggot and a faucet, 
 
 He tapp'd it — quaffed a luscious posset — 
 
 Then, like a hospitable fellow. 
 
 Sent for his friends to make them mellow. — 
 
 Among them he invited one 
 
 Called Tibbs, a simple-minded wight, 
 
 Whom waggish Dobson took delight 
 To make the subject of his fun : 
 For Nature such few brains had put 
 In neighbour Tibbs' s occiput^ 
 
 That all the rustic wags and wits 
 Found him a most convenient butt 
 
 For their good hits ; 
 Though sometimes, as both great and small aver, 
 He gave them Roland for their Oliver. 
 
 The guests all met, and dinner spread, 
 Dobson first tipped the wink, then said, 
 "Well, now, my lads, Ave'U all draw lots, 
 
 To settle which of us shall go 
 
 Into the cellerage below, 
 To fill the pots." 
 So saying, he adroitly wriggled 
 
 The shortest into Tibbs' s paw, 
 Whereat the others hugely giggled, 
 
 And Tibbs, obedient to the law, 
 
 Went down, the beverage to draw. 
 
THE BITER BIT. 16' 
 
 Now, Farmer Dobson, -wicked wag I 
 
 Over the cellar door had slung 
 
 A water-bowl, so slilj hung, 
 That whoso gave the door a drao;, 
 
 Was sure to shower down at once 
 
 A quart of liquid on his sconce. 
 
 •Our host and all his brother wits, 
 
 Soon as the J heard their victim's tramp. 
 Who looked half-drowned, burst into fits. 
 Which in fresh peals of laughter flamed, 
 When Tibbs in drawling tone, exclaimed : 
 "Isn't your cellar rather damp ?' 
 
 Gracf^ being said, quick havoc followed ; 
 Many good things were said and swallowed ;- — 
 Joking, laughing, stuffing, and quaffing, 
 For a full hour they pushed about 
 
 The cans, and when there came a pause, 
 
 From mere exhaustion of their jaws, 
 Tibbs with his nasal twang drawled out — 
 " Suppose we now draw lots again. 
 
 Which of us shall go down to put 
 
 The spiggot back into the butt." 
 "Why, zounds !" the farmer roared amain — 
 "The spiggot back ! come, come, you're funning. 
 You haven t left the liquor running?" 
 
 "I did as I was ordered. Jack," 
 
 Quoth Tibbs ; — " and if it was intentioned 
 That I should put the spiggot back, 
 
 'Tis a great pity 'twas n't mentioned ; — • 
 You 've lost a cask of precious stuff, 
 But I, for one, ]"ave drunk enough." 
 
168 THE PARSOX AT FAULT. 
 
 ''Ass! numskull! fool!" the farmer cried — 
 " What can one get, confound your souls ! 
 Bj asking such half-witted lubbers ?" — 
 "This lesson, neighbour," Tibbs replied — 
 " That those who choose to play at bowls 
 Must expect rubbers !" 
 
 THE PARSON AT FAULT. 
 
 A COUNTRY parson took a notion 
 
 Into his headj one Whitsuntide, 
 That it was more like true devotion 
 
 To preach extempore ; — he tried : 
 Succeeded once — twice — thrice — but, lo I 
 
 His fourth discourse was not forthcoming • 
 Spite of his hawing and his humming, 
 Not a word further could he go ; 
 So that the worthy man perforce 
 Was fain to leave them in the lurch, 
 And say, that, since he came to church, 
 He'd lost the thread of his discourse. 
 
 Whereat a man below exclaimed, 
 
 " Lock the doors, beadle ! search us round, 
 
 All, every one, until it 's found ; 
 The thief should really be ashamed. — 
 
 Here are my pockets — ransack both ! 
 
 /have it not, I '11 take my oath." 
 
BLIND man's buff. IGD 
 
 BLIND MAN'S BUFF. 
 
 Three wags, (whom some fastidious carpers 
 Might rather designate three sharpers) 
 
 Entered, at York, the Cat and Fiddle, 
 And finding that the host was out 
 
 On business for two hours or more, 
 
 While Sam, the rustic w^aiter, wore 
 The visage of a simple lout, 
 
 Whom they might safely try to diddle, 
 They ordered dinner in a canter — 
 
 Cold or hot, it mattered not, 
 Provided it were served instanter ; 
 And as the heat had made them very 
 
 Dry and dusty in their throttles, 
 
 They bade the waiter bring three bottles 
 Of prime old port and one of sherry. — 
 
 Sam ran with ardour to the larder, 
 
 Then to the kitchen ; 
 And, as he briskly went to work, he 
 Drew from the spit a roasting turkey, 
 
 With sausages embellished, which in 
 A trice upon the board was spread, 
 Together with a nice cold brisket, 
 Nor did he even obliviscate 
 
 Half a pig's head. 
 To these succeeded puddings, pies, 
 
 Custards and jellies. 
 All doomed to fall a sacrifice 
 
 To their insatiable bellies ; 
 As if, like camels, they intended 
 8 
 
170 
 
 To stuff into their monstrous craws 
 
 Enough to satisfy their maws, 
 Until their pilgrimage was ended. 
 Talking, laughing, eating, quaffing, 
 
 The bottles stood no moment still ; 
 They rallied Sam with joke and banter, 
 And, as they drained the last decanter, 
 
 Called for the bill— 
 
 'Twas brought — when one of them who eyed 
 And added up the items, cried, 
 
 " Extremely moderate indeed ! 
 ril make a point to recommend 
 This inn to every travelling friend ; 
 
 And you, Sam, shall be doubly fee'd.'' 
 This said, a weighty purse he drew, 
 
 "When his companion interposed — 
 ^' Nay, Harry, that will never do, 
 
 Pray let your purse again be closed ; 
 You paid all charges yesterday, 
 'Tis clearly now my turn to pay." 
 
 Harry, however, wouldn't listen 
 
 To any such insulting offer. 
 His generous eyes appear to glisten 
 
 Indignant at the very proffer ; 
 And though his friend talked loud, the clangour 
 Served but to aggravate Hal's anger, 
 
 "My worthy fellow," cried the third, 
 
 " Now really this is too absurd ; 
 What ! do both of ye forget 
 I haven't paid a farthing yet? 
 Am I eternally to cram 
 
BLIND man's buff. 17;^ 
 
 At jour expense? 'tis childish quite; 
 I claim this payment as my right — 
 Here — how much is the money, Sam?" 
 
 To this most rational proposal 
 
 The others gave such fierce negation, 
 
 One might have flmcied they were foes all, 
 So hot became the altercation, 
 
 Each in his purse his money rattling, 
 
 Insisting, arguing, and battling. 
 
 One of them cried at last— ''A truce! 
 
 This point we will no longer m.oot ; 
 Wrangling for trifles is no use, 
 
 And thus we "11 finish the dispute.— 
 That we may settle what we three owe. 
 
 We '11 blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er 
 
 He catches of us first shall bear 
 The whole expenses of the trio. 
 With half-a-croAvn (if that ^s enough,) 
 To Sam for playing Blindman's Buff." 
 
 Sam liked it hugely— thought the ransom, 
 For a good game of fun was handsome; 
 Gave his own handkerchief beside. 
 To have his eyes securely tied. 
 And soon began to grope and search ; 
 
 When the three knaves, I need n't say, 
 Adroitly left him in the lurch. 
 
 Slipped down the stairs and stole away. 
 
 Poor Sam continued hard at work ; 
 
 Now o'er a chair he gets a fall ;' 
 Now floundering forwards with a jerk, 
 
 He bobs his nose against the wall • 
 
1T2 THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 
 
 And now encouraged by a subtle 
 Fancy, that they 're near the door, 
 He jumps behind it to explore, 
 
 And breaks his shins against the scuttle. — 
 
 Crying, at each disaster — " Drat it! 
 
 Dang it ! 'od rabbit it 1 and rat it !" — 
 
 Just in this crisis of his doom, 
 
 The host, returning, sought the room ; 
 
 And Sam no sooner heard his tread. 
 Than, pouncing on him like a bruin, 
 He almost shook him into ruin, 
 
 And with a shout of laughter said — 
 
 " By gom, I've cotched thee now, so down 
 With cash for all, and my half croAvn !" — 
 
 Off went the bandage, and his eyes 
 
 Seemed to be goggling o'er his forehead, 
 While his mouth widened with a horrid 
 
 Look of agonised surprise. 
 
 '' Gull !" roared his master, " Gudgeon ! dunce ! 
 Fool as you are you 're right for once, 
 'Tis clear that I must pay the sum ; — 
 
 But this one thought my wrath assuages — 
 That every halfpenny shall come 
 
 Out of your wages !" 
 
 THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 
 
 Authors of modern date are wealthy fellows ; — 
 'Tis but to snip his locks and follow 
 Now the golden-haired Apollo 
 
 Invoking Plutus to blow up the bellows 
 
THE POET AXD THE ALCHEMIST. 173 
 
 Of inspiration, tliej distil 
 The rkjmes and novels which cajole us, 
 
 Not from the Heliconian rill, 
 But from the waters of Pactolus. 
 
 Before this golden age of writers, 
 
 A Grub-street Garreteer existed, 
 One of the regular inditers 
 
 Of odes and poems to be twisted 
 
 Into encomiastic verses, 
 
 For patrons who have heavy purses. 
 Besides the Bellman's rhymes, he had 
 Others to let both gay and sad. 
 
 All ticketed from A to Izzard ; 
 And living by his wits, I need not 'add, 
 
 The rogue was lean as any lizard. 
 
 Like a rope-maker's were his w^ays. 
 For still one line upon another 
 He spun, and, like his hempen brother, 
 
 Kept going backwards all his days. 
 
 Hard by his attic lived a Chemist, 
 
 Or Alchemist, who had a mighty 
 Faith in the Elixir Vitj:e ; 
 And though unflattered by the dimmest 
 
 Gbmpses of success, kept gropino- 
 And grubbing in his dark vocation. 
 
 Stupidly hoping 
 To find the art of changing metals. 
 And guineas coin from pots and kettles, 
 By mystery of transmutation. 
 
174 THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST. 
 
 Our starving poet took occasion 
 
 To seek this conjuror's abode; 
 
 Not with encomiastic ode, 
 Or laudatory dedication, 
 But with an ofier to impart, 
 For twenty pounds, the secret art, 
 Which should procure, without the pain 
 
 Of metals, chemistry, and fire, 
 What he so long had sought in vain. 
 
 And gratify his heart's desire. 
 
 The money paid, our bard was hurried 
 
 To the philosopher's sanctorumj 
 Who, somewhat subiimized and flurried 
 
 Out of his chemical decorum, 
 Crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his 
 Crucibles, retort, and furnace. 
 And cried as he secured the door, 
 
 And carefully put to the shutter, 
 *' Now, now, the secret I implore ; 
 
 For God's sake speak, discover, utter !" 
 
 With grave and solemn air the Poet 
 
 Cried — " List — oh, list ! for thus I show it : — • 
 
 Let this plain truth those ingrates strike. 
 
 Who still, though blessed, new blessings crave, 
 That we may all have what we like, 
 
 Simply by liking what we have 1" 
 
THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN. 175 
 
 THE ASTRONOMICAL ALDERMAN". 
 
 The pedant or scholastikos became 
 
 The butt of all the Grecian jokes : — 
 With us, poor Paddj bears the blame 
 
 Of blunders made bj otlier folks ; 
 Though we have certain civic sages 
 
 Termed Aldermen, who perpetrate 
 
 Bulls as legitimate and great, 
 As any that the classic pages 
 
 Of old Hierocles can show, 
 Or Mr. Miller's, commonly called Joe. — 
 
 One of these turtle-eating men, 
 Not much excelling in his spelling. 
 
 When ridicule he meant to brare, 
 Said he was more ph. than N. 
 
 Meaning thereby, more phool than nave. 
 Tholigh they who knew our cunning Thraso, 
 Pronounced it flattery to say so. 
 His Civic brethren to express 
 
 His " double, double, toil and trouble," 
 And bustling noisy emptiness, 
 
 Had christened him Sir Hubble Bubble. 
 
 This wight ventripotent was dining 
 Once at the Grocers' Hall, and linina: 
 
 With calipee and calipash 
 That tomb omnivorous — his paunch, 
 Then on the haunch 
 
 Inflicting many a horrid gash, 
 When havino^ swallowed six or seven 
 
176 SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 
 
 Pounds, he fell into a mood 
 
 Of such supreme beatitude, 
 That it reminded him of Heaven, 
 And he began with mighty bonhomie 
 To talk Astronomy. — 
 
 '• Sir," he exclaimed, between his bumpers, 
 '•' Copernicus and Tycho-Brahe, 
 And all those chaps, have had tlieir day ; 
 They 've written monstrous lies, sir, thumpers !■ 
 Move round the sun ? — it 's talking treason ; 
 The earth stands still — it stands to reason. — 
 Round as a globe ? stuff — humbug — fable ! 
 It 's a flat sphere, like this here table, 
 And the sun overhangs this sphere. 
 Ay — just like that there chandelier." 
 
 " But," quoth his neighbour, " when the sun 
 From East to West his course has run, 
 How comes it that he shows his face 
 Next, morning in his former place?" 
 ''Ho ! there's a pretty question, truly 1" 
 Replied our wight, with an unruly 
 
 Burst of laughter and delight, 
 So much his triumph seemed to please him ; 
 
 " Why, blockhead ! he gT>es back at night, 
 And that's the reason no one sees him !" 
 
 SOUTH-DOWN MUTTOK 
 
 If men, when in a rage, inspected 
 Before a glass, their angry features, 
 
 Most likely they would stand corrected 
 At sight of such distorted creatures.; 
 
SOUTH-DOWN MUTTOX. 177 
 
 So we may hold a moral mirror 
 
 Before these myrmidons of passion, 
 And make ill temper see its error, 
 
 By gravely mimicking its fashion. 
 
 A sober Cit of Sweeting's Alley, 
 
 Deemed a warm man on "Change, was what 
 
 In temper might be reckoned hot. 
 Indulging many an angry sally 
 Against his Avife and servants : — (this 
 
 Is no unprecedented state 
 
 For man and wife, when, ttte-a-tUe^ 
 They revel in domestic bliss.) — 
 But to show off his freaks before his 
 Guests, was contra bonos mores. 
 
 Our Cit was somewhat of a glutton, 
 Or epicure, at least in mutton; 
 Esteeming it a more delicious 
 Feast, than those of old Apicius, 
 Crassus' savoury symposia, 
 Or even Jupiter's ambrosia. 
 
 One day a leg arrived from Brighton, 
 
 A true South Down legitimate. 
 When he enlaro-ed with much delight on 
 
 The fat and grain, and shape and weight ; 
 Pronounced on each a learned stricture, 
 Declared the joint a perfect picture, 
 And as his eye its outline folloAved, 
 
 Called it a prize — a lucky hit — • 
 
 A gem — a pearl more exquisite 
 Than ever Cleopatra swallowed ; 
 Promulging finally, this fiat — 
 ''I'll dine at five, and ask Jack Wyatt." 
 8* 
 
178 SOUTH-DOWN MUTTON. 
 
 The cover raised, tbe meat be eyed 
 
 With new enjoyment — next the cloth he 
 
 Tucked in his button-hole, and cried, 
 " Done to a tittle — brown and frothy !" 
 
 Then seized the carving-knife, elate, 
 
 But lo ! it would not penetrate 
 
 The skin — (the anatomic term is 
 
 The what-d'-ye-call ? — ay — epidermis.) 
 
 He felt the edge — 'twas like a dump ; 
 
 Whereat with passion-crimson'd frown, 
 He reached the stair-head at a jump, 
 
 And threw the blade in fury down, 
 Venting unnumbered curses on 
 His thoughtless lazy servant — John. 
 
 His guest, observing this disclosure 
 
 Of temper, threw with great composure 
 
 The dish, with mutton, spoons and all, 
 
 Down helter-skelter to the hall. 
 
 Where it arrived with fearful clatter. 
 
 ''Zounds !" cried the Cit, "why, what's the matter?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever," with a quiet 
 
 Look and accent, answered Wyatt : 
 
 " I hope I haven't unawares 
 Made a mistake ; but when you threw 
 The knife below, in such a stew, 
 
 I thought you meant to dine down stairs !" 
 
EVEI^ING, 179 
 
 EVENING: AN ELEGY. 
 
 BY A POETICAL CAEMAN. 
 
 Apollo now, Sol's carman, drives his stud 
 Home to the mews that 's seated in the West, 
 
 And Customs' clerks, like him, through Thames-street 
 mud, 
 Now westeruig wend, in Holland trowsers dress 'd. 
 
 So from the stands the empty carts are dragged, 
 The horses homeward to their stables go, 
 
 And mine, with hauling heavy hogsheads fagged, 
 Prepare to taste the luxury of — "Wo!" 
 
 Now from the slaughter-houses cattle roar, 
 
 Knowing that with the morn their lives they yields, 
 
 And Mr. Sweetman's gig is at the door. 
 
 To take him to his house in Hackney Fields. 
 
 Closed are the gates of the West India Docks, 
 Rums, Sugars, Coffee, find at length repose, 
 
 And I, with other careless carmen, flocks 
 
 To the King's Head, the Chequers, or the Rose. 
 
 They smoke a pipe — the shepherd's pipe I wakes. 
 Them skittles pleases — me the Muse invites, 
 
 They in their ignorance to drinking takes, 
 
 I, blessed with learning, takes a pen and writes. 
 
180 PATENT BROWN STOUT, 
 
 PATENT BROWN STOUT. 
 
 A Brewer, m a conntry town, 
 
 Had got a monstrous reputation ; 
 No other beer but his went down ; — 
 
 The hosts of the surrounding station 
 Engraved his name upon their mugs, 
 
 And painted it on every shutter ; 
 
 And though some envious folks would utter 
 Hints, that its flavour came from drugs, 
 Others maintained 'twas no such mattery 
 
 But owing to his monstrous vat, 
 
 At least as corpulent as that 
 At Heidelberg — and some said fatter. 
 
 His foreman was a lusty Blacky 
 
 An honest fellow ; 
 But one wha had an ugly knack 
 Of tasting samples as he brewed, 
 
 Till he was stupefied and mellow. 
 One day, in this top-heavy mood, 
 Having to cross the vat aforesaid, 
 
 (Just then with boiling beer supplied,) 
 O'ercome with giddiness and qualms, he 
 Eeeled — fell in — and nothing more said, 
 But in his favourite liquor died. 
 
 Like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey. 
 
 In all directions round about 
 
 The neo;ro absentee was souo;ht ; 
 
 But as no human noddle thought 
 That our Fat Black was now Brown Stout, 
 They settled that the rogue had left 
 The place for debt, or crime or theft. 
 
PATENT BROWN STOUT. 181 
 
 Meanwhile the beer was, claj by day, 
 Drawn into casks and sent away, 
 
 Until the lees flowed thick and thicker ; 
 When lo I outstretched upon the ground, 
 Once more their missing friend they found, 
 
 As they had often done - in liquor. 
 
 '^ See !" cried his moralizing master, 
 
 "I always knew the fellow drank hard, 
 And prophesied some sad disaster ; 
 His fete should other tipplers strike : 
 Poor Mungo ! there he welters, like 
 
 A toast at bottom of a tankard!" 
 Next morn a publican, whose tap 
 
 Had helped to drain the vat so dry, 
 Not having heard of the mishap, 
 
 Came to demand a fresh supply, 
 Protesting loudly that the last 
 All previous specimens surpassed. 
 Possessing a much richer gusto 
 Than formerly it ever used to, 
 And begging, as a special favour, 
 Some more of the exact same flavour. — 
 " Zounds !" cried the Brewer, "that 's a task 
 More difiicult to grant than ask :— 
 Most gladly would I give the smack 
 
 Of the last beer to the ensuing, 
 But where am I to find a Black, 
 
 And boil him down at every brewing?" 
 
182 YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. 
 
 YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. 
 
 One Farmer Giles, an honest clown 
 From Peterborough, had occasion 
 
 To travel up to London town, 
 About the death of a relation, 
 
 And wrote, his purpose to explain, 
 
 To cousin Jos. in Martin's lane ; 
 
 Who quickly sent him such an answer, as 
 Mifht best determine him to dwell 
 
 o 
 
 At the Blue Boar — the Cross — the Bell, 
 Or some one of the caravanseras 
 To which the various coaches went — 
 All which, he said, were excellent. 
 
 Quoth Giles, '' I think it rather odd he 
 Should write me thus, when I have read 
 That London hosts will steal at dead 
 Of night, to stab you in your bed, 
 
 Pocket your purse, and sell your body ; 
 
 To 'scape from which unpleasant process, 
 
 I'll drive at once to cousin Jos.'s." 
 
 Now cousin Jos. (whose name w^as Spriggs) 
 Was one of those punctilious prigs 
 
 Who reverence the comme il faut ; 
 Who deem it criminal to vary 
 From modes prescribed, and thus ''Monstrari 
 
 Pretereuntium digito." . 
 
 Conceive him writhing down the Strand 
 With a live rustic in his hand, 
 At once the gaper and gapee ; 
 
YORK KIDNEY POTATOES. 183 
 
 And pity his unhappy plight, 
 Condemned when, tete-ii-tete, at night 
 To talk of hogs, nor deem it right 
 To show his horrible ennui 
 
 Jos. was of learned notoriety, 
 
 One of the male Blue-stocking clan, 
 
 Was registered of each Society, 
 Royal and Antiquarian ; 
 
 Took in the Scientific Journal, 
 
 And wrote for Mr. Urban' s Mao^. 
 
 (For fear its liveliness should flag,) 
 
 A thermometrical diurnal, 
 
 With statements of old tombs and churches, 
 
 And such unreadable researches. 
 
 Wearied to death, one Thursday night, 
 With hearing our agrarian wight 
 
 Prose about crops, and farms and dairies, 
 Spriggs cried — "A truce to corn and hay — 
 Somerset House is no great way. 
 
 We '11 go and see the Antiquaries." — 
 
 ^' And what are they?" inquired his guest : — 
 "Why, sir," said Jos., somewhat distress' d 
 
 To answer his interrogator — 
 '' They are a sort — a sort — a kind 
 
 Of commentators upon Nature." — 
 "What, common 'tatoes !" Giles rejoin' d, 
 
 His fist upon the table dashing: 
 "Take my advice — don't purchase one, 
 Not even at a groat a ton, — 
 
 None but York kidneys does for mashing.'' 
 
184 THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 
 
 THE JESTER CONDExMNED TO DEATH. 
 
 One of the Kings of Scanderoon, 
 
 A royal jester, 
 Had in his train a gross buffoon, 
 
 Who used to pester 
 The court with tricks inopportune, 
 Venting on the highest folks his 
 Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes. 
 
 It needs some sense to play the fool ; 
 
 Which wholesome rule 
 Occurred not to our jackanapes, 
 
 Who consequently found his freaks 
 Lead to innumerable scrapes. 
 
 And quite as many kicks and tweaks, 
 Which only seemed to make him faster 
 Try the patience of his master. 
 
 Some sin at last beyond all measure. 
 Incurred the desperate displeasure 
 
 Of his serene and raging highness : 
 Whether the wag had twitched his beard, 
 Which he was bound to have revered, 
 
 Or had intruded on the shyness 
 Of the seraglio, or let fly 
 An epigram at royalty, 
 None knows — his sin was an occult one ; 
 But records tell us that the sultan. 
 Meaning to terrify the knave, 
 
 Exclaimed — '' 'Tis time to stop that breath : 
 Thy doom is sealed ; — presumptuous slave ! 
 
 Thou stand'st condemned to certain death. 
 
LAUS ATRAMENTI. 185 
 
 Silence, base rebel ! — no replying ! — • 
 But such is my indulgence still, 
 That, of my own free grace and will, 
 
 I leave to thee the mode of dying." 
 
 "Thy royal will be done — 'tis just," 
 Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust ; 
 
 " Since my last moments to assuage, 
 Your majesty's humane decree 
 Has deigned to leave the choice to me, 
 
 I'll die, so please you, of old age." 
 
 LAUS ATRAMENTI, 
 
 Or the Praise of Blacking. 
 
 NEW SONG. 
 
 Our Sires were such pedagogue blocK:heads of yore, 
 
 That they sent us to college instruction to seek, 
 Where we bothered our brains with pedantical lore, 
 
 Law, Logic, and Algebra, Latin and Greek ; 
 But now, wiser grown, leaving learning alone. 
 And resolving to shine by a light of our own. 
 Our cares we transfer from the head to the foot. 
 Leave the brain to be muddied, and polish the boot. 
 
 On the banks of the Isis, ye classical fools. 
 
 Who with Lycophron's crabbedness puzzle your ear, 
 And ye who learn logarithmetical rules 
 
 At Cambridge, from tables of Baron Napier, 
 Renounce Aristotle, and take to the bottle 
 That wears '' Patent Blacking" inscribed on its throttle; 
 For Napier and Greek are by few understood. 
 While all can decide when your blacking is good. 
 
186 LAUS ATRAMENTI. 
 
 When a gentleman dubbed by the wight of the brush, 
 
 Which has set up your foot in Corinthian style, 
 For the rest of your wardrobe you care not a rush, 
 
 Secure of the public's distinguishing smile. 
 Though your dress may be dusty, and musty, and fusty, 
 You're whitewashed by blacking, and cannot be rusty ; — 
 Such errors as these are but venial and small. 
 People look at your boot, which atones for them all. 
 
 And ye who are struggling your fortune to make 
 
 By the brief or the bolus, law, commerce, or trade, 
 Your pitiful schemes of ambition forsake. 
 
 And be makers of blacking, by taunts undismayed ; 
 For what is auguster than giving a lustre 
 To those wdio without you w^ould hardly pass muster, 
 And by selling your "brilliant and beautiful jet," 
 A name and a fortune together to get ? 
 
 Day and Martin now laugh as they ride in their coach. 
 Till they're black in the face as their customers' boots ; 
 
 Warren swears that his blacking 's beyond all approach. 
 Which Turner's advertisement plumply refutes ; 
 
 They hector and huff, print, publish, and puff. 
 
 And write in the papers ridiculous stuff, 
 
 While Hunt, who was blackened by all, and run down. 
 
 Takes a thriving revenge as he blackens the town. 
 
 Their labels belibel each other — each wall 
 
 With the feuds of these rivals in blacking is white ; 
 But the high polished town seems to patronise all. 
 And the parties get rich in each other's despite ; 
 For my own part, I think I shall mix up my ink, 
 In a bottle with lamp-black and beer to the brink, 
 And set up at once for a shiner of shoes. 
 Since I never shall shine by the aid of the muse. 
 
THE TWO BRACELETS. 187 
 
 THE TWO BRACELETS. 
 
 A Farmer General, one Monsieur B , 
 
 Who dwelt in France when Louis held the throne. 
 
 Lived like a prince from every trouble free, 
 Excejot a wife — (the exception 's large, I own) 
 
 For she was fat as any marchioness, 
 
 And given to extravagance in dress. — 
 
 One day she bought a pair of bracelets — such 
 As few but royal damsels would bespeak ; 
 
 They cost — I cannot recollect how much, 
 But they were quite magnificent — luiique — 
 
 And having clasped them on, away she flies 
 
 Off to the Opera to show her prize. 
 
 It happened that the queen was there that night, 
 
 Just opposite the box that Madame took, 
 And on the bracelets Avith intense delio-ht 
 
 o 
 
 Frequently looked — or else appeared to look ; 
 For she took special care to have them seen, 
 As if on purpose to outvie the queen. 
 
 Soon to the box door came a Page, attired 
 In the Queen's proper livery, all in style, 
 
 And in the name of Majesty required 
 One of the bracelets for a little while, 
 
 That by her eye she might the pattern take, 
 
 And order some of the exact same make. 
 
 Off went the sparkling bau1)le in a trice. 
 
 While her rouged cheeks Avith exultation burn, 
 
 As, bowing to the Royal party thrice, 
 She patiently awaited its return ; 
 
188 THE TWO BRACELETS. 
 
 But when the Queen retired, and none was sent, 
 Our dame began to wonder what it meant. — 
 
 A Lord in waiting soon confirmed her fears .* 
 " Oh, that pretended Page I've often seen — 
 
 A noted sharper — has been such for years. 
 
 Madame, you're robbed — he came not from the Queen; 
 
 I knew the rogue, and should have had him taken, 
 
 But that he slipped away and saved his bacon." 
 
 Boiling with anger, Madame called her coach, 
 And drove to the Bureau de la Justice, 
 
 Where, with loud tongue, and many a keen reproach. 
 About the shameful state of the police, 
 
 She called upon the Provost for relief. 
 
 And bade him send his men to catch the tliief. 
 
 Early next morn she heard the knocker's din ; 
 
 Her heart beat high, with expectation big, 
 When lo ! the Provost's Clerk was ushered in — 
 
 A formal consequential little prig, 
 Who, with a mighty magisterial air, 
 Hemmed, and began his errand to declare : — 
 
 "Madame, a man is brought to our bureau, 
 On whom was found a bracelet of great cost, 
 
 And we are all anxiety to know 
 
 Whether or not it is the one you lost ; 
 
 Wherefore I'll take the other, if you please, 
 
 Just to compare, and see if it agrees." 
 
 " Dear sir, I'm overjoyed — 'tis mine, I'm sure ; 
 
 Such a police as ours how few can boast ! 
 Here, take the bracelet — keep the rogue secure, 
 
 I'll follow you in half an hour at most ; 
 Ten thousand thanks — I hope you '11 trounce the spark, 
 Open the door, there, for the Provost's Clerk !" 
 
MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 180 
 
 Oh ! how she chuckled as she drove along, 
 Settling what pangs the pilferer should feel : 
 
 No punishment appeared to her too strong, 
 
 Even should the wretch be broken on the wheel ; 
 
 For what infliction could be reckoned cruel, 
 
 To one who would purloin so rich a jewel ? 
 
 Arrived at the bureau, her joj finds vent : 
 
 " Wellj Mr. Provost, where 's the guilty knave? 
 
 The other bracelet by your clerk I sent. 
 
 Doubtless it matches with the one you have ; 
 
 Why, then, outstretch your mouth with such surprise. 
 
 And goggle on me thus with all your eyes?" 
 
 "La! bless me, Ma'am, you're finely hoaxed — good 
 lack ! 
 
 I sent no clerk, no thief have we found out, 
 And the important little prig in black 
 
 Was the accomplice of the page no doubt ; 
 Methinks the rascals might have left you one, 
 But both your bracelets now are fairly gone !" 
 
 MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Fever's a most audacious varlet; — 
 Now in a general's fiice he shakes 
 His all-defying fist, and makes 
 
 His visage like his jacket — scarlet ; 
 
 Now o'er surrounding guards he throws 
 A summerset, and never squeaks 
 '• An' please your Majesty," but tweaks 
 
 The Lard's anointed by the nose. 
 
190 MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN. 
 
 With his inflammatory finger, 
 
 (Much liive the heater of an urn) 
 He makes the pulses boil and burn, 
 Puts fur upon the tongue, (not ermine,) 
 And leaves his prey to die or linger, 
 Just as the doctors may determine. 
 
 Thouo-h this disorder sometimes seems 
 
 Mild and benignant, 
 It interferes so with our schemes, 
 Imparting to our heads a dizziness, 
 Just when we want them clear for business, 
 
 That it may well be termed malignant. 
 
 Of these inopportune attacks, 
 One fiercely fell on Marshal Saxe, 
 Just as his troops had opened trenches 
 
 Before a fortress ; (what a pity !) 
 Not only did it make his heart ache 
 To be condemned to pill, cathartic. 
 Bolus, and blister, drugs and drenches, 
 But shocked his military notions. 
 To make him take unwished-for potions. 
 
 Instead of taking, as he wished — the city. 
 
 Senac, however, his physician. 
 Soon gave our invalid permission 
 
 To be coached out an easy distance, 
 First stipulating one condition — 
 That whatsoe'er the when and where, 
 The Doctor should be then and there, 
 Lest any syncope, relapse, 
 Or other unforeseen mishaps. 
 
 Should call for medical assistance. 
 
MARSHAL SAXE A^^D HIS PHY3ICIAX. 191. 
 
 Saxe gives consent with all his heart, 
 
 Orders the carriage in a minute, 
 
 Whispers the coachman — mounts within it, 
 Senac the same, and off they start, 
 Joking, smiling, time beguiling, 
 
 In a facetious ttte-u-ttte. — 
 The subject of their mutual chatter is 
 
 Nothing to us : — enough to state 
 That Marshal Saxe at length got out 
 To reconnoitre a redoubt. 
 Projecting from a range of batteries. 
 
 Left in the carriage, our physician, 
 By no means relished his position, 
 When he discovered they had got 
 Nearly within half cannon shot; 
 Wherefore he bawled, with fear half melted, 
 
 " For God^s sake move me from this spot ! — 
 Doubtless they've noticed our approach, 
 And, when they recognize your coach. 
 Shan't I be fired at, peppered, pelted, 
 (When I can neither fly nor hide) 
 
 From some of yonder bristling masses V^ 
 ''It's not unlikely," Saxe replied; 
 " And war I know is not your trade, 
 So if you feel the least afraid. 
 
 Pull up the glasses!" 
 
192 STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 
 
 STANZAS TO PUNCHINELLO. 
 
 Thou lignum-vitae Roscius, who 
 
 Dost the old vagrant stao;e renew, ""^ 
 Peerless, inimitable, PLincliinello ! 
 
 The Queen of smiles is quite out-done 
 
 By thee, all-glorious king of fun, 
 Thou grinning, giggling, laugh-extorting fellow ! 
 
 At other times mine ear is wrung 
 
 Whene'er I hear the trumpet's tongue. 
 Waking associations melancholic ; 
 
 But that which heralds thee recalls 
 
 All childhood's joys and festivals, 
 And makes the heart rebound with freak and frolic. 
 
 Ere of thy face I get a snatch, 
 
 Oh ! with what boyish glee I catch 
 Thy twittering, cackling, bubbling, squeaking gibber — 
 
 Sweeter than syren voices — fraught 
 
 With richer merriment than aught 
 That drops from witling mouths, though uttered glibber. 
 
 What way was ever known before 
 
 To keep the circle in a roar. 
 Nor wound the feeling's of a sino;le hearer I 
 
 Engrossing all the jibes and jokes, 
 
 Unenvied by the duller folks, 
 A harmless wit — an unmalignant jeerer. 
 
 The upturned eyes I love to trace 
 Of wondering mortals, when their face 
 Is all alive with an expectant gladness • 
 
STAXZAB TO PUNCHINELLO. 193 
 
 To mark the flickering giggle first, 
 The growing grin — the sudden burst, 
 And universal shout of merrj madness. 
 
 I love those sounds to analyse, 
 
 From childhoods shrill ecstatic cries. 
 To aoje's chuckle with its couo-hino^ after; 
 
 To see the grave and the genteel 
 
 Rein awhile the mirth they feel. 
 Then loose their muscles, and let out the laughter. 
 
 Sometimes I note a henpecked weight 
 
 Enjoying thy marital might, 
 To him a beatific beau idtal ; 
 
 He counts each crack on Judy's pate, 
 
 Then homeward creeps to cogitate 
 The difference 'twixt dramatic wives and real. 
 
 But, Punch, thou'rt ungallant and rude, 
 
 In plying thy persuasive wood ; 
 Remember that thy cudgel's girth is fuller 
 
 Than that compassionate, thumb-thick, 
 
 Established wife-compelling stick, 
 Made legal by the dictum of Judge Buller. 
 
 When the officious doctor hies 
 
 To cure thy spouse, there's no surprise ; 
 Thou should' st receive him with nose-tweaking 
 grappling; 
 
 Nor can we wonder that the mob 
 
 Encores each crack upon his nob. 
 When thou art feeing him with oaken sapling. 
 
 As for our common enemy, 
 Old Nick, we all rejoice to see 
 The coup de grace that silences his wrangle ; 
 9 
 
194 THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 
 
 But, lo ! Jack Ketch ! — ah, welladaj ! 
 Dramatic justice claims its prey, 
 And thou in hempen handkercliief must dangle. 
 
 Now helpless hang those arms which once 
 
 Rattled such music on the sconce ; 
 Hushed is that tongue which late out-jested Yorick; 
 
 That hunch l)ehind is shrugged no more, 
 
 No longer heaves the paunch hefore, 
 Which wagged Avith such a pleasantry plethorick. 
 
 But Thespian deaths are transient woes, 
 
 And still less durable are those 
 Suffered by lignum- vitae malefactors ; 
 
 Thou wilt return alert, alive, 
 
 And long, oh long mayest thou survive, 
 Fkst of head-breaking and side-splitting actors ! 
 
 THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 
 
 The Isle of Saint Eustatia, which the Dutch 
 First colonized, was n;overned lono; ao;o — 
 
 (I mean mi^-governed) — by the Herr Van Gutch, 
 As great a rogue as one would wish to know. 
 
 Who should, instead of ruling at Eustatia, 
 
 Have shared a convict's fate in Australasia. 
 
 No excellency could the knave pretend to. 
 Save in his title, which the folks about him 
 
 Lavished upon him as an innuendo. 
 
 Ironically meant to mock and flout him; 
 
 Eor he had proved himself in every case 
 
 Sordid, corrupt, extortionate, and base. 
 
THE PLEASANT TETE-A-TETE. 195 
 
 Lord Bacon urged that when in bribes he did err, 
 
 Justice, but not injustice, he had sold; 
 Van Gutch sold either to the highest bidder ; 
 
 So that each criminal possessed of gold 
 Became, of course, more daring and more hardened, 
 Knowing beforehand that he should be pardoned. 
 
 Our governor was in fact an island Pope, 
 (But not, I ween, Pope Innocent or Pius,) 
 
 Selling indulgences that gave full scope 
 To him who fostered any lawless bias. 
 
 To sear his conscience, so that nought should shock it, 
 
 Bj purchased absolutions in his pocket. 
 
 As he sat waiting for this odious traffic, 
 
 Ready for hire to pardon or condemn. 
 Smoking his pipe in vacancy seraphic, 
 
 'Twixt stupid sottishness and native phlegm, 
 An Englishman, named Tate, made application 
 To buy a pardon by anticipation. 
 
 ''May't please your Excellency," whispered Tate, 
 "I want to horsewhip, kick, and clapper-claw 
 
 A fellow that I hold in special hate ; 
 
 But as the knave will doubtless take the law, 
 
 I wish beforehand to inquire the pittance 
 
 That I must pay to purchase an acquittance." 
 
 "That," said Van Gutch, "on circumstance must rest; 
 
 Does the man merit such a deep disgrace?" — 
 " Richly; he stands recorded and confessed 
 
 The most notorious scoundrel in the place." — 
 " Nay. then, I'll not be hard in my condition: 
 I promise, for ten ducats, full remission." — 
 
196 AN EASY REMEDY. 
 
 " Take them," said Tate, and threw them on the table; 
 
 Then drew a whip prepared for the occasion, 
 And laid it on as if he would disable 
 
 His victim from all further malversation, 
 So thick a storm he raised of kicks and lashes, 
 With curses, sandwich-like, between the slashes. 
 
 Cried Tate, " Your Excellency 's the convicted 
 And flagrant knave to whom I made allusion, 
 
 And this unmeasured scourging I've inflicted, 
 
 Because your back claims lengthened retribution. 
 
 There ! — there 's no harm done — all is honest barter : 
 
 /'ve trimmed a scoundrel : — you have caught a Tartar." 
 
 This said, he bowed politely and departed ; 
 
 Hied to the shore, embarked and hoisted sail ; 
 And in some half hour's space had fairly started 
 
 From St. Eustatia with a favouring gale. 
 Leaving the writhing Dutchman in a fluster 
 Of anguish, rage, oaths, bullying, and bluster. 
 
 AX EASY REMEDY. 
 
 An honest tailor, whose baptismal 
 
 And patronymic appellations 
 Were William Button^ had a dismal 
 
 Tendency to deep potations ; 
 And though, as he was over-mated, 
 Like Jerry Sneak, our snip was fated 
 In spite of all his hungry heavings, 
 To drink the tea and coffee leavings. 
 And eat cold mutton-flaps at dinner ; 
 Yet sometimes the rebellious sinner, 
 
AN EASY REMEDY. 19T 
 
 Asserting his marital rights, 
 Would on the wages-paying nights, 
 Betake him to the public-house. 
 To smoke, and tipple, and carouse ; 
 
 And as with each new dram and sip he 
 Still more and more pot-valiant grew, 
 At last he fairlj braved his spouse, 
 
 Called her a vixen and a shrew, 
 A Jezebel and a Xantippe ! 
 
 Returning homo one night, our varlet 
 Bold with his wife-compelling liquor, 
 Battled the knocker quick and quicker, 
 
 When with fierce eje and face of scarlet 
 
 His tender spouse appeared, and shrilly 
 
 Vented reproaches on her Willy. 
 
 ^' So, Jackanapes, you've come at last ! 
 
 No doubt the evening has been passed 
 
 In tippling purl, you drunken sot, 
 
 Mulled ale and amber, hot and hot ; 
 
 While your poor wife is left to slave, 
 And drink cold water from the can, 
 
 Cold water, ye remorseless knave !"' 
 
 '' Cold!" cried the husband, who began 
 
 In turn to wrangle and to storm it — 
 
 '• Cold ! ye poor lazy slattern : — cold ! 
 
 Then why, ye good-for nothing scold, 
 
 Why don t you warm it?" 
 
198 MADAME TALLEYRAND 
 
 MADAME TALLEYRAND AND THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 The famous Talleyrand, who knew 
 
 The secret of avoiding execution, 
 And kept his head upon his shoulders, through 
 
 All the convulsions of the Revolution, 
 When heads were cropped by the prevailing powers, 
 
 Like cauliflowers, 
 Till they themselves endured the keen 
 Infliction of the Guillotine, 
 And made way for another faction, 
 To undergo the same reaction : — 
 This Talleyrand possessed a wife, 
 Selected in his humbler life — 
 
 A rich bourgeois of homely breeding, 
 Neither bas bleii^ nor femme savante^ 
 But rather, as I freely grant. 
 
 Deficient in her general reading. 
 
 One day — 'twas when he stood elate. 
 Napoleon's minister of state — 
 Having invited to his house 
 
 Some literati to confer 
 
 With a great foreign traveller, 
 The husband thus addressed his spouse: 
 
 "My dear, at dinner you will meet 
 A foreigner, a man of note. 
 These authors like that you should quote 
 
 From their own works ; therefore, to greet 
 Our guest, suppose you learn by rote 
 A sentence here and there, that when 
 He prates, like other travelled men, 
 
AND THE TRAVELLER. 199 
 
 Of his exploits on land and ocean, 
 You may not be completely gravelled, 
 
 But have at least some little notion 
 Of how, and when, and where he travelled. 
 Take down his book, you'll find it yonder; 
 Its dull contents you need not ponder ; 
 
 Read but the headings of the chapters, 
 Refer to them with praise and Avonder, 
 
 And our vain guest will be in raptures." 
 
 Madame, resolved to play her part 
 So as to win the stranger's heart, 
 Studied the book; but fir from dull, 
 She found it quite delightful : — full 
 Of marvellous adventures, fraught 
 "With perilous escapes, which wrought 
 So deep an interest in her mind. 
 She really was surprised to find. 
 As to the dinner-room she tripped, 
 How rapidly the time had slipped. 
 
 The more to flatter and delight her. 
 
 When at the board she took her place, 
 The famous traveller and writer 
 
 Was seated by her side ; — the grace 
 Was hardly said, or soup sent round, 
 
 'Ere with a shrug and a grimace, 
 Eager to show her lore profound, 
 A la Franmise^ she raised her eyes, 
 And hands, and voice, in ecstacies — 
 ^^ Eh^ Mons'eur Robinson^ mon Dieu^ 
 Voile tin conte tnerveilleux ! 
 Ah^ par exemple! it appals 
 
 The mind to think of your attacks 
 
200 PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 
 
 On those terrific cannibals — 
 
 Those horrid savages and blacks, 
 Who, if they once had gained the upper 
 Hand, had eaten you for supper, 
 And so prevented your proceeding 
 With that sweet book I've just been reading. 
 
 Mais, quel bonheur ! to liberate 
 Poor Friday from the murderous crew, 
 
 And gain in your deserted state, 
 
 So lonely and disconsolate 
 A servant and companion too !" 
 
 The visitants were all astounded ; 
 
 The stranger stared aghast, dumfounded : 
 
 Poor Talleyrand blushed red as flame, 
 
 Till having catechised the dame. 
 
 The mystery was quickly cleared ; 
 
 Th^ simple woman it appeared, 
 
 Instead of the intended book 
 
 In which she had been urged to look, 
 
 From the same shelf contrived to take 
 
 Robinson Crusoe by mistake ! 
 
 • PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 
 
 " Some were condensing air into a dry tangible substance by extracting the 
 nitre, and letting the aqueous or fluid particles percolate ; others softening marble 
 for pillows and pincushions ; others petrifying the hoofs of a living horse to pre- 
 serve them from foundering." — Gullioefs Travels. 
 
 A Nation's wealth that overflows, 
 Will sometimes in its course disclose 
 
 Fantastical contortions : 
 'Tis like the rising of the Nile, 
 Which fats the soil, but breeds the while 
 
 Strano-e monsters and abortions. 
 
PROJECTS AXD COMPANIES. 201 
 
 Better our superflux to waste 
 
 On peaceful schemes, howe"er misplaced, 
 
 Than war and its abuses ; 
 But better still if he coiild guide 
 And limit the Pactolian tide, 
 
 To salutarj uses. 
 
 Our sires, poor unambitious folks ! 
 Had but an individual hoax, 
 
 A single South-sea bubble : 
 Each province oitr delusion shares, 
 From Pojais down to Buenos-Ajres — 
 
 To count them is a trouble. 
 
 The gold that 's sent out ready made 
 To the new world, must be repaid 
 
 Bjr help of Watt and Boulton, 
 Who from their mines, bj aid of pumps, 
 Will raise up ore, and lumps, and dumps. 
 
 Whence sovereigns maj be molten ! 
 
 Others, not roaming quite so far, 
 In stocks and bonds Peninsular, 
 
 Find all their treasure vanish ; 
 Leaving a warning to the rash. 
 That the best way to keep their cash, 
 
 Is not to touch the Spanish. 
 
 Gilded by Eldorado dreams, 
 
 No wonder if our foreign schemes 
 
 Assume a tint romantic ; 
 But even at home, beneath our eyes, 
 What ignes fatui arise, 
 
 Extravagant and antic ! 
 
202 PROJECTS AND COMPANIES. 
 
 Bridges of iron, stone, and wood, 
 Not onlj, Thames, bestride thy flood, 
 
 As if thou wert a runnel ; 
 But terraces must clog thj shore, 
 While underneath thj bed we bore 
 
 A subterranean tunnel. 
 
 Now bursts a fiercer mania — all 
 From every shire, the great, the small, 
 
 For Railroad shares are scrambling 
 Peers, paupers, countesses, their maids. 
 With equal ardour ply the trades 
 
 Of jobbing, scheming, gambling. 
 
 Decoyed by projects wild and rash. 
 Some find their rail-devoted cash 
 
 Is lost beyond retrieval ; 
 Others, who profitably sold. 
 Will tell you that the age of gold 
 
 And iron are coeval. 
 
 With each new moon new bubbles rise, 
 Each, as it flits before our eyes, 
 
 Its predecessor smashing ; 
 All at their rivals freely throw 
 Their dirt, to which we doubtless owe 
 
 The Company for washing. 
 
 These are but weeds, the rich manure 
 Of overflowing wealth is sure 
 
 To generate the thistle : — 
 They who would learn its nobler use. 
 May Pope's majestic lines peruse 
 
 That close his Fourth Epistle. 
 
ELEGY. 203 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 TO THE MEMOET OF MISS EMILY KAY, COUSIN TO MISS ELLEN GEE, OF KEW, WHO 
 DIED LATELY AT EWELL, AND WAS liUKIED IN ESSEX. 
 
 "They fool me to the top of my bent." — Siiakspeaee. 
 
 Sad nymphs of U L, U have much to cry for, 
 Sweet M L E K U never more shall C ! 
 
 S X maids ! come hither and D, o, 
 With tearful I, this M T L E G. 
 
 Without X S she did X L alway, 
 
 Ah me ! it truly vexes 1 2 C 
 How soon so D R a creature may D K, 
 
 And only leave behind X U V E ! 
 
 Whate'er 1 to do she did discharge, 
 So that an N M E it might N D R : 
 
 Then why an S A write ? — then why _pS 
 Or with my briny tears B D U her B R ? 
 
 When her Piano-40 she did press, 
 
 Such heavenly sounds did M N 8, that she 
 
 Knowing her Q, soon 1 U 2 confess 
 Her X L N C in an X T C. 
 
 Her hair was soft as silk, not Y R E, 
 It gave no Q, nor yet 2 P to view : 
 
 She was not handsome ; shall I tell U Y ? 
 U R 2 know her I Avas all S Q. 
 
 L 8 she was, and prattling like a J ; 
 
 How little, M L E ! did you 4 C, 
 The grave should soon M U U, cold as clay, 
 
 And you should cease to bo an N T T ! 
 
204 Pitt's bon-mot. 
 
 While taking T at Q with L N G, 
 The M T grate she rose to put a : 
 
 Her clothes caught fire — no 1 again shall see 
 Poor M L E ; who now is dead as Solon. 
 
 L N G ! in vain you set at 
 
 G R and reproach for suffering her 2 B 
 
 Thus sacrificed ; to J L U should be brought. 
 Or burnt U 2 B in F E G. 
 
 Sweet M L E K into S X they bore, 
 Taking good care the monument 2 Y 10, 
 
 And as her tomb was much 2 low B 4, 
 
 They lately brought fresh bricks the walls to 1 
 (heighten.) 
 
 PITT'S BON-MOT. 
 
 Though William Pitt (nick-named the Tory 
 In Morris's facetious story,) 
 
 Retains the honours of his name 
 
 As a Debates-man, 
 Who in the House of Commons, ''ore 
 Rotundo,^^ cried up England's glory, 
 
 Yet as a statesman, 
 Or as a financier, his fiime 
 May be compared to his own sinking fund, 
 Which, if not quite extinct, is moribund. 
 
 Seeing this he?tven-born minister's renown 
 
 In his political capacity, 
 Thus tumbling down, 
 
 An instance of his smart dicacity. 
 
Pitt's bon-mot. 205 
 
 Ought in justice to be stated, 
 
 In order that the reader maj bestow 
 Due praise on the defunct for a hon-mot^ 
 
 The only one he ever perpetrated. 
 
 When the French threatened in flat-bottomed boats 
 
 To come and cut our throats, 
 Pitt — then Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports — held 
 
 A meeting in the town of Dover, 
 
 To settle, should the French come over. 
 How they might best and soonest be repell'd; 
 
 Which said assemblage, being fierce and loyal, 
 Declared that England might discard her fears. 
 
 For they themselves would promise to destroy all 
 The French, if they might form a corps, the Mayor 
 To be commander, and the whole to bear 
 The name of Royal Dover Volunteers. 
 
 The Premier, when the cheering ceased. 
 
 Smiled, for he knew the dictum true, 
 That greatest boasters do the least. 
 And whispered to himself -"The Dover traders 
 
 Are most insufferable gasconaders ; 
 
 If any folks deserve an innuendo^ 
 By way of a rebuke, I'm sure these men do." 
 
 However no remark was made, 
 Until the secretary reading o'er 
 The rules and regulations of the corps. 
 
 Broke off, and to the chairman said, 
 
 " Sir, I respectfully submit 
 
 That it were well on this occasion, 
 Among our standing rules and laws, 
 To insert the customary clause. 
 Not to serve out of England^ — " Yes," said Pitt, 
 
 " Except in case of an invas'ioti /" 
 
206 HOBBS AND DOBBS. 
 
 HOBBS AND DOBBS. 
 
 Adrian. — "Your jest is somewhat of the oklest, Master Giles." 
 Giles. — " Hush ! do you think I would offer a new joke, any more than new 
 wine, to your Worship i*" — The Unknown. 
 
 Love in a village, where the parties revel 
 In all the neighbourly civility 
 Of cheerful, social amiability, 
 
 Is vastly pleasant ; 
 But hatred in a village is the devil ! 
 
 Because each peasant 
 Is ever meeting in that narrow circle, 
 The very man on whom he longs to work ill. 
 How sad the pity that our beau ideal 
 
 Is never real ; — 
 That envy, hatred, jealousy, and malice, 
 
 Should hold their chalice 
 Up to the lips of rustics, who were meant 
 By Nature to be innocent, 
 And harmless as the household dove, 
 
 That type of love ! 
 
 After this pretty bit of flummery. 
 
 Or moral sentimental proem, 
 
 (An apt exordium to my poem,) 
 I must be quick, concise, and summary, 
 And without any more preparative, 
 
 Commence my narrative. 
 
 At Oakley, in the Western Biding 
 
 Of Yorkshire, were two men residing, 
 
 Named Hobbs and Dobbs, whose constant quarrels, 
 
 Springing from rivalry in trade, 
 
 A sort of village warfare made, 
 Which sadly spoilt the people's morals, 
 
HOBBS AND DOBBS. 207 
 
 Splitting them into furious factions; 
 
 Some warmly advocating Hobbs, 
 While others, both hy words and actions, 
 
 Supported Dobbs. 
 And jet these foolish fellows ought 
 
 In their two leaders to have found 
 Men of strono; understandinf]^, taucrht 
 
 With friendly stitches, 
 To patch up, not occasion breaches, 
 
 And mend the soles of all the rustics round, 
 For they were both shoemakers, and their labours 
 
 Should have been circumscribed to putting 
 Their friends and customers, and neighbours, 
 
 On a good footing. 
 
 They lived, unfortunately, vis-d-vis, 
 
 And soon began the Avork of emulation, 
 By flaming shopboards, where in gilt 
 And lackered lustre, you might see 
 The symbols of their occupation, 
 Much paint in blue and crimson being spilt. 
 That each might be more splendid than the other, 
 And Avin all custom from his bafiled brother. 
 
 Hobbs, who had somehow given handle 
 For undeserved reproach and scandal. 
 
 When he new-dizened out his board, 
 Wrote at its foot this Latin scrap — 
 
 ^^ Mens conscla i^ecti^^'' which he took 
 
 From some heraldic motto-book, 
 Meaning thereby to have a slap 
 
 At his maligners and afford 
 Proof that his path he still pursued. 
 Strong in a conscious rectitude. 
 
208 MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 
 
 This was a source of envious dolour 
 
 To Dobbs, who, in his first confusion, 
 Knowing his rival was no scholar, 
 
 Deduced the natural conclusion 
 That " conscia rectV^ doubtless meant 
 
 Some article of trade, perchance, 
 
 Some fashion just arrived from France, 
 
 And being resolutely bent 
 His hated rival to eclipse. 
 He sent forthwith for Mr. Cripps^ 
 Painter and glazier. 
 
 When thus ejaculated Dobbs — 
 '" Paint me a still more flaming board, 
 
 Of green, and gold, and azure ; 
 What ! do you think I can't afford 
 
 To pay for it as well as Hobbs ? 
 Be these French kickshaws what they will, 
 I am resolved to beat him still. 
 
 To which eifect I 
 Desire you '11 print in gold at bottom, 
 (That folks may fancy I have got 'em,) 
 
 Men^s AND women's conscia recti P^ 
 
 MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 
 
 Monsieur le Brun (who must not be confused 
 With the great painter) jointly cultivated 
 
 Apollo's laurel and the grape of Bacchus, 
 And into m'dlocre verse translated, 
 
 Or rather, as the French would say, traduced 
 The odes of Flaccus. 
 
MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 209 
 
 The work, I must confess, was badly done, 
 
 For poor Le Brun, 
 Still scribbling, and unable still to win 
 
 A living for himself and wife. 
 Was like a rope-maker, condemned to spin 
 
 Long lines, yet still go backward all his life. 
 
 Le Brun asserted that an author loses 
 
 By quaffing with the water-drinking Muses, 
 
 Wherefore he held in small account 
 Castalia's fount, 
 
 And not a solitary sip he 
 
 Ever quaifed from Aganippe, 
 Maintaining that champagne and other wine, 
 
 With, now and then, a draught of liquor, 
 
 Produced an inspiration quicker, 
 As well as more delightful and divine. — 
 If to his cups his couplets he had suited. 
 
 They must have sparkled — and 'tis strange to me, 
 That want of life should ever be imputed 
 
 To poetry inspired by eau-de-vie. 
 
 But so it was — his poems, every one. 
 Were like a flintless ojun. 
 
 Which won't go off for want of fire ; 
 And poor Le Brun who took to deeper drinking 
 Instead of thinking, 
 
 Sunk daily deeper in oblivion's mire. 
 While swallowing compound spirits, still the faster 
 
 He lost his own, till he became a prey 
 To hypochondria ; and one disaster 
 
 Another following, his health gave way. 
 His stomach, it was said, had lost its coat, 
 
210 MONSIEUR LE BRUN. 
 
 Or thrown it off, perhaps, from being hot, 
 For his ohi trick he never had forgot. 
 Of pouring ardent spirits down his throat ; 
 Which daily system of potation 
 
 Most deleterious, 
 Brought fever first, then inflammation, 
 When his poor wife so much his aspect shocked her, 
 Called in the doctor, 
 
 And now the case grew serious. 
 
 Bolus, a man of fees, not feeling, 
 Finding his purse was low, though high his fever, 
 
 Bolted, but sent a priest, who, kneeling, 
 Thus comforted the bibulous believer : — 
 " My son, 'tis clear you have not long to live, 
 
 So you must use this unction. 
 
 Confess your sins Avith due compunction, 
 And freely all your enemies forgive — 
 
 Bestowing on them, if they 're nigh, 
 
 The kiss of peace before you die !" 
 
 " Kiss what I hated most — my deadliest foes ! 
 Surely, good father, you impose 
 
 A penance too revolting to be just, 
 'Tis ten times worse than fasts, hair shirts, and whips; 
 
 However, if I must, I must ; 
 So put a glass of water to my lips !" 
 
ST. GEORGE'S PENITENTIARY. 211 
 
 ST. GEORGE'S PENITENTIARY. 
 
 The learned and facetious Dr. Airj 
 
 Preached, 'tother day, a sermon so pathetic, 
 For the St. George's Penitentiary, 
 
 That it seemed just like giving an emetic 
 To every purse of Christian boAvels : 
 
 Folks sobbed and blubbered 
 So fast that hankerchiefs were turned to towels ; 
 
 And the last tear seemed squeezed from out its cup- 
 board. 
 The Doctor smiled (within his sleeve) 
 
 At these salt tributes to his oratory, 
 Sure that the Institution w^ould receive 
 
 A sum redounding to his proper glory, 
 
 From the soul- melted auditory. 
 
 The sermon o'er, he bent his keen 
 
 Ear to the tinklings of the plate ; — 
 
 Alas they came with pause deliberate 
 'Twixt each donation, 
 "Like angel visits, few and far between," 
 (I like a ncAV quotation.) 
 
 But, as he caught the sounds, he thought 
 Each had a golden echo, which in fairness 
 Made full atonement for its rareness. 
 
 ''Ay, ay," soliloquized the preacher, 
 " I told them charity atoned 
 For multitudes of sins ; — they 've owned 
 
 For once the wisdom of their teacher. 
 And, for their many crimes untold. 
 Are doing penance with their gold." 
 
212 ST. George's penitentiary. 
 
 With this auriferous impression, 
 Proud and elate, 
 He move towards the plate ; 
 But ah ! how changed was his expression, 
 When, 'stead of the expected prize. 
 Nothing but shillings met his eyes, 
 And those, alas ! too few in number 
 
 Each other to encumber. 
 ^'Ah!" cried the parson — "addle-pated 
 Dolts and dunces ! when I stated, 
 '• Love of our species is the just 
 Measure of charity, they must 
 Have understood the phrase to be, 
 
 Love of our specie.' 
 Nothing but shillings, shillings still ! 
 
 A strange vagary ! 
 Now on my credit, if I had my will, 
 Their Institution's title I would vary, 
 Into the Twelve-VEi^^Y-tentiary.^'' 
 Doctor ! 'tis my opinion humble, 
 You had not any right to grumble. 
 For he who in this penny age can touch 
 A shilling, gets twelve times as much 
 As other folks ; — I state no hoax, 
 But simple fact, devoid of jokes, 
 Or amphibological equivoques^* 
 Yes, since the penny banner was unfurled, 
 In this two-halfpenny four-farthing world, 
 Have we not thousands who are willing 
 
 To place unlimited reliance, 
 
 For learning, news, and science. 
 Upon the twelfth part of a shilling ? 
 Have Ave not Penny Cyclopedias, 
 
 Penny Magazines and books. 
 
ST. George's penitentiary. . 213 
 
 Penny Tracts, less good than tedious, 
 
 For pe/utents of rueful looks. 
 And penny classics that give scope 
 
 To boys at penny schools, and misses, 
 
 To sympathize with poor Ulysses 
 And his beloved Penny-lope? i 
 
 With such economy, 
 Where every cottage is a college, 
 What wonder, in the march of knowledge, 
 
 That plough boys understand astronomy ? 
 Cries Hodge -" How comes it that the sun, 
 
 Who nightly seeks the western shore, 
 Kises, as sure as any gun. 
 
 Next morning w^here he was afore?" 
 ''Spoony!" replies a learned wight, 
 
 ' ■ Your ignorance is truly risible ; 
 He always travels back at night, 
 
 And that s the reason he' s in?^isible." 
 
 It was a penny Latinist, who said. 
 In chaos there had been a battle 
 Before the days of men and cattle, 
 
 Though not set down in Holy Writ, 
 Because in Ovid he had read 
 
 That was the time when nihil jit. 
 Such tales, (I hope that none have quizzed 'em,) 
 
 Evince the march of penny Avisdom, 
 
 And might be told ad infinitum, 
 Had we just now the time to write 'em. 
 
214 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 DIAMOIS^D CUT DIAMOND. 
 
 A RECENT OCCURRENCE, 
 
 A FIRM there is, of civic fame, 
 
 At all events of notoriety, 
 (Excuse my mentioning its name,) 
 
 Which crams the public to satiety, 
 With rhyming puffs by shopmen bards. 
 And huge conspicuous placards. 
 Slung on the backs of men and boys, 
 
 And hobble-de-hoys, 
 Plying all day their devious courses ; 
 
 Or stuck on the tall vans that flare 
 
 Through every crowded thoroughfare^ 
 To cozen asses and to frighten horses. 
 
 This firm's emporium or bazaar, 
 Near Aldgate pump, is known afar 
 By catchpenny devices manifold, 
 By panes of glass worth many guineas, 
 And all that may attract the ninnies 
 Who think they're buying cheap, and find they're sold. 
 
 Two clowns, one day, before the shop, 
 In rustic frocks and spatterdashes, 
 Besmirched with stercoraceous splashes, 
 Came to a stop ; 
 
 Not to admire the flash habiliments, 
 
 Which a month's wear would turn to filaments; 
 Not to indulge in talk domestic. 
 
 But to decide by imprecations. 
 
 And interchange of objurgations, 
 Some unadjusted feud agrestic^ 
 
DIAMO:^D CUT DIAMOND. 215 
 
 Their flashing eyes and gestures furious 
 Soon showed that words, howe'er injurious, 
 Would not interpret what their rage meantj 
 So they began a fist engagement ; 
 And, in the very first attack, 
 One of the rustics, reeling back, 
 
 Against the window fell slap dash. 
 
 Zooks ! what a crash ! 
 'Twas obvious that the largest pane 
 (If we may speak in Yankee strain) 
 
 Was sent to everlasting smash. 
 
 .Away the first aggressor hurried, 
 
 And presently was lost to sight; 
 Out rushed four shopmen, red and flurried, 
 
 Who seized the window-breaking wight, 
 
 A<]!;hast and tremblino- with affrio-ht, 
 Dragged him into their shop or trap, and 
 Told their master what had happened. 
 " It cost ten pounds !" the latter roared; 
 
 " Ten pounds, and you must pay them down, 
 Before your liberty 's restored. 
 
 D' ye hear? hast got the money, clown?" 
 
 *'Ten pounds!" cried Hodge, in blank dismay; 
 '' Lord love you, I can never pay. 
 I've got ten shillings and some pence ; 
 
 ('Tis hard to make me such a loser,) 
 But if they '11 cover the offence, 
 
 Take 'em and let me go, now do, sir." 
 '' Blockhead ! w'ill such a mite atone ? 
 
 You must make good the whole disaster." 
 " I've nothing else, sir, of my own ; 
 
 What more I've <Trot beloni2;s to master." 
 
216 
 
 DIAMONB CUT mAUOND. 
 
 Tots ; Lrforj^^^'"''' 
 
 You would n'f K • ^^^"stn t touch : 
 
 ^ouid n t bnng me to disgrace 
 
 J^^ Joss o' character aud place ' 
 So don't ye av m^ • ^ ' 
 
 Touch it CJ; /;"■''''"■*'• - 
 
 yom master down, is answerable 
 
 Th-^ne,isn.:^„::'j;>-/;;'^-^v 
 A"dsend,n™^4;rst^f^^ 
 
 Ejaculated Hodge, appilH ^'^^ ' «'°P •'" 
 
 Sw t'''''^'^■^P^»'^h*- 
 < M . t" P'^'^We taking, "' 
 
 Master, rf I am missed, w|],av 
 
 S«tecl.a„ge,a^d'then departed 
 g ana muttering, '^Ifegs! 
 
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 217 
 
 How shall I ever tell my master 
 About this terrible disaster ? 
 I'm ruined, sure as eggs is eggs." 
 
 Our cits, though chuckling with intense 
 Enjoyment at the clown's expense, 
 
 Had little cause for mirth, if any. 
 Por lo ! their banker's clerk appears 
 Next day, and whispers in their eais, 
 
 ^'This fifty's forged — not worth a penny!'' 
 
 Such was the fact — our firm had lost, 
 Besides the broken window's cost, 
 Pounds forty at a single throw: 
 What had they in rerurn to show 
 Por such subtraction from their till ? 
 A piece of paper, value — nil ! 
 
 Meanwhile the fighting clowns, whose roguery 
 (They were colleagues) the plot had planned, 
 By which the tradesmen were trepanned. 
 Changed their smock-frocks for stylish toggery^ 
 To Margate steamed to take their pleasure, 
 And spent their forty pounds at leisure. 
 10 
 
THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 JAMES SMITH, 
 
LONDON LYllICS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS OUT OF TOWN. 
 
 For many a winter in Billiter-lane 
 
 Mj wife, Mrs. Brown, was not heard to complain ; 
 
 At Christmas the family met there to dine 
 
 On beef and plum-pudding, and turkey and chine. 
 
 Our bark has now taken a contrary heel, 
 
 My wife has found out that the sea is genteel. 
 
 To Brighton we duly go scampering down, 
 
 For nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
 Our register-stoves, and our crimson-baized doors, 
 Our weather-proof walls, and our carpeted floors, 
 Our casements well fitted to stem the North wind, 
 Our arm-chair and sofa, are all left behind. 
 We lodge on the Steine, in a bow- window' d box, 
 That beckons up-stairs every Zephyr that knocks ; 
 The sun hides his head, and the elements frown — 
 But nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
 In Billiter-lane, at this mirth-moving time, 
 
 The lamplighter brought us his annual rhyme, 
 
 The tricks of Grimaldi were sure to be seen. 
 
 We carved a twelfth-cake, and we drew king and queen 
 
 These pastimes gave oil to Time's roundabout wheel, 
 
 Before we began to be growing genteel : 
 
 'Twas all very well for a cockney or clown, 
 
 But nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
295 
 
 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 At Brighton I'm stuck up in Donaldson's shop, 
 Or walk upon bricks till I'm readj to drop; 
 Throw stones at an anchor, look out for a skiff, 
 Or view the Chain-pier from the top of the cliff; 
 Till winds from all quarters oblige me to halt. 
 With an eye full of sand and a mouth full of salt. 
 Yet still I am suffering with folks of renown. 
 For nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
 In gallop the winds, at the full of the moon. 
 And puff up my carpet like Sadler's balloon ; 
 My drawing-room rug is besprinkled with soot. 
 And there is not a lock in the house that will shut. 
 At Mahomet's steam -bath I lean on my cane, 
 And murmur in secret — " Oh, BiUiter-lane !" 
 But would not express what I think for a crown, 
 For nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
 The Duke and the Earl are no cronies of mine, 
 
 His Majesty never invites me to dine ; 
 
 The Marquess won't speak, when we meet on the pier, 
 
 Which makes me suspect that I'm nobody here. 
 
 If that be the case, why then welcome again 
 
 Twelfth-cake and snap-dragon in Billiter-lane. 
 
 Next winter I'll prove to my dear Mrs. Brown, 
 
 That Nobody now spends his Christmas in Town. 
 
 ST. JAMES'S PARK. 
 
 'TwAS June, and many a gossip wench. 
 Child-freighted, trod the central Mall ; 
 
 I gained a white unpeopled bench, 
 And gazed upon the long Canal. 
 
ST. JAMES'S PARK, 223 
 
 Beside me, soon, in motley talk, 
 
 Boys, nursemaids sat, a varying race; 
 
 At length two females crossed the walk, 
 And occupied the vacant space. 
 
 In years they seem'd some forty-four, 
 
 Of dwarfish stature, vulgar mien ; 
 A bonnet of black silk each wore, 
 
 And each a gown of bombazine : 
 And, while in loud and careless tones 
 
 They dwelt upon their own concerns, 
 Ere long I learned that Mrs. Jones 
 
 Was one, and one was Mrs. Burns. 
 
 They talked of little Jane and John, 
 
 And hoped they'd come before 'twas dark, 
 Then wondered w^hy, with pattens on, 
 
 One might not walk across the Park : 
 They called jt far to Camden-town, 
 
 Yet hoped to reach it by-and-bye ; 
 And thought it strange, since flour was down, 
 
 That bread should still continue high. 
 
 They said, last Monday's heavy gales 
 
 Had done a monstrous deal of ill ; 
 Then tried to count the iron rails 
 
 That wound up Constitution hill : 
 This 'larum sedulous to shun, 
 
 I donn'd my gloves, to march away, 
 When, as I gazed upon the one, 
 
 " Good Heavens !" I cried, '' 'tis Nancy Gray." 
 
 'Twas Nancy, whom I led along 
 The whitened and elastic floor, 
 
224 LONDON LYUICS, 
 
 Amid mirth's merry pancing throngs 
 Just two-and-twenty years before. 
 
 Though sadly altered, I knew her, 
 
 While she, 'twas obvious, knew me not; 
 
 But mildly said, " Good evening, sir," 
 And with her comrade left the spot. 
 
 ''Is this," I cried, in grief profound, 
 
 "The fair, with whom, eclipsing all, 
 I traversed Ranelagh's bright round, 
 
 Or trod the mazes of Vauxhall ? 
 And is this all that Time can do? 
 
 Has Nature nothing else in store? 
 Is this, of lovely twenty-two, 
 
 All that remains at forty-four ? 
 
 '' Could I to such a helpmate cling? 
 
 Were such a w^edded dowdy mine, 
 On yonder lamp-post would I swing, 
 
 Or plunge in yonder Serpentine !" 
 I left the Park with eyes askance. 
 
 But, ere I entered Cleveland-row, 
 Bude Beason thus threw in her lance. 
 
 And dealt self-love a mortal blow. 
 
 ''Time, at whose touch all mortals bow, 
 
 From either sex his prey secures, 
 His scythe, while wounding Nancy's brow, 
 
 Can scarce have smoothly swept o'er yours; 
 By her you plainly were not known ; 
 
 Then, while you mourn the alter'd hue 
 Of Nancy's fice, suspect your own 
 
 May be a little altered too." 
 
THE UPAS IN MARYBONE LANE. 225 
 
 THE UPAS IN MARYBONE LANE. 
 
 A TREE grew in Java, whose pestilent rind 
 A venom distilled of the deadliest kind ; 
 The Dutch sent their felons its juices to draw, 
 And who returned safe, pleaded pardon bj law. 
 
 Face-muffled the culprits crept into the vale, 
 Advancing from windward to 'scape the death-gale; 
 How few the reward of their victory earned ! 
 For ninety-nine perished for one who returned. 
 
 Britannia this Upas-tree bought of Mynheer, 
 Removed it through Holland and planted it here ; 
 'Tis now a stock plant, of the genus Wolf's bane, 
 And one of them blossoms in Marybone lane. 
 
 The house that surrounds it stands first in a row. 
 The doors, at right angles, swing open below ; 
 And the children of misery daily steal in, 
 And the poison they draw we denominate Gin. 
 
 There enter the prude, and the reprobate boy, 
 The mother of grief, and the daughter of joy, 
 The serving-maid slim, and the serving-man stout, 
 They quickly steal in, and they slowly reel out. 
 
 Surcharged with the venom, some walk forth erect, 
 Apparently baffling its deadly effect ; 
 But, sooner or later, the reckoning arrives, 
 And ninety-nine perish for one who survives. 
 
226 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Thej cautious advance, with slouched bonnet and hat, 
 They enter at this door, they go out at that ; 
 Some bear off their burden with riotous glee, 
 But most sink, in sleep, at the foot of the tree. 
 
 Tax, Chancellor Van, the Batavian to thwart. 
 This compound of crime, at a sovereign a quart ; 
 Let gin fetch, per bottle, the price of Champagne, 
 And hew down the Upas in Marybone-lane. 
 
 STAGE WEDLOCK. 
 
 Fabren, Thalia's dear delight, 
 Can I forget that fatal night 
 
 Of grief, unstained by fiction, 
 (Even now the recollection damps) 
 When Wroughton led thee to the lamps 
 
 In graceful valediction ? 
 
 This Derby prize by Hymen won, 
 Again the God made bold to run 
 
 Beneath Thalia's steerage ; 
 Sent forth a second Earl to woo, 
 And captivating Brunton too, 
 
 Exalted to the peerage. 
 
 Awhile no actress sought his shrine ; 
 When lovely Searle, in Columbine, 
 
 Each heart held "cabined, cribbed in:" 
 Her dark-blue eye, and tresses loose. 
 Made the whole town dub Mother Goose 
 
 Chef-d] oe,nvre of Tom Dibdin. 
 
STAGE WEDLOCK. 227 
 
 ''Hail, feathered Conjuror!" I cried, 
 
 '' September's dish, Saint Michael's pride, 
 
 Theatric gold collector : 
 I pledge thee, bird, in Circe's cup !"— 
 But Heathcote, ring in hand, ripped up 
 
 The Capitol's protector. 
 
 Thrice vanquished thus, on Thespian soil, 
 Heart-whole awhile, from Cupid's toil 
 
 I caught a fleeting furlough ; 
 Gay's Newgate Opera charmed me then, 
 But Pollj sang her requiem when 
 
 Fair Bolton changed to Thurlow. 
 
 These wounds some substitute might heal ; 
 But what bold mortal bade O'Neil 
 
 Benounce her tragic station ? 
 Taste, talent, beauty to trepan — * 
 
 By Heaven, I wonder how the man 
 
 Escaped assassination ! 
 
 I felt half bent to wing my way 
 With Werter, on whose table lay 
 
 Emilia Galoti : 
 Stunned, like a skater by a fall, 
 I saw with unconcern Hughes Ball 
 
 Elope with Mercandotti. 
 
 'Tis thus that prowling round Love's fold, 
 Hymen, by sufferance made bold, 
 
 (Too bold for one of his age,) 
 Presumes behind the scenes to go, 
 Where only Cupid used to show ' 
 
 His mythologic visage.- 
 
228 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Would these bold suitors wield the fork 
 
 And dip, as sailors dip for pork. 
 
 Or urchins at a barrow, 
 First come, first take, one would not care 
 But pick and choose was never fair 
 
 At Eton or at Harrow. 
 
 Gain we no safeguard from the laws? 
 Contains the Marriage Act no clause 
 
 To hush Saint Martin's steeple ; 
 To bind the public's daughters sure, 
 And from stage larceny secure 
 
 Us poor play-going people ? 
 
 No ! Eldon, all depends on thee : 
 Wards of thy Court let heroines be, 
 
 Who to stage wealth have risen ; 
 And then, if lovers ladders climb, 
 Contempt of Court will be their crime, 
 
 The Fleet will be their prison. 
 
 DOCTOR GALL. 
 
 I SING of the organs and fibres 
 
 That ramble about in the brains ; 
 Avaunt ! ye irreverent jibers, 
 
 Or stay and be Avise for your pains. 
 All heads were of yore on a level, 
 
 One could not tell clever from dull, 
 Till I, like Le Sage's lame devil. 
 
 Unroof d with a touch every skull. 
 Oh, I am the mental dissector, 
 
 I fathom the wits of you all, 
 
DOCTOR GALL. 229 
 
 Then come in a crowd to the lecture 
 Of craniological Gall. 
 
 The passions, or active or passive, 
 
 Exposed bj mj magical spells, 
 As busj as bees in a glass hive, 
 
 Are seen in their separate cells. 
 Old Momus, who wanted a casement 
 
 Whence all in the heart might be read, 
 Were he living, would stare with amazement 
 
 To find what he wants in the head. 
 
 There 's an organ for strains amoroso, 
 
 Just under the edge of the w^ig. 
 An organ for writing but so-so, 
 
 For driving a tilburj gig ; 
 An organ for boxers, for stoics. 
 
 For giving booksellers a lift, 
 For marching the zig-zag heroics, 
 
 And editing Jonathan Swift. 
 
 I raise in match-making a rumpus, 
 
 And Cupid his flame must impart 
 Henceforth with a rule and a compass, 
 
 Instead of a bow and a dart. 
 *' Dear Madam, your eje-brow is horrid; 
 
 And Captain, too broad is your pate ; 
 I see by that bump on your forehead 
 
 You 're shockingly dull tete-a-tete.^'' 
 
 When practice has made my book plainer 
 To manhood, to age, and to youth, 
 
 I '11 build, like the genius Phanor, 
 In London a palace of truth. 
 
230 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Then fibs, ah, beware how you tell ^em, 
 Reflect how pellucid the skull, 
 
 Whose downright sincere cerebellum 
 Must render all flattery null. 
 
 Your friend brings a play out at Drury, 
 
 'Tis hooted and damned in the pit ; 
 Your organ of friendship 's all fury, 
 
 But what says your organ of wit ? 
 "Our laughter next time prithee stir, man^ 
 
 We don't pay our money to weep ; 
 Your play must have come from the German, 
 
 It set all the boxes asleep." 
 
 At first, all will be in a bustle ; 
 
 The eye will, from ignorance, swerve, 
 And some will abuse the wrong muscle. 
 
 And some will adore the wrong nerve. 
 In love should your hearts then be sporting, 
 
 Your heads on one level to bring, 
 You must go in your nightcaps a-courting, 
 
 As if you were going to swing. 
 
 Yet some happy mortals, all virtue, 
 
 Have sentiment just as they should. 
 Their occiput nought can do hurt to. 
 
 Each organ's an organ of good ; 
 Such couples angelic, when mated. 
 
 To bid all concealment retire. 
 Should seek Hymen's altar bald-pated, 
 
 And throw both their wigs in his fire. 
 
 My system, from great A to Izzard, 
 
 You now, my good friends, may descry, 
 
TABLE TALK. 231 
 
 Not Shakspeare's Bermudean wizard 
 
 Was half so enchanting as I. 
 His magic a Tempest could smother, 
 
 But mine the soul's hurricane clears, 
 By exposing your heads to each other, 
 
 And setting those heads hj the ears. 
 
 Oh, I am the mental dissector, 
 
 I fathom the wits of jou all ; 
 So here is an end to the lecture 
 
 Of craniological Gall. 
 
 TABLE TALK. 
 
 To weave a culinary clue. 
 
 When to eschew, and what to chew, 
 
 Where shun, and where take rations, 
 I sing. Attend, ye diners-out. 
 And if my numbers please you, shout 
 
 "Hear, hear!" in acclamations. 
 
 There are who treat you once a year, 
 To the same stupid set ; good cheer 
 
 Such hardship cannot soften. 
 To listen to the self same dunce, 
 At the same laden table, once 
 
 Per annum 's once too often. 
 
 Rather than that, mix on my plate 
 With men I like the meat I hate — 
 
 Colman with pig and treacle ; 
 Luttrell with ven' son-pastry join, 
 Lord Normanby with orange wine 
 
 And rabbit-pie with Jekyll. 
 
232 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Add to George Lambe a sable snipe, 
 Conjoin with Captain Morris tripe 
 
 By parsley-roots made denser ; 
 Mix Macintosh with mack'rel, with 
 Calves-head and bacon Sidney Smith, 
 
 And mutton-broth with Spencer. 
 
 Shun sitting next the wight whose drone 
 Bores, sotto voce^ you alone 
 
 With flat colloquial pressure ; 
 Debarred from general talk, you droop 
 Beneath his buzz, from orient Soup 
 
 To occidental Cheshire. 
 
 He who can only talk with one, 
 
 Should stay at home and talk with none — 
 
 At all events, to strangers, 
 Like village epitaphs of yore, 
 He ought to cry " Long time I bore," 
 
 To warn them of their dangers. 
 
 There are whose kind inquiries scan 
 Your total kindred, man by man. 
 
 Son, brother, cousin, joining, 
 They ask about your wife, who's dead, 
 And eulogize your uncle Ned, 
 
 Who swung last week for coining. 
 
 When joined to such a son of prate, 
 His queries I anticipate. 
 
 And thus my ke-way fetch up — 
 "Sir, all my relatives, I vow. 
 Are perfectly in health, and now 
 
 I'd thank you for the ketchup !" 
 
TABLE TALK. ^33 
 
 Others there are who but retail 
 
 Their breakfast journal, now grown stale, 
 
 In print ere day was dawning ; 
 When folks like these sit next to me, 
 They send me dinnerless to tea ; 
 
 One cannot chew while yawning. 
 
 Seat not good talkers one next one, 
 As Jacquier beards the Clarendon ; 
 
 Thus shrouded you undo 'em ; 
 Kather confront them, f\ice to face, 
 Like Holies-street and Harewood-place, 
 
 Poets are danorerous to sit nio-h ; 
 You waft their praises to the sky. 
 
 And when you think you're stirring 
 Their gratitude, they bite you — (That's 
 The reason I object to cats ; 
 
 They scratch amid their purring.) 
 
 For those who ask you if you "malt," 
 Who, "beg your pardon" for the salt, 
 
 And ape our u^^per grandees. 
 By wondering folks can touch port wine ; 
 That, reader, 's your affair, not mine ; 
 
 I never mess with dandies. 
 
 Relations mix not kindly ; shun 
 Inviting brothers ; sire and son 
 
 Is not a wise selection : 
 Too intimate, they either jar 
 In converse, or the evening mar 
 
 By mutual circumspection. 
 
•234 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Lawyers are apt to think the view 
 That interests them must interest you; 
 
 Hence they appear at table 
 Or supereloquent, or dumb, 
 Fluent as nightingales, or mum, 
 
 As horses in a stable. 
 
 When men amuse their fellow guests 
 With Crank and Jones, or Justice Best's 
 
 Harangue in Dobbs and Ryal I 
 The host, beneath whose roof they sit, 
 Must be a puny judge of wit, 
 
 Who grants them a new trial. 
 
 Shun technicals in each extreme ; 
 Exclusive talk, whate'er the theme, 
 
 The proper boundary passes ; 
 Nobles as much offend, whose clack 's 
 For ever running on Almack's, 
 
 As brokers on molasses. 
 
 I knew a man from glass to delf, 
 Who knew of nothing but himself, 
 
 Till checked by a vertigo ; 
 The party who beheld him "floored," 
 Bent o'er the liberated board. 
 
 And cried, " Hie jacet ego." 
 
 Some aim to tell a thing that hit 
 
 Where last they dined ; what there was wit, 
 
 Here meets rebuffs and crosses. 
 Jokes are like trees ; their place of birth 
 Best suits them ; stuck in foreign earth, 
 
 They perish in the process. 
 
Tx\BLE TALK. 235 
 
 Think, reader, of the few who groan 
 For any ailments save their own ; 
 
 The world, from peer to peasant. 
 Is heedless of your cough or gout ; 
 Then pr'ythee, when you next dine out, 
 
 Go armed with something pleasant. 
 
 Nay, even the very soil that nursed 
 The plant, will sometimes kill what erst 
 
 It nurtured in full glory. 
 Like causes will not always move 
 To similar effects ; to prove 
 
 The fact, I" 11 tell a story. 
 
 Close to that spot where Stuart turns 
 His back upon the clubs, and spurns 
 
 The earth, a marble fixture. 
 We dined ; well matched, for pleasure met, 
 Wits, poets, peers, a jovial set 
 
 In miscellaneous mixture. 
 
 Each card turned up a trump, the glee. 
 The catch went round, from eight to three, 
 
 Decorum scorned to own us ; 
 We joked, we bantered, laughed, and roared, 
 Till high above the welkin soared, 
 
 The helpmate of Tithonus. 
 
 Care kept aloof, each social soul 
 
 A brother hailed, Joy filled the bowl, 
 
 And humor crowned the medley. 
 Till royal Charles, roused by the fun. 
 Looked toward Whitehall, and thought his son 
 
 Was rioting with Sedley. 
 
286 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 ^' Gad, John, this is a glorious joke—'' 
 (Thus to our host his Highness spoke) — 
 
 "The vicar with his Nappy 
 Woukl give an eye for this night's freak — 
 Suppose we meet again next week — " 
 
 John bowed, and was too " happy." 
 
 The day arrived — 'twas seven — we met : 
 Wits, poets, peers, the self-same set, 
 
 Each hailed a joyous brother. 
 But in the blithe and d Jbonnaire, 
 Saying, alas ! is one affair, 
 
 And doing is another. 
 
 Nattire unkind, we turned to Art ; 
 Heavens ! how we labored to be smart ; 
 
 Zug sang a song in German : 
 We might as well have played at chess ; 
 All dropped as dead-born from the press 
 
 As last year's Spital sermon. 
 
 Ah ! Merriment ! wdien men entrap 
 Thy bells, and women steal thy cap, 
 
 They think they have trepanned thee. 
 Delusive thought ! aloof and dumb, 
 Thou wilt not at a bidding come, 
 
 Though Royalty command thee. 
 
 The rich, who sigh for theo ; the great, 
 Who court thy smiles with gilded plate, 
 
 But clasp thy cloudy follies : 
 I've known thee turn, in Portman-square, 
 From Burgundy and Hock, to share 
 
 A pint of Port at Dolly's. 
 
THE POET OF FASHIOJT. 237 
 
 Races at Ascot, tours in Wales, 
 White-bait at Greenwich ofttimes fails, 
 
 To wake thee from thj slumbers. 
 Even now, so prone art thou to %, 
 Ungrateful nymph ! thou 'rt fighting shy 
 
 Of these narcotic numbers. 
 
 THE POET OF FASHIOX. 
 
 His book is successful, he 's steeped in renown, 
 His lyric effusions have tickled the town ; 
 Dukes, dowagers, dandies, are eager to trace 
 The fountain of verse in the verse-maker's face; 
 While, proud of Apollo, with peers ttte-a-tete, ' 
 From Monday till Saturday dining off plate, ' 
 His heart full of hope, and his head full of gain, 
 The Poet of Fashion dines out in Park- lane. 
 
 Now lean-jointured widows, who seldom draw corks, 
 
 Whose tea-spoons do duty for knives and for forks, ' 
 
 Send forth, vellum-covered, a six o'clock card. 
 
 And get up a dinner to peep at the bard : 
 
 Veal, sweetbread, boiled chickens, and tongue, crown 
 
 the cloth. 
 And soup d la reine, little better than broth : 
 While, past his meridian, but still with some heat, 
 The Poet of Fashion dines out in Sloane-street. 
 
 Enrolled in the tribe who subsist by their wits, 
 Kemembered by starts, and forgotten by fits, 
 Now artists and actors the bardling engage, ' 
 To squib in the journals, and write for'tlfe stage. 
 
238 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 Now soup a la reine bends the knee to ox-cheek, 
 And chickens and tongue bow to bubble and squeak — 
 While, still in translation employed bj "The Row," 
 The Poet of Fashion dines out in Soho. 
 
 Pushed down from Parnassus to Phlegethon's brink, 
 Tossed, torn, and trunk-lining, but still with some ink, 
 Now squab city misses their albums expand. 
 And woo the worn rhymer for " something off-hand;" 
 No longer with stilted effrontery fraught, 
 Bucklersbury now seeks what St. James's once sought, 
 And (0 what a classical haunt for a bard !) 
 The Poet of Fashion dines out in Barge Yard. 
 
 NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 My wife and I live, comme il faut, 
 At number Six in Crosby-row : 
 
 So few our household labors, 
 We quickly turn from joints and pies, 
 To use two tongues and twice two eyes 
 
 To meliorate our neighbours. 
 
 My eye-glass, thanks to Dolland's skill, 
 Sweeps up the lane to Mears's Mill, 
 
 While, latticed in her chamber, 
 My wife peeps through her window-pane, 
 To note who ramble round the lane, 
 
 And who the foot-stile clamber. 
 
 This morn the zig-zao; man of meat 
 Trotted, tray-balanced, ujd the street — 
 We saw him halt at Sydney's : 
 
NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 239 
 
 My wife asserts he left lamb there ; 
 But I myself can all but swear 
 'Twas mutton-chops and kidneys. 
 
 The man who goes about Avith urns 
 Is beckoned in by Betty Burns : 
 
 The poor girl knows no better : 
 But Mrs. Burns should have more sense ; 
 Thai broken tray is mere pretence — 
 
 He brings the girl a letter. 
 
 Whether she goes up street for milk, 
 Or brings home sugar, pins, or silk, 
 
 That silly wench for ever 
 Draws up, pretending at the stile 
 To rest herself, while all the while 
 
 She waits for Captain Trevor. 
 
 The Captain, when he sees me, turns, 
 Seems not to notice Betty Burns, 
 
 And round the pond betakes him, 
 Behind the stables of the Bear, 
 To get the back way in ; but there 
 
 My wife's back window rakes him. 
 
 There go the Freaks again — but hark ! 
 I hear the gate-bell ring — 'tis Bark, 
 
 The glib apothecary, 
 Who in his mortar pounds the fame 
 Of every rumor-wounded dame, 
 
 From Moll to Lady Mary. 
 
 ^' Well, Mr. Bark,"—'' I've found her out.'' 
 "Who is she?"— ''Not his wife."— " No doubt." 
 " 'Twas told me by his brother." 
 
240 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 "Which brother? Archibald?"— '' No, Fred., 
 An old connexion." — " So I said." 
 " The woman 's— " " What ?"— " His mother." 
 
 "Who are the comers next to Blake's?" 
 
 "At number Four ?" — •' Yes." — " No great shakes: 
 
 Sad junketings and wastings. 
 I've seen them play in ' Days of Yore,' 
 He acted Hastings in Jane Shore, 
 
 And she Jane Shore in Hastings." 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Bark, what party drove 
 That dark-brown chariot to the Grove?" 
 
 "The Perry's, Ma'am, wet Quakers. 
 He married Mrs. Hartley Grant, 
 Whose father's uncle's mother's aunt 
 
 Lived cook at Lady Dacre's." 
 
 But Sunday is the time, of course, 
 When Gossip's congregated force 
 
 Pours from our central chapel : 
 Then hints and anecdotes increase. 
 And in the Mansion-house of Peace 
 
 Dark Discord drops her apple. 
 
 Ope but a casement, turn a lock. 
 The whole row feels the electric shock. 
 
 Springs tilt, their blinds up throwing. 
 And every ear and every eye 
 Darts to one centre, to descry 
 
 Who 's coming or who 's going. 
 
 Thus occupied, in Crosby-row, 
 We covet not the Grange or Stowe ; 
 Pent in by walls and palings, 
 
THE IMAGE BOY. 241 
 
 Their lordly tenants can't, like us, 
 Drop in at tea-time to discuss 
 
 Their neii^'hbours' faults and failinors. 
 
 THE IMAGE BOY. 
 
 Whoe 'er has trudged, on frequent feet, 
 From Charino; Cross to Ludo;ate-street, 
 
 That haunt of noise and wrangle. 
 Has seen, on journeying through the Strand, 
 A foreio:n Imao-e-vender stand 
 
 Near Somerset quadrangle. 
 
 His coal-black eye, his balanced walk, 
 His sable apron, white with chalk. 
 
 His listless meditation, 
 His curly locks, his sallow cheeks, 
 His board of celebrated Greeks, 
 
 Proclaim his trade and nation. 
 
 Not on that board, as erst, are seen 
 A tawdry troop ; our gracious Queen 
 
 With tresses like a carrot, 
 A milk-maid with a pea-green pail, 
 A poodle with a golden tail, 
 
 John Wesley, and a parrot ; — 
 
 No; far more classic is his stock; 
 With ducal Arthur, Milton, Locke, 
 
 He bears, unconscious roamer, 
 Alcmena's Jove-begotten Son, 
 Cold Abelard's too tepid nun, 
 
 And pass-supported Homer. 
 11 
 
242 LONDON LYRICS, 
 
 See yonder bust adorned with curls; 
 'Tis lier&, the Queen who melted pearls 
 
 Marc Antony to wheedle. 
 Her bark, her banquets, all are fled ; 
 And Tirae, who cut her vital thready 
 
 Has only spared her iScedlc. 
 
 Stern Neptune, with his triple prong, 
 Childe Harold, peer of peerless song^ 
 
 So frolic Fortune wills it, 
 Stand next the Son of crazy Paul, 
 Who hugged the intrusive King of Gaul 
 
 Upon a raft at Tilsit. 
 
 " Poor vagrant child of want and toil ! 
 The sun that warms thy native soil 
 
 Has ripened not thy knowledge ; 
 'Tis obvious, from that vacant air, 
 Though Padua gave thee birth, thou ne'er 
 
 Didst gj*aduate in her College. 
 
 *' 'Tis true thou nam'st thy motley freight; 
 But from what source their birth they date, 
 
 Mythology or history, 
 Old records, or the dreams of youth, 
 Dark fable, or transparent truth, 
 
 Is all to thee a mystery. 
 
 *' Come tell me. Vagrant, in a breath, 
 Alcides' birth, his life, his death, 
 
 Recount his dozen labours : 
 Homer thou know'st; but of the woes 
 Of Troy thou 'rt ignorant as those 
 
 Dark Orange-boys thy neighbours." 
 
THE IMAGE BOY. 243 
 
 'Twas thus, erect, I deigned to pour 
 Mj shower of lordly pity o'er 
 
 The poor Italian wittol, 
 As men are apt to do to show 
 Their vantage-ground o'er those who know 
 
 Just less than their own little. 
 
 When lo, meth ought Prometheus' flamo 
 Waved o'er a bust of deathless fame. 
 
 And woke to life Childe Harold : 
 The Bard aroused me from my dream 
 Of pity, alias self-esteem. 
 
 And thus indignant carolled : 
 
 *' thou, who thus, in numbers pert 
 And petulant, presum'st to flirt 
 
 With Memory's Nine Daughters : 
 Whose verse the next trade- winds that blow 
 Down narrow Paternoster-row 
 
 Shall whelm in Lethe's waters : 
 
 " Slight is the difference I see 
 Between yon Paduan youth and thee ; 
 
 He moulds, of Paris plaster, 
 An urn by classic Chantrey's laws — 
 And thou a literary vase 
 
 Of would-be alabaster. 
 
 *' Were I to arbitrate betwixt 
 His terra cotta, plain or mixed, 
 
 And thy earth-gendered sonnet. 
 Small cause has he tli' award to dread : — ■ 
 Thy images are in the head. 
 
 And his, poor boy, are on it !" 
 
244 LONDON LYRICS. 
 
 THE LEES AND THE LAWSONS. 
 
 If you call on the Lees, north of Bloomsbury-square, 
 They welcome you blandly, they proffer a chair, 
 
 Decorously mild and well bred : 
 Intent on their music, their books, or their pen, 
 Employment absorbs their attention, and men 
 
 Seem totally out of their head. 
 
 If you call on the Lawsons, in Bloomsbury-place, 
 No fabric of order you seem to deface, 
 
 No sober arrangement to break : 
 They lounge on the sofa, their manners are odd, 
 Men drop in at luncheon, and give them a nod. 
 
 Then run to the sherry and cake. 
 
 The house of the Lees has an orderly air, 
 It sets to its brethren of brick in the square 
 
 A model from attic to basement : 
 The knocker is polished, the name is japanned, 
 The step, unpolluted, is sprinkled with sand, 
 
 White blinds veil the drawing-room casement. 
 
 The house of the Lawsons is toiite autre cliose^ 
 It certainly proffers no air of repose. 
 
 For one of the girls always lingers 
 Athwart the verandah, alert as an ape. 
 To note to her sisters the forthcoming gape, 
 
 Be it monkeys or Savoyard singers. 
 
 Whenever the Lees to the theatre stray. 
 The singers who sing, and the players who play, 
 Attentive, untalkative, find 'em : 
 
THE LEES AND THE LAWSOXS. 245 
 
 With sound to allure them, or sense to attract, 
 They rarely turn round, till the end of the act. 
 To talk with the party behind 'em. 
 
 The Lawsons are bent on a different thing : 
 Miss Paton may warble, Miss Ayton may sing, 
 
 To listeners tier above tier : 
 They heed not song, character, pathos, or plot, 
 But turn their heads back, to converse with a knot 
 
 Of dandies who louno;e in the rear. 
 
 In life's onward path it has happened to me 
 With many a Lawson and many a Lee, 
 
 In parties to mix and to mingle : 
 And somehow, in spite of manoeuvres and plans, 
 I've found that the Lees got united in banns, 
 
 While most of the Lawsons keep single. 
 
 Coy Hymen is like the black maker of rum — 
 " De more massa call me de more I vont come," 
 
 He flies from the forward and bold : 
 He gives to the coy what he keeps from the kind ; 
 The maidens who seek him, the maidens who find, 
 
 Are cast in an opposite mould. 
 
 Ye female gymnasiaiis^ who strive joint by joint, 
 Come give to my Lawsons some lessons in point, 
 
 (They can't from their own sex refuse 'em :) 
 Whenever you plan an athletic attack, 
 You know, from experience, to jump on man's back 
 
 Is not the right road to his bosom. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 COUNTRY COMMISSIONS. 
 
 Cousin Charles, please to send down to-morrow, 
 
 At eight, by the Scarborough mail, 
 Claudine, or the Victim of Sorrow, 
 
 Don Juan, two mops, and a pail. 
 As soon as jou enter Hyde Park, it 
 
 Must suit you to call in Gough-square ; 
 And when you 're in Leadenhall Market, 
 
 Buy a rattle at Bartl'my Fair. 
 
 Do give the enclosed to George Colburn, 
 
 The tinman — he's sure to be found — 
 He lives in Southampton-street, Holburn. 
 
 Or else near the Islington Pound. 
 Papa wants a hamper of claret 
 
 Like that which he smuggled from Tours, 
 Aunt Agatha wants a poll parrot — 
 
 Perhaps you could let her have yours. 
 
 "We are dying for Lord Byron's sonnet, 
 
 Tell Jones I have sent him a pig, 
 Mamma wants a new sarcenet bonnet. 
 
 The size of the head of our gig. 
 
COUNTRY COMMISSIONS. 247 
 
 Could you match the enclosed bit of ribbon — 
 
 Do buy Tom an ounce of rape-seed ; 
 When you send the third volume of Gibbon, 
 
 Do send Jack a velocipede. 
 
 Some shears that old Dobbin will well dock, 
 
 A mouse-trap, a gold-headed cane, 
 A bottle of Steers' opedeldoc, 
 
 Three ounces of alicampane, 
 Gold wire from Duke's Head, Little Britain, 
 
 A purple tin kaleidescope, 
 A tea-tray, a tortoise-shell kitten, 
 
 Rob Roy, and a long bit of soap. 
 
 A peg-top, a Parmesan cheese, 
 Some rose-coloured sarcenet for linings, 
 
 A stew-pan, and Stevenson's Glees ; 
 A song ending " Hey noni noni," 
 
 A chair with a cover of chintz, 
 A mummy dug up by Belzoni, 
 
 A skein of white worsted from Flint's. 
 
 ANSAVER. 
 
 Can I pocket St. Paul's like an apple, 
 
 Take Waterloo bridge in my teeth, 
 Mount astride the Green Dragon, Whitechapel, 
 
 And fight all the butchers beneath ? 
 Can I eat Bank directors by dozens, 
 
 Put the national debt in a dish ? 
 If I cannot my dear country cousins, 
 
 I cannot do half what you wish ! 
 
248 THE MAMMOTH. 
 
 THE MAMMOTH. 
 
 Soon as the deluge ceased to pour 
 The flood of death from shore to shore, 
 
 And verdure smiled ao-ain. 
 Hatched amidst elemental strife, 
 I sought the upper realms of life, 
 
 The tyrant of the plain. 
 
 On India's shores my dwelling laj — 
 Gigantic, as I roamed for prey, 
 
 All nature took to flight ! 
 At my approach the lofty woods 
 Submissive bowed, the trembling floods 
 
 Drew backward with afii-ight. 
 
 Creation felt a general shock : 
 
 The screaming eagle sought the rock. 
 
 The elephant was slain ; 
 Afirighted, men to caves retreat, 
 Tigers and leopards licked my feet, 
 
 And owned my lordly reign. 
 
 Thus ma.ny moons my course I ran. 
 The general foe of beast and man, 
 
 Till on one fatal day 
 The lion led the bestial train, 
 And I, alas ! was quickly slain, 
 
 As gorged with food I lay. 
 
 With lightning's speed the rumour spread — 
 ^' Rejoice ! rejoice ! the Mammoth 's dead,'' 
 Resounds from shore to shore. 
 
THE MAMMOTH. 24\) 
 
 Pomona, Ceres, thrive again, 
 And, laughing, join the choral strain, 
 '• The Mammoth is no more." 
 
 In earth's deep caverns long immured, 
 My skeleton, from view secured, 
 
 In dull oblivion lay ; 
 Till late, with industry and toil, 
 A youth subdued the stubborn soil, 
 
 And dragged me forth to day. 
 
 In London now my body 's shown, 
 And while the crowd o'er every bone 
 
 Incline the curious head. 
 They view my form with wondering eye, 
 And pleased in fancied safety, cry — 
 
 ''Thank Heaven, the monster's dead." 
 
 mortals, blind to future ill. 
 
 My race yet lives, it prospers still — 
 
 Nay, start not with surprise : 
 Behold, from Corsica's small isle. 
 Twin-born in cruelty and guile, 
 
 A second Mammoth rise ! 
 
 He seeks, on fortune's billows borne, 
 A land by revolution torn, 
 
 A prey to civil hate : 
 And seizing on a lucky time 
 Of Gallic frenzy, Gallic crime. 
 
 Assumes the regal state. 
 
 Batavian freedom floats in air, 
 Tlie patriot Swiss, in deep despair, 
 Deserts his native land ; 
 
250 SONNETS IN IMITATION OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 While haughtj Spain her monarch sees 
 Submissive wait, on bended knees, 
 The tyrant's dread command. 
 
 All Europe o'er, the giant stalks, 
 Whole nations tremble as he walks, 
 
 Extinct their martial fire ; 
 The Northern Bear lies down to rest. 
 The Prussian Eagle seeks her nest, 
 
 The Austrian bands retire. 
 
 Yet, ah ! a storm begins to lower, 
 Satiate with cruelty and power. 
 
 At ease the monster lies ; 
 Lion of Britain, led bj you, 
 If Europe's sons the fight renew, 
 
 A second Mammoth dies.* 
 
 SONNETS IN IMITATION OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Absence and Presence, born of elder Night, 
 O'er common mortals hold a common sway ; 
 Absence alights when Presence takes her flight. 
 Presence presides when Absence is away. 
 O'er life's dull ocean, borne with steady sails. 
 Alike, as brother oft resembles brother ; 
 By cold indifference poised in equal scales, 
 The one may well pass current for the other. 
 But (thee once known) w^hat heart can ever know. 
 Oblivion, weed that rots on Lethe's wharf? 
 
 * This poem, admirably translated into French by M. Peltier, was 
 widely circulated upon the Continent. — 
 
PH(EBE, OR MY GRANDMOTHER WEST. 251 
 
 Presence dispensing joy, and Absence woe, 
 This soars a giant, and that droops a dwarf. 
 Oh ! disproportioned size of joy and grief, 
 Absence, how endless long, and Presence brief! 
 
 Thou 'It still survive, when I to time shall bow, 
 
 When my leaves scattered lie, thy rose will bloom; 
 
 Thou 'It walk the earth, alert as thou art now, 
 
 When I am mouldring in the silent tomb; 
 
 My face, my form, traced by the graver's tool, 
 
 Thou boldest : hold them then : and, with a sigh, 
 
 When shadowing night shall o'er the welkin rule, 
 
 Bethink thee, musing, of the days gone by. 
 
 Be not too happy, or my jealous sprite 
 
 Shall deem thy laughter light, thy spirits folly ; 
 
 But, gazing on my portraiture, unite 
 
 Serene content with sober melancholy, 
 
 And cast, in thy beloved sobriety, 
 
 ^onie thoughts on him whose all thoughts dwelt on thee. 
 
 PHCEBE, OR MY GRANDMOTHER WEST. 
 
 Ah, Phoebe ! how slily, love's arrow to barb, 
 You 've stolen down stairs in your grandmamma's garb ! 
 Your ringlet-graced head, and your stomacher flat, 
 The cut of your cloak, and the bend of your hat, 
 Y^our flounce and your furbelow, all have confessed 
 Your masquerade likeness to Grandmamma West. 
 
 That necklace of coral I've seen all afloat 
 
 (Ere wrecked by old Time) on your grandmamma's throat; 
 
252 TIME AND LOVE. 
 
 Her hands, alike gazed on by dandies and boors, 
 I've seen her fold often as now you fold yours ; 
 While crowds hav.> around her at Ranelagh press' d, 
 Allured by the beauty of Grandmamma West. 
 
 Hold, Phoebe ! thou archest of heart-stealing girls, 
 
 Thy hat, and thy cloak, and thy lace, and thy pearls, 
 
 May not be cast off, till thy painter shall trace 
 
 The raiment antique, and thy juvenile face. 
 
 With the ringlets and flounces that once gave a zest 
 
 To the now waning charms of your Grandmamma West 
 
 'Tis done; now begone, and remember that Time, 
 By steps slow and sure is corroding your prime. 
 An sera shall come, spite of hopes and of fears, 
 Wtien Phoebe shall be what she now but appears, 
 A tidy old woman arrayed in her best, 
 A counterfeit true of her Grandmamma West. 
 
 TIME AND LOVE. 
 
 An artist painted Time and Love ; 
 Time with two pinions spread above, 
 
 And Love without a feather ; 
 Sir Harry patronized the plan. 
 And soon Sir Hal and Lady Ann 
 
 In wedlock came together. 
 
 Copies of each the dame bespoke : 
 The artist, ere he drew a stroke, 
 
 Reversed his old opinions, 
 And straightway to the fair one brings 
 Time in his turn devoid of wings, 
 
 And Cupid with two pinions. 
 
PROVERBS. 253 
 
 "What blunder's this?" the kdy cries, 
 "No blunder, Madam," he replie?,, 
 
 " I hope I 'm not so stupid. 
 Each has his pinions in his day, 
 Time, before marriage, flies away, 
 
 And, after marriage, Cupid." 
 
 PROVERBS. 
 
 My good Aunt Bridget, spite of age, ' 
 Versed in Valerian, Dock, and Sage, 
 
 Well knew the virtues of herbs ; 
 But Proverbs gain'd her chief applause, 
 " Child," she exclaim'd, " respect old saws 
 
 And pin jour faith on Proverbs." 
 
 Thus taught, I dubb'd my lot secure ; 
 And, playing long-rope, " slow and sure," 
 
 Conceived my movement clever. 
 When lo ! an urchin by my side 
 Push'd me head foremost in, and cried 
 
 " Keep Moving, " " Now or Never." 
 
 At Melton next I join'd the hunt, 
 Of bogs and bushes bore the brunt. 
 
 Nor once my courser held in ; 
 But when I saw a yawning steep, 
 I thought of " Look before you leap," 
 
 And curb'd my eager gelding. 
 
 Wliile doubtful thus I rein'd my roaa. 
 Willing to save a fractured bone, 
 Yet fearful of exposure ; 
 11* 
 
254 THE YEAR TWENTY-SIX. 
 
 A sportsman thus my spirit stirred — 
 '^Delays are dangerous," — I spurred 
 My steed, and leaped the encteire. 
 
 I ogled Jane, who heard me say, 
 That " Rome was not built in a day," 
 
 Whenlo! Sir Fleet 0" Grady 
 Put this, my saw, to sea again, 
 And proved, by running off with Jane, 
 
 ^' Faint heart ne'er won fair Lady." 
 
 Aware "New brooms sweep clean," I took 
 An untaught tyro for a cook, 
 
 (The tale I tell a fact is ;) 
 She spoilt my soup : but, when I chid, 
 She thus once more my work undid, 
 
 " Perfection comes from Practice." 
 
 Thus, out of every adage hit. 
 And, finding that ancestral wit 
 
 As changeful as the clime is : 
 From Proverbs, turning on my heel, 
 I now cull Wisdom from my seal, 
 
 Whose motto's " Ne quid nimis." 
 
 THE YEAR TWENTY-SIX. 
 
 'Tis gone with its toys and its troubles, 
 Its essays on cotton and corn. 
 
 Its laughing-stock company bubbles, 
 Its Cherry-ripe — (music by Horn.) 
 
THE YEAR TWENTY-SIX. 255 
 
 'Tis gone, with its Catholic Question, 
 Its Shiels, its O'Connells, and Brics : 
 
 Time, finding it light of digestion. 
 Has swallow'd the Year Twenty-six. 
 
 I've penned a few private mementoes 
 
 Of schemes that I meant to effect, 
 Which, sure as I hobble on ten toes, 
 
 I vow'd I'd no longer neglect. 
 "My wits," I exclaim'd, '• are receding, 
 
 'Tis time I their energies fix : 
 I'll write the town something worth reading, 
 
 To finish the Year Twenty-six." 
 
 My pamphlet, to tell Mr. Canning 
 
 The Czar has an eye on the Turk ; 
 My treatise, to show Mr. Manning 
 
 The way to make currency work : 
 My essay, to prove to the nations 
 
 (As sure as wax-candles have wicks) 
 Greek bonds are not Greek obligations — 
 
 Were planned in the Year Twenty-six. 
 
 I sketched out a novel, where laughter 
 
 Should scare evangelic Tremaine, 
 Shake Brambletye House off its rafter, 
 
 And level Tor Hill with the plain. 
 Those volumes, as grave as my grandam, 
 
 I swore with my book to transfix : 
 'Twas called the New Roderick Random, 
 
 And meant for the Year Twenty-six. 
 
 My play had — I'd have the town know it — 
 A part for Miss Elinor Tree ; 
 
256 THE YEAR TWENTY-SIX. 
 
 At Drurj I meant to bestow it 
 
 On Price, the gigantic lessee. 
 Resolved the fourth act to diminish, 
 
 ('Tis there, I suspect, the plot sticks,) 
 I solemnly swore that I'd finish 
 
 The fifth, in the Year Twentj-six. 
 
 But somehow I thought the Haymarket 
 
 Was better for hearing by half. 
 To people who live near the Park it 
 
 Aifords the best home for a laugh. 
 ''There Liston," I muttered, " has taught 'em 
 
 Mirth's balm in their bitters to mix : 
 I'll write such a part in the autumn 
 
 For him — in the Year Twenty- six !" 
 
 I meant to complete my Italian — 
 
 ('Tis done in a twelvemonth with ease,) 
 Nor longer, as mute as Pygmalion, 
 
 Hang over the ivory keys. 
 I meant to learn music, much faster 
 
 Than fellows at Eton learn tricks : 
 Vercellini might teach me to master 
 
 The notes, in the Year Twenty-six. 
 
 'Tis past, w^ith its corn and its cotton, 
 
 Its shareholders broken and bit : 
 And where is my pamphlet ? forgotten. 
 
 And where is my treatise ? unwrit. 
 My essay, my play, and my novel. 
 
 Like so many Tumble-down Dicks, 
 All, all in inanity grovel — 
 
 Alas ! for the Year Twenty-six. 
 
THE TABLET OF TRUTH. 257 
 
 My Hajmarket farce is a bubble, 
 
 My Bocca Roinana moves stiff, 
 I've spared Vercellini all trouble, 
 
 I don't even knoAV the bass cliff. 
 My brain has (supine anti-breeder) 
 
 Neglected to hatch into chicks 
 Her offspring — Pray how, gentle reader, 
 
 Thrive you for the Year Twenty-six? 
 
 George Whitfield, whom nobody mentions 
 
 Now Irving has got into fame, 
 Has paved with abortive intentions 
 
 A place too caloric to name. 
 I fear, if his masonry 's real. 
 
 That mine have Macadamized Styx : 
 So empty, cloud-capped, and ideal. 
 
 My plans for the Year Twenty-six ! 
 
 Past Year! if, to quash all evasions, 
 
 Thou 'dst have me with granite repair, 
 On good terra firma foundations, 
 
 My castles now nodding in air : 
 Bid Time from my brow steal his traces 
 
 (As Bardolph abstracted the Pix), 
 Run back on his road a few paces. 
 
 And make me — like thee — Twenty-six. 
 
 THE TABLET OF TRUTH. 
 
 Sit down, Mr. Clipstone, and take 
 
 These hints, while my feelings are fresh ; 
 
 My uncle, Sir Lionel Lake, 
 
 Has journeyed the way of all flesh. 
 
258 THE TABLET OF TRUTH. 
 
 His heirs would in marble imprint 
 His merits aloft o'er his pew— 
 
 Allow me the outline to hint — 
 
 To finish, of course, rests with jou. 
 
 And first, with a visage of woe, 
 
 Carve two little cherubs of love, 
 Lamenting to lose one below 
 
 They never will look on above. 
 And next, in smooth porphyry mould, 
 
 (You cannot well cut them too small) 
 Two liliput goblets, to hold 
 
 The tears that his widow lets fall. 
 
 Where charity seeks a supply 
 
 He leaves not his equal behinfd : 
 I'm told there is not a dry eye 
 
 In the School for the Indigent Blind. 
 Then chisel (not sunk in repose. 
 
 But in alto reliefs to endure,) 
 An orderly line of round O's 
 
 For the money he gave to the poor. 
 
 I league not in rhyme with the band 
 
 Who elevate sound over sense : 
 Where Vanity bellows "expand," 
 
 Humility whispers "condense." 
 Then mark, with your mallet and blade, 
 
 To paint the defunct to the life. 
 Four stars for his conduct in trade, 
 
 And a blank for his love of his wife. 
 
 'Tis done — to complete a design. 
 In brevity rivalling Greece, 
 
CLUB LAW. 259 
 
 Imprint me a black dotted line 
 
 For the friends who lament his decease. 
 
 Thus lettered with merited praise, 
 
 Ere long shall our travel-fraught youth 
 
 Turn back from the false P^re la Chaise 
 To gaze on my Tablet of Truth. 
 
 CLUB LAW. 
 
 Dear Tom, since by a lucky knack, 
 Your w^hite balls overtop the black. 
 
 And counter-canvass smother, 
 Let me your mental garment darn. 
 As old Polonius spun a yarn 
 
 To fair Ophelia's brother. 
 
 '' Be thou familiar," should you see 
 At dinner an austere M.P. 
 
 Just as his glass he's filling, 
 Accost him — whatsoe'er his rank — 
 With " Sir, I'd thank you for a frank," 
 
 And save your aunt a shilling. 
 
 " Give every man (of wealth) thine ear;" 
 Smile when he smiles, his sallies cheer, 
 
 Out his connexions ferret ; 
 Or roar his catch, or sing his psalm : 
 But, Thomas, " never dull thy palm" 
 
 By shaking hands with Merit. 
 
 At a house-dinner show your fun — 
 Mount a horse-laugh, quiz, banter, pun, 
 Be saucy as a squirrel j 
 
260 CLUB LAW. 
 
 But if your foe possess a pair 
 Of Manton's polished pops, ''beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel." 
 
 If a roast fillet deck the board, 
 With bacon, you can well afford 
 
 To leave the viand j)er se ; 
 But if a haunch supplant the veal, 
 "Grapple" the joint "with hooks of steel," 
 
 And carve it without mercy. 
 
 " Apparel oft proclaims the man :" 
 Wear, then, the richest garb you can, 
 
 Whilst in the club a dweller ; 
 And if men doubt your means and ways, 
 Reverse the caveat emptor phrase, 
 
 And cast it to the seller. 
 
 "Take each man's censure" in good pait*^ 
 Pliant humility 's an art 
 
 That copper turns to siller. 
 " Be not a lender" — memories flit; 
 " Nor borrower" — unless a wit 
 
 From old Josephus Miller. 
 
 Place on the fender both your feet ; 
 When Boreas howls, complain of heat, 
 
 And open all the windows ; 
 Ring for the waiter, bang the door. 
 And for your brethren care no more 
 
 Than Tippoo cared for Hindoos. 
 
 Never to acquiesce be seen ; 
 To those who dwell on Edmund Kean, 
 Talk of John Kemble's glories. 
 
THE SWISS COTTAGE. 261 
 
 Dub all who do the civil, prigs ; 
 Revile Lord Melbourne to the Whigs, 
 Sir Robert to the Tories. 
 
 And now, dear Tom, farewell ; the gale 
 " Sits in the shoulder of your sail," — 
 
 Defy disapprobation : 
 For, till committee-men begin 
 To ballot out^ as well as in^ 
 You're safe in your location. 
 
 THE SWISS COTTAGE. 
 
 ^' Ye gastric graces of Pall Mall, 
 Fish, soup, and pate, fare ye well, 
 
 Give me some cot Helvetian, 
 Thither I fain my flight would wing, 
 Of clubs the abdicated king, 
 
 An uncrown'd Dioclesian."' 
 
 Scarce had I thus petitioned Fate, 
 W^hen lo ! a card with lines so straight, 
 
 Arachne seemed to rule 'em, 
 Wooed me to fair Pastora's shrine — 
 An invitation out to dine 
 
 At Ivy Cottage, Fulham ! 
 
 '' 'Tis well !" I cried. " At Wilt's control 
 Here Temperance will pass the bowl, 
 
 And Health rise up the winner. 
 Full well I know the classic spot — 
 Swiss is the scenery, Swiss the cot, 
 
 And Swiss, no doubt the dinner. 
 
262 THE SWISS COTTAGE. 
 
 ^' Deal table ; cloth as smooth as silk ; 
 Brown loaf; an avalanche of milk; 
 
 At most a brace of rabbits ; 
 Cheese, hard enough to pose a shark ; 
 And water, ' clear as dimond spark,' 
 
 To suit my Hindoo habits. 
 
 '^ Six three-legg'd stools, of antique shapes 
 Ripe figs ; a plate of purple grapes, 
 
 As sweet as honeysuckles; 
 A girl to wait, of buxom hue, 
 In dark-brown bodice, apron blue, 
 
 Red hose, and silver buckles." 
 
 Nought rose to sever lip and cup : 
 I came. Had Fanny Kelly up 
 
 The outside stair been skipping. 
 With three long plaits of braided hair, 
 'T would seem the ipse locus where 
 
 Macready pierced the pippin. 
 
 But soon the inside put to rout 
 The dreams engendered by the out; 
 
 Chintz chairs with sofa paddings ; 
 Bright stoves, at war with humid damps ; 
 Pianos ; rosewood tables ; lamps, 
 
 As brilliant as Aladdin's. 
 
 Fish, soup, and mutton, finely dress'd, 
 Adorned the board : a pleasant guest 
 
 Was placed my right and left on ; 
 With dishes lateral, endued 
 With flavor to astonish Ude, 
 
 Lucullus, or Lord Sefton. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR. 263 
 
 The party, 'mid the sound of corks, 
 (Although the bread was wliite ; the forks 
 
 Were silver, not metallic,) 
 Seemed not to see the joke was this, 
 That, while the outside walls were Swiss, 
 
 The feast was Anglo-Gallic. 
 
 So, as in eastern song is shown, 
 Some sable, antiquated crone, 
 
 As wily as a bailiff. 
 Leads, blindfold, on his hands and knees, 
 Some youth, through alleys dark, to please 
 
 Great Haroim the Caliph. 
 
 The bandage gone, a blaze of light 
 Salutes his now enchanted sight ; 
 
 He views a new creation : 
 Dim Bagdad totters to its fall, 
 A fairy palace smiles, and all 
 
 Is bright illumination. 
 
 FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR. 
 
 That gilt middle path, wdiich the poet of Rome 
 
 Extolled as the only safe highway to bliss ; 
 That "haven" which many a poet at home 
 
 Assures us all Guinea-bound merchantmen miss; 
 That blessed middle line, 
 Which bard and divine 
 
 In sonnet and sermon so sigh for, is mine; — 
 My uncle, a plain honest flit auctioneer,- 
 Walked off, and bequeathed me Five Hundred a year. 
 
264 FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR. 
 
 I ne'er, if I live to the age of Old Parr, 
 
 Can fail to remember how stared brother Bill, 
 Jack bullied, and Tom, Avho is now at the Bar, 
 Drove post to a Proctor to knock up the will. 
 They never could trace 
 What beaut J or grace 
 Sir Christopher Catalogue saw in my face, 
 To cut off three youths, to his bosom so dear. 
 And deluge a fourth with Five Hundred a year 1 
 
 The will, though law-beaten, stood firm as a rock, 
 The probate was properly lodged at the Bank ; 
 Transferred to my name stood the spleen-moving stock, 
 And I, in the West, bearded people of rank. 
 No longer a clerk, 
 I rode in the Park, 
 
 Or lounged in Pall Mall till an hour after dark. 
 I entered, what seemed then, a happy career, 
 Possessed of a gig and Five Hundred a year. 
 
 Ere long, I began to be bored by a guest, 
 
 A strange sort of harpy, who poisoned my feast : 
 He visits, in London, the folks who dwell West, 
 But seldom cohabits with those who live East. 
 Bar, door-chain, or key. 
 Could not keep me free — 
 As brisk as a bailiff in bolted Enimi. 
 *' I'm come," he still cried, " to partake of your cheer, 
 I'm partial to folks of Five Hundred a year." 
 
 Meanwhile my three brothers, by prudence and care, 
 Got onward in life, while I stuck by the wall ; 
 
 Bill opened a tea-shop in Bridge water-square, 
 And Jack, as a writer, grew rich in Bengal. 
 
FIVE HUXDRED A YEAR. 265 
 
 Tom made his impressions 
 
 Through Newgate transgressions, 
 
 And got half the business at Clerkenwell Sessions. 
 They marched in the van, while I lagged in the rear, 
 Condemned to Enmii and Five Hundred a year. 
 
 Too little encouraged to feel self-assured, 
 
 Too dull for retorts, and too timid for taunts ; 
 By daughters and nieces I'm barely endured, 
 And mortally hated by uncles and aunts. 
 If e'er I entangle 
 A orirl in an ans-le, 
 
 Up steps some Duenna, love's serpent to strangle ; 
 '' Come hither ! don't talk to that fellow, my dear, 
 His income is only Five Hundred a year." 
 
 Without tact or talents to get into ton, 
 
 No calling to stick to, no trade to pursue : 
 Thus London, hard stepmother, leaves me alone, 
 With little to live on, and nothing to do. 
 Could I row a life-boat. 
 Make a boot or a coat. 
 Or serve in a silversmith's shop, and devote 
 My days to employment, my evenings to cheer, 
 I'd gladly give up my Five Hundred a year. 
 12 
 
■266 CHIGWELL, 
 
 CHIGWELL ; 
 
 OR, " PR^TERITOS ANNOS.^ 
 
 School that, in Burford's honoured time, 
 Reared me to youth's elastic prime 
 
 From childhood's airy slumbers — 
 School at whose antique shrine I boW, 
 Sexagenarian pilgrim now, 
 
 Accept a poet's numbers. 
 
 Those yew-trees never seem to grow : 
 The village stands in statu quo^ 
 
 Without a single new house. 
 But, heavens, how shrunk ! how very smallf 
 'Tis a mere step from Urmstone's wall, 
 
 " Up town," to Morgan's brew house. 
 
 There, in yon rough-cast mansion, dwelt 
 Sage Denham, Galen's son, who dealt 
 
 In squills and cream of tartar ; 
 Fronting the room where now I dine. 
 Beneath thy undulating sign, 
 
 Peak-bearded Charles the Martyr ! 
 
 Pent in by beams of mouldering wood 
 The parish stocks stand where they stood — 
 
 Did ever drunkard rue 'em ? 
 I dive not in parochial law, 
 Yet this I know — I never saw 
 
 Two legs protruded through 'em. 
 
 Here, to the right, rose hissing proofs 
 Of skill to solder horses' hoofs. 
 Formed in the forge of Eadley ; 
 
caiGWELL. 267 
 
 And there, the almshouses beyond, 
 Half-waj before you gain the Pond, 
 Lived wry-mouthed Martin Hadley. 
 
 Does Philby still exist ? Where now 
 Are Willis, Wilcox, Green, and Howe? 
 
 Ann Wright, the smart and handy? 
 Hillman alone a respite steals 
 From Fate ; and— vice Hadley — deals 
 
 In tea and sugar-candy. 
 
 Can I my school-friend Belson track ? 
 Where hides him Chamberlaine ? where Black, 
 
 Intended for the altar ? 
 Does life-blood circulate in Bates ? 
 Where are Jack Cumberlege and Yates ? 
 
 The Burrells, Charles and Walter? 
 
 There, at your ink-bespattered shrine, 
 Cornelius Nepos first was mine ; 
 
 Here fagged I hard at Plutarch : 
 Found Ovid's mighty pleasant ways, 
 While Plato's metaphysic maze 
 
 Appeared like Pluto— too dark. 
 
 Here usher Ireland sat — and there 
 Stood Bolton, Cowal, Parker, Ware, 
 
 Medley, the pert and witty, 
 And here — crack station, near the fire — 
 Sat Roberts, whose Haymarket sire 
 
 Sold oil and spermaceti. 
 
 Yon pew, the gallery below. 
 Held Nancy, pride of Chigwell How, 
 Who set all hearts a dancino- : 
 
268 CHIGWELL. 
 
 In bonnet white, divine brunette, 
 O'er Burnet's field I see thee yet, 
 To Sunday church advancing. 
 
 Seek we the churchyard ; there the jeyr 
 Shades many a swain whom once I knew. 
 
 Now nameless and forgotten ; 
 Here towers Sir Edward's marble bier, 
 Here lies stern Vickery, and here. 
 
 My father's friend Tom Cotton. 
 
 The common herd serenely sleep, 
 Turf-bound, "in many a mouldering heap" 
 
 Pent in by bands of osier ; 
 While at the altar's feet is laid 
 The founder of the school, arrayed 
 
 In mitre and in crosier. 
 
 'Tis nature's law : wave urges wave : 
 The coffined grandsire seeks the grave, 
 
 The babe that feeds by suction, 
 Finds w^ith his ancestor repose : 
 Life ebbs, and dissolution sows 
 
 The seeds of reproduction. 
 
 World, in thy ever busy mart, 
 I've acted no unnoticed part — 
 
 Would I resume it ? oh no ! 
 Four acts are done, the jest grows stale ; 
 The waning lamps burn dim and pale, 
 
 And reason asks — Cul bono? 
 
 I've met with no "afllliction sore;" 
 But hold! methinks, "long time I bore;" 
 Here ends my lucubration — 
 
CHIGWELL REVISITED. 269 
 
 Content, with David's son, to know. 
 That all is vanity below, 
 Tho' not quite all vexation. 
 
 CHIGWELL REVISITED. 
 
 Deputed by the tuneful Nine, 
 A pilgrim to an Eastern shrine, 
 
 I once again out-sally ; 
 Again to Ch'gwell wander back, 
 And, more excursive, aim to track 
 
 Each neighbouring hill and valley. 
 
 Stran^re that a villao;e should survive, 
 For ten years multiplied by five, 
 
 The same in size and figure. 
 Knowing not plenty nor distress — 
 If foiled by fortune, why no less ? 
 
 If favoured, why no bigger ? 
 
 Say, why has population got 
 Speed-bound upon this level spot, 
 
 Undamaged by profusion? 
 A tyro, I the question ask — 
 Be thine, Miss Martineau, the task 
 
 To tender the solution. 
 
 I pass the Vicar's white ahode. 
 
 And, pondering, gain the upward road. 
 
 By busy thoughts o'erladen. 
 To where " The pride of Chigwell-row" 
 Still lives — a handsome widow now, 
 
 As erst a lovely maiden. 
 
270 CHIGWELL REVISITED. 
 
 Here hills and dales and distant Thame, 
 And forest glens, green proof proclaim 
 
 Of Nature's lavish bounty, 
 And dub thee, lofty region, still 
 Surrey's tall foe, the Richmond Hill 
 
 Of this our eastern county. 
 
 Diverging from the road, the sod 
 I tread that once a boy I trod. 
 
 With pace not quite so nimble — 
 But where 's the May-pole next the lane? 
 Who dared to banish from the plain 
 
 That wreathed-encircled symbol ? 
 
 Abridge, her tank, and waterfall, 
 The path beneath Sir Eliab's wall, 
 
 I once again am stepping ; 
 Beyond that round we rarely stirred, 
 LouGHTON we saw. but only heard 
 
 Of Ongar and of Epping. 
 
 Seek we ''the river's" grassy verge, 
 Where all were destined to immerge, 
 
 Or willing or abhorrent ; 
 I view the well-known "Mill-hole" still — 
 But time has dwindled to a rill 
 
 What seemed, of yore, a torrent. 
 
 Here, fell destroyer, many a wound 
 The woodman's axe has dealt around; 
 
 Lee Grove in death reposes. 
 Yet while her dryads seek their tombs, 
 The miller's moated garden blooms 
 
 With all its wonted roses. 
 
CHIGWELL REVISITED. 271 
 
 There, in yon copse, near Palmer's Gate, 
 Reclined, I mourned my hapless fate, 
 
 Zerbino amoroso. 
 Glad to elope from both the schools, 
 *' The world shut out," intent on Hoole's 
 
 " Orlando Furioso.'' 
 
 Twilight steals on : I wander back ; 
 The listless ploughman's homeward track, 
 
 Ao;ain in thouo;ht I follow : 
 Or sit the antique porch within. 
 Awed by the belfry's deafening din, 
 
 And watch the wheeling swallow. 
 
 Chigwell, I cease thy charms to sing — ^ 
 Time bears me elsewhere on his wing ; 
 
 Perhaps, ere long, the poet, 
 Who now, in mental vigour bold. 
 Parades, erect, thy churchyard mould, 
 
 May sleep, supine, below it. 
 
 So let it be : Time, take thy course ; 
 Let dotards with tenacious force 
 
 Cling to this Avaning planet — • 
 I'd rather soar to death's abode 
 On eaojle winors, than " live a toad" 
 
 Pent in a block of granite. 
 
 Grant me the happier lot of him, 
 Elate in hope, alert in limb. 
 
 Who hurls Bellona's jav'lin ; 
 Fame's laurel ardent to entwine, 
 Pares death above the countermine, 
 
 And meets him on the rav'lin, 
 
272 THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 
 
 I fear not, Fate, thy pendant shears — 
 There are who pray for length of years ; 
 
 To them, not me, allot 'em : 
 Life's cup is nectar at the brink, 
 Midway a palatable drink, 
 
 And wormwood at the bottom. 
 
 THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER, 
 
 Air. — " Over the Water to Charley/' 
 
 I've seen (lucky me !) what you all want to see — 
 
 Good people, give ear to my sonnet — 
 I've gazed in the Ring on the Muscovy King, 
 
 And I've peeped at the Oldenburg bonnet ; 
 At his sister's approach to get into her coach, 
 
 Her brother steps forward to hand her, 
 What ecstacies throb in the hearts of the mob. 
 
 With huzza for the great Alexander [ 
 
 On bracelet and seal behold his profile 
 
 At the shop too of Laurie and Whittle, 
 Nat Lee, hold your prate, Alexander the Great 
 
 Is now Alexander the Little ! 
 In Lord William's dell, near the Pulteney hotel, 
 
 What multitudes every day wander ! 
 They scamper like imps to indulge in a glimpse 
 
 Of the mighty renowned Alexander. 
 
 Poor Madame De Stael is quite pushed to the wall, 
 Chass'Jd by the Czar and the Duchess, 
 
 And since his retreat, even Louis dia^-huU 
 Must walk on oblivion's crutches. 
 
THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 273 
 
 Clerks run from their quills, harberdasliers their tills, 
 
 John Bull is a great goosey gander ; 
 Even Kean is forgot, we are all on the trot 
 
 For a gaze upon great Alexander. 
 
 "Have you seen him 's'' the talk, Piccadilly's the walk, 
 
 I suppose since it is so, it must be, 
 And nobody thinks of that musical sphinx 
 
 Catalani, or great Doctor Busby. 
 Anxiety burns every bosom by turns 
 
 To flirt with this royal Philander, 
 And happy the wight who can utter at night — 
 
 " This morning I saAv Alexander." 
 
 He dresses with taste, he is small in the waist, 
 
 I beheld him with Blucher and Platoff, 
 The Hetman appears with his cap on his ears, 
 
 But the Emperor rides with his hat off: 
 He sits on his throne ^vitli a leg in each zone, 
 
 No monarch on earth can be grander ; 
 Half an hour after dark, the rails of the Park 
 
 Are scaled to behold Alexander. 
 
 When the tow^n was illumed, how his residence bloomed, 
 
 With Lamps to the balcony fitted. 
 I'm told his Cossacks made eleven attacks 
 
 To drink up the oil ere they lit it ! 
 The Chronicle says that he laces in stays — • 
 
 Perhaps this is nothing but slander ; 
 Since his stay is not long I ^y\\\ shorten my song 
 
 With huzza for the great Alexander ! 
 12* 
 
274 THE GRETNA GREEN BLACKSMITH. 
 
 THE GRETNA GREEN BLACKSMITH. 
 
 Air.— ''The Sprig of Shillelah." 
 
 Though my face is all smutty not fit to be seen, 
 I'm the tinkering parson of Gretna Green, 
 
 With my rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 To look like the ladies is always my plan, 
 So I roll up my sleeves as high as I can. 
 In spite of my vice, and though I am lame, 
 I make the sparks fly, and myself raise a flame, 
 
 With my rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 
 In chaises-and-four lovers fly to my cot, 
 With folly remembered, and prudence forgot, 
 
 With a rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 Down hill, helter-skelter they fearlessly move, 
 For who ever thinks of a hind wheel in love ? 
 So, while the young lady her passion reveals, 
 I tack them together — then hammer the wheels. 
 
 With my rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 
 " Oh dear," says Miss Lucy, a delicate fright in, 
 '^ I was all over rust till they took me to Brighton, 
 
 With my rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 Indeed, Mr. Parson, you'll find me no fool, 
 I'm a great deal too old to be sent back to school ; 
 Captain Shark of the Fourth is the man I adore, 
 My Pa is a bear, and my Ma is a bore, 
 
 With their rang, tang, hammer and nail." 
 
 But, alas ! ten to one, ere they got back to town. 
 My lady is up^ and the carriage breaks down. 
 With a rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 
MATRIMONIAL DUET, 275 
 
 Of tears mj young Madam dissolves in a flood, 
 Her head in the clouds, and her feet in the mud, 
 Till both recollecting the cause of the evil, 
 Wish carriage, and marriage, and me at the devil, 
 With mj rang, tang, hammer and nail 
 
 I can make a jack-chain, a pattern, a knife, 
 I forge heavy fetters for husband and ^vife, 
 
 With my rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 Here Venus and Vulcan their compact renew, 
 A partner for life or a tenpennj screw, 
 A wedlock, a padlock, I do not care which — 
 So the tinker of Gretna is sure to grow rich. 
 
 With his rang, tang, hammer and nail. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL DUET. 
 
 Air.—'' The Pretty Maid of Derby." 
 HE. 
 
 When we first were man and wife, 
 
 And you swore to love for life, 
 We were quoted as a model, we were quite a show, 
 
 Yes, we tcte-'\-tHe were seen. 
 
 Like King William and his Queen ; 
 What a jewel of a wife was Mrs. John Prevot ! 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Ay, once I clave to thee, man. 
 
 Like Baucis to Philemon, 
 Now, if I go to Brighton, you 're at Bath I know ; 
 
 Like the pair who tell the weather, 
 
 We are never out together, 
 One at home, the other gadding, Mr. John Prevot. 
 
276 eWEN OF LANARK. 
 
 HE. 
 
 If a lion 's to be seen, 
 
 Old Blucher— Mr. Kean, 
 You order out the carriage, and away you go 
 
 With that go&sip, Mrs. Jones ; 
 
 How you rattle o'er the stones, 
 You 've no mercy on the horses, Mrs. John Prevot 
 
 SHE. 
 
 With Madeira, Port, and Sherry, 
 
 When you make what you call merry, 
 And sit in sober sadness, are you sober ? No I 
 
 With that horrid Major Rock, 
 
 It is always twelve o'clock. 
 Ere you tumble up to coffee, Mr. John Prevot. 
 
 BOTH. 
 
 Our vicar. Doctor Jervis, 
 
 When he read the marriage service. 
 United us for better and for worse — Heigh-ho ! 
 
 Since the worse may turn to better, 
 
 And we cannot break our fetter. 
 Let us say no more about it, Mr. (Mrs.) John Prevot. 
 
 OWEN OF LANARK. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, mighty stranger, 
 
 To our transatlantic shore : 
 Anchored safe from seas of danger, 
 
 All our fears and doubts are o'er. 
 Sable Jews and flaxen Quakers 
 
 Imitate no more the shark ; 
 Wealth lies planted out in acres — 
 
 Welcome, Owen of Lanark 1 
 
OWEN OF LANARK. 277 
 
 Parallelograms of virtue, 
 
 Haunts from human frailty free, 
 Squares that vice can ne'er do hurt to, 
 
 Circles of New Harmony : 
 Schemes that blossom while we view 'em, 
 
 Swamp and prairie changed to park : 
 Meum melting into tuum — 
 
 Wondrous Owen of Lanark ! 
 
 All NcAV York, in mind and body. 
 
 Feels thy influence, and adores ; 
 Bitters, Sangaree, and Toddy 
 
 Fly her fifteen hundred stores. 
 Big Ohio now looks bioj^er, 
 
 Freedom fans the kindred spark : 
 Boss no longer scowls on nigger — 
 
 Welcome, Owen of Lanark ! 
 
 Lazarus lies down with Dives, 
 
 Rich and poor no more are seen ; 
 Baltimore our common hive is ; 
 
 Busy bees, and thou their Queen. 
 Uncle Ben lays down his rifle. 
 
 While his Nephew — prone to bark — 
 Thanks his stars for "that 'ere trifle," 
 
 Mighty Owen of Lanark ! 
 
 Failing schemers, retrograders, 
 
 Lawyers fattening on strife, 
 Grim backwoodsmen, bankrupt traders, 
 
 Squatters brandishing the knife : 
 Busy Banks their Cents up summing 
 
 Many a Master, many a Clerk, 
 Drop their dollars at thy coming, 
 
 Mighty Owen of Lanark ! 
 
278 THE TRITOX OF THE MINNOWS. 
 
 Foe to titled Sirs and Madams, 
 
 Prone Law's blunders to redress, 
 Washington nor Quincj Adams 
 
 Ever saw thy like, I guess. 
 Let John Bull's polluted pages 
 
 Dub thee staring, dub thee stark : 
 Solon of succeedino; Ages, 
 
 Welcome, Owen of Lanark ! 
 
 Vast, I calculate, thy plan is, 
 
 Born to soar where others creep ; 
 Lofty as the Alleghanies, 
 
 As the Mississippi deep. 
 As the German Brothers mingle. 
 
 Prone to sing " hark follow hark," 
 All our States, through dell and dingle, 
 
 Hail thee, Owen of Lanark! 
 
 'Tve an item." Boss and Peasant 
 
 Feel quite mighty where you stray ; 
 Competence is omnipresent. 
 
 Poverty "slick right away." 
 See our bipeds, ''like all natur," 
 
 Climbing up thy friendly ark. 
 Dub thee Sovereign Legislator, 
 
 Welcome, Owen of Lanark ! 
 
 THE TRITON OF THE MINNOWS. 
 
 " Why don't you strike out something new?" 
 Cried fair Euphemia, heavenly blue 
 
 Of eye, as well as stocking ! 
 ''If shilly-shally long you stand, 
 You'll feel Time's enervating hand 
 
 Your second cradle rocking." 
 
THE TRITOX OF THE MINNOWS. 279 
 
 "Ah, Madam ! cease your bard to blame; 
 I view the pedestal of Fame, 
 
 But at its base I falter : 
 On every step, terrific, stand 
 A troop of Poets, pen in hand, 
 
 To scare me from her altar. 
 
 I first essayed to write in prose. 
 Plot, humor, character disclose, 
 
 And ransack heaths and hovels : 
 But, when I sat me down to write, 
 I sighed to find that I had quite 
 
 Oerlooked the Scottish Novels.'^ 
 
 ''Well," cried Euphemia, with a smile, 
 " Miss Austin's gone : assume her style ; 
 
 Turn playmate of Apollo — 
 But, hold ! how heedless the remark ! 
 Miss Austin's gone — but Mansfield Park 
 
 And Emma scorn to follow." 
 
 A bolder flight I'd fain essay, 
 The Manners of the East portray. 
 
 That field is rich and spacious : 
 Greece, Turkey, Egypt — what a scope ! 
 There too I'm foiled — why will not Hope 
 
 Un-write his Anastasius ! 
 
 Rogers, in calm and even sense, 
 Byron, in ecstacy intense. 
 
 Make my dim flame burn denser : 
 Shall I in Fashion's corps enlist, 
 A light gay epigrammatist? 
 
 No ! — there I'm marred by Spenser. 
 
280 THE TRITON OF THE MINNOWS. 
 
 Thus '' cribb'd and cabin'd"— '' Poor indeed !" 
 I cantered on my winged steed 
 
 Towards scenes of toil and tillage : 
 But there, alas ! my weary hack 
 Hit on another beaten track, 
 
 Encountering Crabbe's Village. 
 
 Two pathways still to me belong, 
 Come, poignant Satire ! amorous Song ! 
 
 Beware, ye state empirics ! — 
 Anticipated ! hideous bore ! 
 I quite forgot Hibernian Moore, 
 
 His Fudges, and his Lyrics. 
 
 Great Jove ! compassionate my lot ! 
 On Campbell, Byron, Moore, and Scott, 
 
 Point thy celestial cannon : 
 Sew Crabbe and Hogers in a sack. 
 Tie Hope and Spenser back to back, 
 
 And souse them in the Shannon. 
 
 So shall I, with majestic tread, 
 My doughty predecessors dead. 
 
 Up Pindus stretch my sinews : 
 And leave all lesser bards behind, 
 *'The one-eyed monarch of the blind," 
 
 " The Triton of the Minnows." 
 
THE HAUXCH OF YENISO]?^-. 281 
 
 THE HAUNCH OF VENISON 
 
 At jSTumber One dwelt Captain Drew, 
 George Benson dwelt at Number Two, 
 
 (The street we'll not now mention :) 
 The latter stunned the King's Bench bar, 
 The former being lamed in war, 
 
 Sang small upon a pension. 
 
 Tom Blewit knew them both : than he 
 None deeper in the mjsterj 
 
 Of culinary knoAvledge ; 
 From turtle soup to Stilton cheese, 
 Apt student, taking his degrees 
 
 In Mrs. Rundeirs college. 
 
 Benson to dine invited Tom : 
 Proud of an invitation from 
 
 A host who ''spread'' so nicelj, 
 Tom answered, ere the ink was dry^ 
 "Extremely happy — come on Fri- 
 
 Day next, at six precisely." 
 
 Blewit, with expectation fraught, 
 Drove up at six, each savoury thought 
 
 Ideal turbot rich in : 
 But, ere he reached the winning-post, 
 He saw a haunch of ven'son roast 
 
 Down in the next-door kitchen. 
 
 '' Hey ! zounds ! what 's this ? a haunch at Drews ? 
 I must drop in; I can't refuse; 
 To pass v»cre downright treason : 
 
282 THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. 
 
 To cut Ned Benson 's not quite staunch ; 
 But the provocative — a haunch ! 
 Zounds ! it 's the first this season. 
 
 ^' Ven'son, thou 'rt mine ! I'll talk no more." 
 Then, rapping thrice at Benson's door, 
 
 "John, I'm in such a hurry; 
 Do tell your master that my aunt 
 Is paralytic, quite aslant, 
 
 I must be off for Surrey." 
 
 Now Tom at next door makes a din : 
 
 '' Is Captain Drew at home?" — " Walk in." 
 
 " Drew, how d'ye do ?"-^" What ! Blewit !" 
 " Yes, I — you 've asked me, many a day. 
 To drop in, in a quiet way. 
 
 So now I'm come to do it." 
 
 "I'm very glad you have," said Drew, 
 ^'I've nothing but an Irish stew" — 
 
 Quoth Tom, (aside,) " No matter ; 
 'Twont do - my stomach 's up to that — 
 'Twilllie by, till the lucid fat 
 
 Comes quiv'ring on the platter." 
 
 ''You see your dinner, Tom," Drew cried. 
 *' No, but I don't though," Tom replied ; 
 
 '' I smoked below."—" What?"—" Yen son— 
 A haunch." — " Oh ! true, it is not mine ; 
 My neighbour has some friends to dine." 
 
 " Your neighbour ! who ?" — " George Benson. 
 
 ''His chimney smoked; the scene to change, 
 I let him have my kitchen range, 
 While his was newly polished ; 
 
ODE TO SENTIMENT. 283 
 
 The ven'son you observed below 
 Went home just half an hour ago ; 
 I guess it 's now demolished. 
 
 '' Tom, why that look of doubtful dread? 
 Come, help yourself to salt and bread, 
 
 Don't sit with hands and knees up ; 
 But dine, for once, off Irish stew, 
 And read the ' Dog and Shadow' through, 
 
 When next you open ^sop." 
 
 ODE TO SENTIMENT. 
 
 Daughter of dulness ! canting dame ! 
 
 Thou night-mare on the breast of joy, 
 Whose drowsy morals, still the same, 
 The stupid soothe, the gay annoy ; 
 Soft cradled in thy sluggish arms, 
 E'en footpads prate of guilt's alarms, 
 And pig-tailed sailors, sadly queer. 
 Affect the melting mood, and drop the pitying tear. 
 
 When first to tickle Britain's nose 
 
 Hugh Kelly raised his leaden quill, 
 Thy poppies lent the wished repose. 
 
 And bade the gaping town be still. 
 Poor Comedy ! thine opiate lore 
 With patience many a day she bore. 
 Till Goldsmith all thy hopes dismay'd, 
 And drove thee from the stage by Tony Lumpkin's aid. 
 
 Scared by thy lanthorn visage, flee 
 Thalia's offspring light and merry, 
 
284 ODE TO SENTIMENT. 
 
 Loud laughter, wit, and repartee, 
 
 And leave us moralising Cherry. 
 They fly, and carry in their line, 
 Grimaldi, Goose, and Columbine, 
 To Sadler's Wells by Dibdin taken. 
 With him they vow to dwell, nor find themselves for- 
 saken. 
 
 Soliloquy, with clamorous tongue. 
 
 That brings the Lord knows what to view. 
 And, Affectation, pert and young. 
 
 Swearing to love — the Lord knows who; 
 Still round the midnight caldron caper, 
 Warm Charity with Newland's paper, 
 And baby Bounty not unwilling 
 To give to mother dear her new King George s shilling. 
 
 gently o'er the modern stnge, 
 
 Fair preacher, raise thy deafening din 1 
 
 Not with the metaphoric rage 
 
 That guides the sword of Harlequin, 
 
 (As erst thou didst the town amuse,) 
 
 With tender bailiffs, generous Jews, 
 
 Socratic soldiers, praying sailors. 
 Chaste harlots, lettered clowns, and duel-fighting tailors. 
 
 Forbear thy handkerchief of brine. 
 
 Some gleams of merriment admit ; 
 Be tears in moderation thine. 
 
 To water, not to drown, the pit. 
 But if, with streaming eye askew, 
 Thou still wilt blubber five acts through, 
 Have pity on a son of rhyme, 
 Usurp the play — 'tis your's — but spare the pantomime. 
 
REJECTED ADDRESSES; 
 
 THE NEW THEATUUM POETABUM. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES SMITH AND HORACE SMITH. 
 
 'Fired that the House reject him 1— ' Sdeath, VU print it, 
 Aud shame the Fools!" 
 
 POPB. 
 
•' I think the ' Rejected Addresses' by far the best thing of the kind since ' The 
 Rolliad,' and wish you liad published them. Tell tlie author 'I forgive hiin, 
 were he twenty times over our satirist;' and think his imitations not at all 
 inferior to the famous ones of Hawkins Browne." 
 
 LoEu Bykox to Me. Murkay, Oct. 19, 1812. 
 
 " I like the volume of ' Rejected Addresses' better and better." 
 
 Lord Byeon to Mr. Murkvy, Oct. 23, 1812. 
 
 " I take the ' Rejected Addresses' to be the very best imitations (and often of 
 difficult originals) that ever were made : and considering their great extent and 
 variety, to indicate a talent, to which I do not know where to look for a parallel. 
 Some few of them descend to the level of parodies ; but by far the greater part 
 are of a much higher description." 
 
 LosD Jeffeey (i/i 1843), Note in Essays, iv. 470. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 On the 14th of August, 1812, the following advertisement ap- 
 peared in most of the daily papers : — ■ 
 
 " Rebuilding of Drury-lane TJieatre. 
 
 " The Committee are desirous of promoting a free and fair com- 
 petition for an Address to be spoken upon the opening of the 
 Theatre, which will take place on the 10th of October next 
 They have, therefoi'e, thought fit to announce to the public, that 
 they wiU be glad to receive any such compositions, addressed to 
 their Secretary, at the Treasury-office, in Drury-lane, on or before 
 the 10th of September, sealed up, with a distinguishing word, 
 number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with the inscrip- 
 tion on a separate sealed paper, containing the name of the author, 
 which will not be opened unless containing the name of the suc- 
 cessful candidate." 
 
 Upon the propriety of this plan, men's minds were, as they 
 usually are upon matters of moment, much divided. Some 
 thought it a fair promise of the future intention of the Committee 
 to abolish that phalanx of authors who usurp the stage, to the 
 exclusion of a lai-ge assortment of dramatic talent blushing unseen 
 in the back-ground; while others contended, that the scheme 
 would prevent men of real eminence from descending into an 
 ampiiitheatre in which all Grub-street (that is to say, all London 
 and Westminster) would be arrayed against them. The event 
 has proved both parties to be in a degree right, and in a degree 
 wrong. One hundred and twelve Addresses have been sent in, 
 each sealed, and signed, and mottoed, " as per order," some writ- 
 ten by men of great, some by men of little, and some by men of 
 no talent. 
 
 [ * To the First Edition published in Octobdr, lSi2i 
 
288 PREFACE. 
 
 Many of the public prints have censured the taste of the Com- 
 mittee, in thus contracting for Addresses as they would for nailr: — 
 by the gross ; but it is surprising that none should have censured 
 their temerity. One hundred and eleven of the Addresses must, 
 of course, be unsuccessful : to each of the authors, thus infallibly 
 classed w^ith the genus irritahile, it would be very hard to deny 
 six stanch friends, who consider liis the best of all possible 
 Addresses, and whose tongues will be as ready to laud liim, as to 
 hiss his adversary. These, with the potent aid of the bard him- 
 self, make seven foes per address ; and thus will be created seven 
 hundred and seventy seven implacable auditors, prepared to con- 
 demn the strains of Apollo himself — a band of adversaries which 
 no prudent manager would think of exasperating. 
 
 But, leaving the Committee to encounter the responsibility 
 they have incurred, the public have at least to thank them for 
 ascertaining and estabhshing one point, which might otherwise 
 have admitted of controversy. When it is considered that many 
 amateur writers have been discouraged from becoming com- 
 petitors, and that few, if any, of the professional authors can 
 afford to write for nothing, and, of course, have not been can- 
 didates for the honorary prize of Drury-lane, we may confidently 
 conclude that, as far as regards number, the present is undoubt- 
 edly the Augustan age of English poetry. Whether or not this 
 distinction will be extended to the quality of its productions, 
 must be decided at the tribunal of posterity ; though the natural 
 anxiety of our authors on this score ought to be considerably 
 diminished when they reflect how few will, in aU probability, be 
 had up for judgment. 
 
 It is not necessary for the Editor to mention the manner in 
 which he became possessed of this '^ fair sample of the present 
 state of poetry in Great Britain." It was his first intention to 
 publish the whole ; but a little reflection convinced him that, by 
 so doing, he might depress the good, without elevating the bad. 
 He has therefore culled what had the appearance of flowers, from 
 what possessed the reality of weeds, and is extremely sorry that, 
 in so doing, he has diminished his collection to twenty-one. 
 Those which he has rejected may possibly make their appearance 
 in a separate volume, or they may be admitted as volunteers in 
 the files of some of the newspapers ; or, at all events, they are 
 sure of being received among the awkward squad of the Mag- 
 
PREFACE. 289 
 
 azines. In general, they bear a close resemblance to each other ; 
 thirty of them contain extravagant compliments to the immortal 
 "Wellington and the indefatigable Whitbread; and, as the last- 
 mentioned gentleman is said to dislike praise in the exact propor- 
 tion in which he deserves it, these laudatory writers have prob- 
 ably been only building a wall against which they might run their 
 own heads. 
 
 The Editor here begs leave to advance a few words in behalf 
 of that useful and much abused bird the Phoenix; and in so 
 doing, he is biassed by no partiality, as he assures the reader he 
 not only never saw one, but (inirdbUe dictu /) never caged one, in 
 a simile, in the whole course of his life. Not less than sixty-nine 
 of the competitors have invoked the aid of this native of Arabia ; 
 but as, from their manner of using him when they caught him, 
 he does not by any means appear to have been a native of Arabia 
 Felix^ the Editor has left the j)roprietors to treat with Mr. PoHto, 
 and refused to receive this vara avis, or black swan, into the col- 
 lection. One exception occurs, in wliich the admirable treatment 
 of tliis feathered incombustible entitles the author to great praise : 
 that Address has been preserved, and in the ensuing pages takes 
 the lead, to wliich its dignity entitles it. 
 
 . Perhaps the reason why several of the subjoined productions 
 of the Mus^ LoNDiNENSES have failed of selection, may be dis'- 
 covered in their being penned in a metre unusual upon occasions 
 of this sort, and in their not being written with that attention to 
 stage effect, the want of which, like want of manners in the con- 
 cerns of life, is more prejudicial than a deficiency of talent. There 
 is an art of writing for the Theatre, technically called touch and 
 go, wliich is indispensable when we consider the small quantum 
 of patience which so motley an assemblage as a London audience 
 can be expected to afford. All the contributors have been very 
 exact in sending their initials and mottoes. Those belonging to 
 the present collection have been carefully preserved, and each 
 have been affixed to its respective poem. The letters that ac- 
 companied the Addresses having been honourably destroyed 
 unopened, it is impossible to state the real authors with any cer- 
 tainty ; but the ingenious reader, after comparing the initials with 
 the motto, and both with the poem, may form his own con- 
 clusions. 
 
 The Editor docs not anticipate any disapprobation from thus 
 13 
 
290 PREFACE. 
 
 giving publicity to a small portion of the Rejected Addresses ; for 
 unless he is widely mistaken in assigning the respective authors, 
 the fame of each individual is established on much too firm a 
 basis to be shaken by so trifling and evanescent a publication as 
 the present : 
 
 ■ neque ego illi detrahere ausira 
 
 Ilserentem capiti miiltri cum laude coronam. 
 
 Of the numerous pieces already sent to the Committee for per- 
 formance, he has only availed himself of three vocal Travesties, 
 vs^hich he has selected, not for their merit, but simply for their 
 brevity. Above one hutidred spectacles, melodramas, operas, and 
 pantomimes, have been transmitted, besides the two first acts of 
 one legitimate comedy. Some of these evince considerable 
 smartness of manual dialogue, and several repartees of chairs, 
 tables, and other inanimate wits ; but the authors seem to have 
 forgotten that in the new Drury-lane the audience can hear as 
 well as see. Of late our theatres have been so constructed, that 
 John Bull has been compelled to have very long ears or none at 
 all ; to keep them dangling about his skull like discarded servants, 
 while his eyes were gazing at pieballs and elephants, or else to 
 stretch them out to an asinine length to catch the congenial 
 sound of l>raying trumpets. An auricular revolution is, we trutt, 
 about to take place ; and as many people have been much puzzled 
 to define the meaning of this new era, of which we have heard so 
 much, we venture to pronounce, that as far as regards Drury-lane 
 Theatre, the new era means the reign of ears. If the past affords 
 any pledge for the future, we may confiontly expect from the 
 Committee of that House every thing that can be accomplished 
 by the union of taste and assiduity. 
 
 ["We have no conjecture to offer as to the anonymous author of this amusing 
 little volume. He who is such a master of disguises may easily be supposed to 
 have been successful in concealing himself, and, with the power of assuming so 
 many styles, is not likely to be detected by his own. We should guess, however, 
 that he had mt written a great deal in his own character — that his natural stylo 
 was neither very lofty nor very grave — ind that he rather indulges a partiality 
 for puns and verbal pleasantries. We marvel why he has shut out C;vmpbell and 
 Rogers from his theatre of living poets, and confidently expect to have our 
 curiosity, in this and all other particulars, very speedily gratified, when the 
 applause of the country shall induce him to take off his mask."'] 
 
 LoKu jEFFiiEY, Edinburgh lieview for Nov. 1812. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EIGHTEENTH EDITIOIf * 
 
 In the present publishing era, when books are like the mult! 
 tuinous wa«s of the advaneing sea, some of wh 1 "'o 
 jnipress.on whatever upon the sand, ^vhUe the superfieirt'ces 
 
 t sC T ": '"'"^' *° "' P^^'-'-''»y obliterated ytS 
 suecessoi, almost as soon as they are found, the authors of the 
 
 years, anJ the sale of seventeen large editions, in receivino. an 
 
 :re^:i:r"L: :*' ^''"'r '° ^^ "«^^ "-^ -°- handsTme^:" 
 whir^i .''','"'™"°"' l^^^e™^, of any overweening vanity 
 
 ^vhich hey might be disposed to indulge on tliis oceision thZ 
 cannot but admit the tmth of the remark made by a pa fe^h v 
 
 that If heir uttle work has hitiierto floated upon the stream of 
 .me, whileso many others of much greater wei„S>tat^d, lew 
 
 afura,^!,tt t '*'"^'T°' """' t'^T have becon,e thoroughly 
 satura ed w th the waters of obhvion, when they quickly meet the 
 fate which they had long before merited ^ 
 
 Our ingenuous and ingenious friend furthermore observed that 
 the demolition of Drury Lane Theatre by fire, its reconstru^ on 
 under te auspices of the celebrated M. mitbread,t the re™ 
 offered by the Committee for an opening address, and the nib he 
 recta^on of a poem composed expressly for the occasion bv 
 Lord Byron, one of the most popular writers of the age formed 
 
292 " PREFACE TO 
 
 an extraordinary concurrence of circumstances which could not 
 fail to insure the success of the Rejected Addresses^ while it has 
 subsequently served to fix them in the memory of the public, so 
 far at least as a poor immortality of twenty years can be said to 
 have effected that object. In fact, continued our impartial and 
 affectionate monitor, your little work owes its present obscure 
 existence entirely to the accidents that have surrounded and 
 embalmed it, — even as flies, and other worthless insects, may 
 long survive their natural date of extinction, if they chance to 
 be preserved in amber, or any similar substance. 
 
 The things we know, are neither rich nor rare — 
 But wonder how the devil they get there!— Pope. 
 
 With the natural affection of parents for the offspring of their 
 own brains, we ventured to hint that some portion of our suc- 
 cess might perhaps be attributable to the manner in which the 
 different imitations were executed ; but our worthy friend pro- 
 tested that his sincere regard for us, as well as for the cause of 
 truth, compelled liim to reject our claim, and to pronounce that, 
 when once the idea had been conceived, all the rest followed as 
 c matter of course, and might have been executed by any other 
 hands not less felicitously than by our own. 
 
 Willingly leaving this matter to the decision of the public, 
 since we cannot be umpires in our own cause, we proceed to de- 
 tail such circumstances attending the writing and pubhcation of 
 our httle work, as may hterally meet the wishes of the present 
 proprietor of the copyright, who has applied to us for a gossiping 
 Preface. Were we disposed to be grave and didactic, which is as 
 foreign to our mood as it was twenty years ago, we might draw 
 the attention of the reader, in a fine sententious paragraph, to the 
 trifles upon wliich the fate of empires, as well as a four-and-sixpenny 
 volume of parodies, occasionally hangs in trembhng balance. No 
 sooner was the idea of our work conceived, than it was about to 
 be abandoned in embryo, from the apprehension that we had no 
 time to mature and bring it forth, as it was indispensable that it 
 should be written, printed, and published by the opening of Drury 
 Lane Theatre, which would only allow us an interval of six 
 weeks, and we had both of us other avocations that precluded 
 us from the full command of even that limited period. Encour- 
 aged, however, by the conviction that the thought was a good 
 
THE EIGHTEENTH EDITION. 293 
 
 one, and by the hope of making a lucky hit, we set to work con 
 amove, our very hurry not improbably enabhng us to strHce out at 
 a heat what we might have failed to produce so well, had wo 
 possessed time enough to hammer it into more careful and elabo- 
 rate form. 
 
 Our first difficulty, that of selection, was by no means a lio-ht 
 one. Some of our most eminent poets, such, for instance^'as 
 Eogers and Campbell, presented so much beauty, harmony Ind 
 proportion in their writings, both as to style and sentiment ' that 
 if we had attempted to caricature them, nobody would have rec- 
 ogmsed the likeness; and if we had endeavoured to give a servile 
 copy of their manner, it would only have amounted, at best to 
 a tame and unamusing portrait, which it was not our object to 
 present. Although fully aware that their names would in the 
 theatrical phrase, have conferred great strength upon our 'bill we 
 were reluctantly compeUed to forego them, and to confine ourselves 
 to writers whose style and habit of thought, being more marked 
 and pecuHar, was more capable of exaggeration and distortion 
 To avoid pohtics and personality, to imitate the turn of mind as 
 well as the phraseology of our originals, and, at all events' to 
 raise a harmJess laugh, were our main objects : in the attainm'ent 
 of which united aims, we were sometimes hurried into extrava- 
 gance, by attaching much more importance to the last than to 
 the two first. In no instance were we thus betrayed into a 
 greater injustice than in the case of Mr. Wordsworth— the 
 touching sentiment, profound wisdom, and copious harmony of 
 whose loftier writings we left unnoticed, in the desire of bur- 
 lesquing them; while we pounced upon his popular ballads and 
 exerted ourselves to push their simpHcity into puerihty and 'silli- 
 ness. With pride and pleasure do we now claun to be ranked 
 among the most ardent admirers of this true poet; and if he 
 himself could see the state of his works, which are ever at our 
 right hand, he would, perhaps, receive the manifest evidence 
 they exlnbit of constant reference, and delighted re-peru^al as 
 some sort o^ amende honorable for the unfairness of which 'we 
 were guilty, when we were less conversant with the hio-her in- 
 spirations of his muse. To Mr. Coleridge, and others" of our 
 originals, we must also do a tardy act of justice, by declarino- tliat 
 our burlesque of their peculiarities has never blinded us to'those 
 beauties and talents wliich are beyond the reach of aU ridicule 
 
294 PREFACE TO 
 
 One of us* had written a genuine Address for the occasion, 
 which was sent to the Committee, and sliared tlie fate it merited, 
 in being rejected. To swell the bulk, or rather to diminish the 
 tenuity of our little work, we added it to the Imitations ; and 
 prefixing the initials of S. T. P. for the purpose of puzzling the 
 critics, were not a httle amused, in the sequel, by the many 
 guesses and conjectures into which we had ensnared some of our 
 readers. We could even enjoy the mysticism, qualified as it was 
 by the poor compliment, that our carefully written Address 
 exhibited no " very prominent trait of absurdity," when we saw 
 it thus noticed in the Edinburgh Review for November 1812. 
 " An Address by S. T. P. we can make nothing of; and profess- 
 ing our ignorance of the author designated by these letters, we 
 can only add, that the Address, though a Httle affected, and not 
 very full of meaning, has no very prominent trait of absurdity, 
 that we can detect ; and might have been adopted and spoken, 
 so far as we can perceive, without any hazard of ridicule. In our 
 simplicity we consider it as a very decent, mellifluous, occasional 
 prologue : and do not understand how it has found its way into 
 its present company." 
 
 Urged forward by hurry, and trusting to chance, two very bad 
 coadjutors in any enterprise, we at length congratulated ourselves 
 on having completed our task in time to have it printed and pub- 
 lished by the opening of the theatre. But alas ! our difficulties, 
 so far from being surmounted, seemed only to be beginning. 
 Strangers to the arcana of the bookseller's trade, and unacquamted 
 with their almost invincible objection to single volumes of low 
 price, especially when tendered by writers who have acquired no 
 previous name, we little anticipated that they would refuse to 
 publish our Rejected Addresses^ even although we asked nothing 
 for the copyright. Such, however, proved to be the case. Our 
 manuscript was perused and returned to us by several of the 
 most eminent pubhshers.f Well do we remember betaking our- 
 
 [ * This was Horatio, the writer of the present Preface.] 
 
 [t The passage, as originally written, continued thus, "and among others, so 
 diflicult is it in forming a correct judgment in catering to the public taste, by the 
 very bibliopolist who has now, after an interval of twenty ionly seven] years, 
 purchased the copyright from a brother bookseller and ventured upon the 
 present edition." To this, on the proof-sheet, the late Mr. Murray appended the 
 following note ; — " I never saw or even had the MS. in my possession ; but know- 
 
THE EIGHTEEXTH EDITIOX. 295 
 
 selves to one of the craft in Bond-street, Avhom we found in a 
 back parlour, with his gouty leg propped upon a cusliion, in spite 
 of which warning he diluted his luncheon with frequent glasses 
 of Maderia, ^' What have you already written ?" was his first 
 question, an interrogatory to which we had been subjected in 
 almost every instance. '' Nothing by which we can be known." 
 " Then I am afraid to undertake the publication," We presumed 
 timidly to suggest that every writer must have a, beginning, and 
 that to refuse to publish for liim until he had acquired a name, 
 was to imitate the sapient mother who cautioned her son againt 
 going into the water until he could swim. ''An old juke — a 
 regular Joe !" exclaimed our companion, tossing off another 
 bumper. " Still older than Joe Miller," was our reply ; " for, if 
 we mistake not, it is the very first anecdote in the facetiae of 
 Ilierocles." "Ha, sirs!" resumed the bibliopohst, "you are 
 learned, are you ? So, soh ! — Well, leave your manuscript with 
 me ; I will look it over to-night, and give you au answer to- 
 morrow." Punctual as the clock we presented ourselves at Ms 
 door on the following morning, when our papers vrere returned 
 to us witli the observation — " These trifles are really not deficient 
 in smartness ; they are well, vastly well for beginners ; but they 
 will never do— never. They would not pay for advertising, and 
 without it I should not sell fifty copies," 
 
 This was discouraging enough. If the most experienced pub- 
 lishers feared to be out of pocket by the work, it was manifest, a 
 fortiori, that its writers ran a risk of being still more heavy 
 losers, should they undertake the publication on their own 
 account. We had no objection to raise a laugh at the expense 
 of otliers ; but to do it at our own cost, uncertain as we were to 
 what extent we niight be involved, had jiever entered into our 
 contemplation. In this dilemma, our Addresses^ now in every 
 sense rejected, might probably have never seen the light, had not 
 some good aijgel whispered us to betake ourselves to Mr. John 
 Miller, a dramatic publisher, then residing in Bow^street, Covent 
 Garden, No sooner had this gentleman looked over our manu- 
 script, than he immediately offered to take upon himself all the 
 
 ing tlmt Mr. Smith was brother-in-law to Mr. Cadell, I took it for granted that 
 the MS. liad been previously offered to him and declined." Mr. H. Smith cou- 
 sequently drew his pen throu-jh the passage.] 
 
296 PREFACE TO 
 
 risk of publication, and to give us half the profits, should there he 
 any ; a Uberal proposition with which we gladly closed. So 
 rapid and decided was its success, at which none were more un- 
 feignedly astonished than its authors, that Mr. Miller advised us 
 to collect some Imitations of Horace^ which had appeared anony- 
 mously in the Monthly Mirrar^^ offering to pubhsh them upon the 
 same terms. We did so accordingly ; and as new editions of the 
 Rejected Addresses were called for m quick succession, we were 
 shortly enabled to seU our half copyright in the two works to 
 Mr. Miller, for one thousand pounds ! ! We have entered into 
 this unimportant detail, not to gratify any vanity of our own, but 
 to encourage such literary beginners as may be placed in similar 
 circumstances ; as well as to impress upon publishers the propriety 
 of giving more consideration to the possible merit of the works 
 submitted to them, than to the mere magic of a name. 
 
 To the credit of the genus irritdbile be it recorded, that not one 
 of those Avhom we had parodied or burlesqued ever betrayed the 
 least soreness on the occasionj or refused to join in the laugh that 
 we had occasioned.. With most of them we subsequently formed 
 acquaintanceship ; while some honoured us with an intimacy which 
 still continues, where it has not been severed by the rude hand 
 of Death. Alas ! it is painful to reflect, that of the twelve writer^ 
 whom we presumed to imitate, five are now no more ; the list of 
 the deceased being unhappily swelled by the most illustrious of 
 all, the alarum et venerabile nomen of Sir Walter Scott 1 From 
 that distinguished writer, whose transcendent talents were only 
 to be equalled by his virtues and liis amiability, we received fa- 
 vours and notice, both public and private, which it will be difficult 
 to forget, because we had not the smallest claim upon his kind- 
 ness. " I certainly must have written this myself!" said that 
 fine-tempered man to one of the authors, pointing to the de- 
 scription of the Fire, '' Although I forget upon what occasion." 
 Lydia White,t a literary lady who was prone to feed the lions of 
 the day, invited one of us to dinner ; but, recollecting afterwards 
 
 C * Between 1807 and 1810. The Monthlif Mirror was edited by Edward Dii 
 Bois, author of '' My Pocket-Book," and by Thomas Hill ; the original Paul Piy; 
 and the Hull of Mr. Theodore Hook's novel of " Gilbert G-urney."] 
 
 [ t Miss Lydia White, celebrated for her lively wit and for her blue-stocking 
 parties, unrivalled, it is said, ia " the soft realm of blue May Fair." She died 
 in 1827, and is meutioued in the Diaries of Scott and Byron.} 
 
THE EIGHTEENTH EDITION. 297 
 
 that "VVilliam Spencer formed one of the party, "wrote to the 
 latter to put him off; telling him that a man was to be at her 
 table whom '4ie would not lilce to meet." " Pray who is this 
 whom I should not Hke to meet ?" inquired the poet. " !" 
 answered the lady, " one of those men who have made that 
 shameful attack upon you 1" " The very man upon earth I should 
 hke to know !" rejoined the lively and careless bard. The two 
 individuals accordingly met, and have continued fast friends ever 
 since. Lord Byron, too, wrote tlius to Mr, Murray from Italy — 
 " Tell liim I forgive him, were he twenty times over our 
 satirist." 
 
 It may not be amiss to notice, in tliis place, one criticism of a 
 Leicestershire clergyman, which may be pronounced unique: "I 
 do not see why they should have been rejected," observed the 
 matter-of-fact annotator; "I think some of them very good!" 
 Upon the whole, few have been the instances, in the acrimonious 
 history of literature, where a malicious pleasantry like the Re- 
 jected Addresses — which the parties ridiculed might well consider 
 more annoying than a direct satire — instead of being met by 
 querulous bitterness or petulant retaliation, has procured for its 
 authors the acquaintance, or conciliated the good-will, of those 
 whom they had the most audaciously burlesqued. 
 
 In commenting on a work, however trifling, which has sur- 
 vived the lapse of twenty years, an author may almost claim 
 the privileged garrulity of age ; yet even in a professedly gos- 
 siping Preface, we begin to fear that we are exceeding our com- 
 mission, and abusing the patience of the reader. If we are 
 doing so, we might urge extenuating circumstances, which will 
 explain, though they may not excuse, our diffuseness. To one 
 of us the totally unexpected success of this Httle work proved 
 an important event, since it mainly decided him, some years af- 
 terwards, to embark in the hterary career which the continued 
 favour of that novel-reading world has rendered both pleasant 
 and profitable to him. This is the first, as it will probably be 
 the last, occasion upon which we shall ever intrude ourselves 
 personally on the public notice ; and we trust that our now doing 
 so will stand excused by the reasons we have adduced. For the 
 portraits prefixed to this edition we are in no way responsible. 
 At the sale of the late Mr. Harlowe's effects, the drawing from 
 
 13* 
 
298 PREFACE TO THE EIGHTEENTH EDITION. 
 
 which they are engraved was purchased by Mr. Murray; who, 
 conceivmg probably that we had no interest in the matter- 
 since they were not hkenesses of our present heads, but ot those 
 which we possessed twenty years ago-has thought proper to 
 give them publicity, without consulting their now rather anti- 
 quated originals. 
 
 LONDOK, March, 1833. 
 
r. 
 
 LOYAL EFFUSION". 
 
 BY W. T. F. 
 
 " Quicquid diciint, laudo : id rursum si negant, 
 Laudo id quoque." Teeence. 
 
 Hail, glorious edifice, stupendous work ! 
 God bless the Regent and the Dake of York ! 
 
 Y^e Muses ! bj whose aid I cried down Fox, 
 Grant me in Drury Lane a private box, 
 Where I may loll, cry Bravo ! and profess 
 The boundless powers of England's glorious press , 
 While Afric's sons exclaim, from shore to shore, 
 " Quashee ma boo!" — the slave-trade is no more ! 
 
 In fair Arabia (happy once, now stony. 
 Since ruined by that arch apostate Boney,) 
 A Phoenix late was caught : the Arab host 
 Long ponder' d — part would boil it, part would roast ; 
 But while they ponder, up the pot-lid flies. 
 Fledged, beak'd, and claw'd, alive they see him rise 
 To heaven, and caw defiance in the skies. 
 So Drury, first in roasting flames consumed, 
 Then by old renters to hot water doom'd. 
 By Wyatt's^ trowel patted, plump and sleek, 
 Soars without wings, and caws without a beak. 
 Gallia's stern despot shall in vain advance 
 From Paris, the metropolis of France ; 
 By this d;iy month the monster shall not gain 
 A foot of land in Portugal or Spain. 
 
300 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 See Wellington in Salamanca's field 
 Forces his favourite general to yield, 
 Breaks through his lines, and leaves his boasted Har- 
 mon t 
 Expiring on the plain without his arm on ; 
 Madrid he enters at the cannon's month, 
 And then the villages still further south. 
 Base Buonapartj, fiil'd with deadly ire. 
 Sets, one by one, our playhouses on fire. 
 Some years ago he pounced with deadly glee on 
 The Opera House, then burnt down the Pantheon; 
 Nay, still unsated, in a coat of flames, 
 Next at Millbank he crossed the river Thames ; 
 Thy hatch, Halfpenny !- pass'd in a trice, 
 Boil'd some black pitch, and burnt down Astley's twice; 
 Then buzzing on through ether with a vile hum, 
 Turn'd to the left hand, fronting the Asylum, 
 And burnt the Royal Circus in a hurry — 
 ('Twas caird the Circus then, but now the Surrey). 
 
 Who burnt (confound his soul !) the houses twain 
 Of Co vent Garden and of Drury Lane ?^ 
 Who. while the British squadron lay off Cork 
 (God bless the Regent and the Duke of York !) 
 With a foul earthquake ravaged the Caraccas, 
 And raised the price of dry goods and tobaccos ? 
 Who makes the quartern loaf and Luddites rise ? 
 Who fills the butchers' shops with large blue flies? 
 Who thought in flames St. James's court to pinch?* 
 Who burnt the wardrobe of poor Lady Finch ? — 
 Why he, who, forging for this isle a yoke, 
 Reminds me of a line I lately spoke, 
 "The tree of freedom is the British oak." 
 
 Bless every man possess' d of aught to give ; 
 Long may Long Tylney Wellesley Long Pole live;^ 
 
LOYAL EFFUSION. 801 
 
 God bless the Army, bless their coats of scarlet, 
 God bless the Navy, bless the Princess Charlotte ; 
 God bless the guards, though worsted Gallia scoff, 
 God bless their pig-tails, though they 're now cut off; 
 And, oh ! in Downing Street should Old Nick revel, 
 England's prime minister, then bless the devil ! 
 
11. 
 THE BABY'S DEBUT. 
 
 BY W. W. 
 
 '* Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait. 
 All thy false min;ic fooleries I hate ; 
 For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she 
 Who is right foolish hath the better plea ; 
 Nature's true Idiot I prefer to thee." 
 
 CUMBEBLAND. 
 
 TSpoTcen in the character of Nancy Lahe^ a girl eight years of age, 
 who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel 
 Hughes, her imcWs porter.] 
 
 My brother Jack was nine in May/ 
 And I was eight on New-year's-day; 
 
 So in Kate Wilson's shop 
 Papa (he's my papa and Jack's) 
 Bought me, last week, a doll of wax, 
 
 And brother Jack a top. 
 
 Jack 's in the pouts, and this it is, — 
 He thinks mine came to more than his ; 
 
 So to my drawer he goes, 
 Takes out the doll, and, 0, my stars ! 
 He pokes her head between the bars, 
 
 And melts off half her nose ! 
 
 Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, 
 And tie it to his peg-top's peg, 
 
 And bang, with might and main, 
 
THE baby's debut. 303 
 
 Its head against the parlour-door : 
 Off flies the head, and hits the floor, 
 And breaks a window-pane. 
 
 This made him cry with rage and spite : 
 Well, let him cry, it serves him right. 
 
 A pretty thing, forsooth ! 
 If he 's to melt, all scalding hot, 
 Half my doll's nose, and I am not 
 
 To draw his peg-top's tooth ! 
 
 Aunt Hannah heard the window break, 
 And cried, " naughty Nancy Lake, 
 
 Thus to distress your aunt : 
 No Drury Lane for you to-day !" 
 And while papa said, " Pooh, she may !" 
 
 Mamma said, " No, she sha'n 1 1' 
 
 Well, after many a sad reproach. 
 They got into a hackney coach, 
 
 And trotted down the street. 
 I saw them go : one horse was blind, 
 The tails of both hung down behind, 
 
 Their shoes Avere on their feet. 
 
 The chaise in which poor brother Bill 
 Used to be drawn to Pentonville, 
 
 Stood in the lumber-room : 
 I wiped the dust from off the top. 
 While Molly mopp'd it with a mop, 
 
 And brushed it with a broom. 
 
 My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, 
 Came in at six to black the shoes, 
 (I always talk to Sam :) 
 
304 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 So what does he, but takes, and drags 
 Me in the chaise along the flao-s, 
 And leaves me where I am. 
 
 My father's walls are made of brick, 
 But not so tall and not so thick 
 
 As these ; and, goodness me ! 
 Mj father's beams are made of wood, 
 But never, never half so good 
 
 As those that now I see. 
 
 What a large floor ! 'tis like a town ! 
 The carpet, when they lay it down, 
 
 Won't hide it I '11 be bound ; 
 And there's a row of lamps ! — my eye ! 
 How they do blaze ! I wonder why 
 They keep them on the ground. 
 
 At first I caught hold of the wing, 
 And kept away ; but Mr. Thing- 
 
 um bob, the prompter man. 
 Gave with his hand my chaise a shove. 
 And said, '' Go on, my pretty love; 
 
 Speak to 'em, little Nan. 
 
 *' You 've only got to curtsey, whisp- 
 er, hold your chin up, laugh, and lisp. 
 
 And then you 're sure to take : 
 I 've known the day when brats, not quite 
 Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night f 
 
 Then why not Nancy Lake? " 
 
 But while I'm speaking, where 's papa? 
 And where 's my aunt? and where 's mamma? 
 Where 's Jack? 0, there they sit I 
 
THE baby's debut. 305 
 
 The J smile, they nod ; I '11 go my ways, 
 And order round poor Billy's chaise, 
 To join them in the pit. 
 
 And now, good gentlefolks, I go 
 To join mamma, and see the show ; 
 
 So, bidding you adieu, 
 I curtsey, like a pretty miss. 
 And if you '11 blow to me a kiss, 
 
 I'll blow a kiss to you. 
 
 [Blows a kisSj and exii.]^ 
 
III. 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 WITHOUT A PHCENIX.^ 
 BY S. T. P. 
 
 " This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked." 
 
 What You WUl. 
 
 What stat.^lj vision mocks my waking sense ? 
 
 Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment, hence ! 
 
 Ha 1 is it real ? — can my doubts be vain ? 
 
 It is, it is, and Drury lives again ! 
 
 Around each grateful veteran attends. 
 
 Eager to rush and gratulate his friends, 
 
 Friends whose kind looks, retraced with proud delight, 
 
 Endear the past, and make the future brio^ht : 
 
 Yes, generous patrons, your returning smile 
 
 Blesses our toils, and consecrates our pile. 
 
 When last we met. Fate's um^elenting hand 
 Already grasped the devastating brand ; 
 Slow crept the silent flame, ensnarcd its prize, 
 Then burst resistless to the astonished skies. 
 The glowing walls disrobed of scenic pride, 
 In trembling conflict stemmed the burning tide, 
 Till crackling, blazing, rocking to its fall, 
 Down rushed the thundering roof and buried all ! 
 
 Where late the sister Muses sweetly sung, 
 And raptured thousands on their music hung, 
 
AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PH(ENIX. 307 
 
 Where Wit and Wisdom shone, bj Beauty graced, 
 
 Sat lonel/ Silence, empress of the waste ; 
 
 And still had reigned — but he, whose voice can raise 
 
 More magic wonders than Amphion's lays, 
 
 Bade jarring bands with friendly zeal engage 
 
 To rear the prostrate glories of the stage. 
 
 Up leaped the Muses at the potent spell, 
 
 And Drury's genius saw his temple swell ; 
 
 Worthy, we hope, the British Drama's cause, 
 
 Worthy of British arts, and y^iir applause. 
 
 Guided by you, our earnest aims presume 
 To renovate the drama with the dome ; 
 The scenes of Shakespeare and our bards of old, 
 With due observance splendidly unfold, 
 Yet raise and foster with parental hand 
 The living talent of our native land. 
 ! may we still, to sense and nature true, 
 Delight the many, nor oifend the few. 
 Though varying tastes our changeful Drama claim, 
 Still be its moral tendency the same. 
 To win by precept, by example warn. 
 To brand the front of Vice with pointed scorn. 
 And Virtue's smiling brows with votive wreaths adorn. 
 
IV. 
 
 cm BONO? 
 
 BY LORD B. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sated with home, of wife, of children tired, 
 The restless soul is driven abroad to roam ; ^ 
 Sated abroad, all seen yet nought admired. 
 The restless soul is driven to ramble home ; 
 Sated with both, beneath new Drurj's dome 
 The fiend Ennui awhile consents to pine, 
 There growls, and curses, like a deadly Gnome, 
 Scorning to view fantastic Columbine, 
 Viewing Avith scorn and hate the nonsense of the Nine.'^ 
 
 II. 
 Ye reckless dupes, who hither wend your way 
 To gaze on puppets in a painted dome. 
 Pursuing pastimes glittering to betray. 
 Like falling stars in life's eternal gloom. 
 What seek ye here ? Joy's evanescent bloom ? 
 Woe 's me ! the brightest wreaths she ever gave 
 Are but as flowers that decorate a tomb. 
 Man's heart, the mournful urn o'er which they wave, 
 Is sacred to despair, its pedestal the grave. 
 
 III. 
 Has life so little store of real woes, 
 That here ye wend to taste fictitious grief? 
 
CUI BONO? 309 
 
 Or is it tliat from truth such anguish flows, 
 Ye court the Ijing drama for relief? 
 Long shall ye find the pang, the respite brief: 
 Or if one tolerable page appears 
 In follj's volume, 'tis the actor's leaf, 
 Who dries his own hy drawing others' tears, 
 And, raising present mirth, makes glad his future years. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Albeit, how like young Betty doth he flee ! 
 Light as the moat that danceth in the beam, 
 He liveth only in man's present e'e ; 
 His life a flash, his memory a dream, 
 Oblivious down he drops in Lethe's stream. 
 Yet what are they, the learned and the great ? 
 Awhile of longer wonderment the theme ! 
 Who shall presume to prophesy their date. 
 Where nought is certain, save the uncertainty of fate ? 
 
 V. 
 
 This goodly pile, upheaved by Wyatt's toil. 
 Perchance than Holland's edifice " more fleet, 
 Again red Lemnos' artisan may spoil ; 
 The fire-alarm and midnight drum may beat, 
 And all bestrewed ysmoking at your feet ! 
 Start ye ? perchance Death's angel may be sent, 
 Ere from the flaming temple ye retreat ; 
 And ye who met, on revel idlesse bent, 
 May find, in pleasure's fane, your grave and monument. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Your debts mount high — ye plunge in deeper waste ; 
 The tradesman duns — no warning voice ye hear ; 
 The plaintiff sues — to public shows ye haste ; 
 The bailiff threats — ye feel no idle fear. 
 
SIO REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Who can arrest jour prodigal career ? 
 Who can keep down the levity of youth ? 
 What sound can startle age's stubborn ear? 
 Who can redeem from wretchedness and ruth 
 Men true to falsehood's voice, false to the voice of truth ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 To thee, blest saint ! who doffed thy skin to make 
 The Smithfield rabble leap from theirs with joy, 
 We dedicate the pile — arise ! awake ! — 
 Knock down the Muses, wit and sense destroy, 
 Clear our new stage from reason" s dull alloy, 
 Charm hobbling age, and tickle capering youth 
 With cleaver, marrow-bone, and Tunbridge toy ; 
 While, vibrating in unbelieving tooth, ^ 
 Harps twang in Drury's walls, and make her boards a 
 booth. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For what is Hamlet, but a hare in INIarch ? 
 And what is Brutus, but a croaking owl ? 
 And what is Rolla ? Cupid steeped in starch, 
 Orlando's helmet in Augustin's cowl. 
 Shakespeare, how^ true thine adage, "fair is foul!" 
 To him whose soul is with fruition fraught, 
 The song of Braham is an Irish howl. 
 Thinking is but an idle waste of thought. 
 And nought is everything, and everything is nought. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sons of Parnassus ! Avhom I view above. 
 Not laurel-crown'd, but clad in rusty black ; 
 Not spurring Pegasus through Tempe's grove, 
 But pacing Grub-street on a jaded hack ; 
 
CUI BONO? 811 
 
 What reams of foolscap, while your brains ye rack, 
 Ye mar to make again ! for sure, ere long, 
 Condemn'd to tread the bards time-sanction' d track, 
 Ye all shall join the bailiff-haunted throng. 
 And reproduce, in rags, the rags ye blot in song. 
 
 X. 
 
 So fares the follower in the Muses' train ; 
 He toils to starve, and only lives in death ; 
 We slight him, till our patronage is vain, 
 Then round his skeleton a garland wreathe, 
 And o'er his bones an empty requiem breathe — 
 Oh ! with what tragic horror would he start, 
 (Could he be conjured from the grave beneath) 
 To find the stage again a Thespian cart. 
 
 And elephants and colts down trampling Shakespeare*? 
 art. 
 
 XI. 
 Hence, pedant Nature ! with thy Grecian rules ! 
 Centaurs (not fabulous) those rules effixce ; 
 Back, sister Muses, to your native schools ; 
 Here booted grooms usurp Apollo's place, 
 Hoofs shame the boards that Garrick used to grace, 
 The play of limbs succeeds the play of wit, 
 Man yields the drama to the Hou'yn'm race. 
 His prompter spurs, his licenser the bit. 
 
 The stage a stable-yard, a jockey-club the pit. 
 
 XII. 
 Is it for these ye rear this proud abode ? 
 Is it for these your superstition seeks 
 To build a temple worthy of a god. 
 To laud a monkey, or to worship leeks ! 
 
312 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Then be the stage, to recompense your freaks, 
 A motley chaos, jumbling age and ranks, 
 Where Punch, the lignum- vitae Roscius, squeaks, 
 And Wisdom weeps, and Folly plays his pranks, 
 And moody Madness laughs and hugs the chain he clanks. 
 
V. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SECEETARY OF THE MANAGING COMMITTEE 
 OF DRURY-LANE RLAYHOUSE. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 To the gewgaw fetters of rhyme (invented bj 
 the monks to enslave the people) I have a rooted objec- 
 tion. I have therefore written an address for jour 
 Theatre in plain, homespun, jeoman's prose ; in the 
 doing whereof I hope I am swajed by nothing but an 
 independent wish to open the eyes of this gulled people, 
 to prevent a repetition of the dramatic bamboozling 
 they have hitherto laboured under. If you like what 1 
 have done, and moan to make use of it, I do n't want 
 any such aristocratic reward as a piece of plate with 
 two griffins sprawling upon it, or a dorj and a jackass 
 fighting for a ha" p' worth of gilt gingerbread^ or any 
 such Bartholomew-fair nonsense. All I ask is that the 
 door-keepers of your playhouse may take all the sets of 
 tny Register' now on hand, and force every body who 
 enters your doors to buy one, giving afterwards a debtor 
 md creditor account of what tliey have received, post- 
 oaid. and in due course remitting me the money and 
 Unsold Registers, carriage-paid. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 W. C. 
 14 ' 
 
814 REJECTED ADDRESSES, 
 
 IN THE CHARACTER OF 
 
 A IIAMPSHIIiE FARMER. 
 
 Ilabidti qui co-nciais iru 
 
 Implevit pariter temis latratibus auras, 
 
 Et sparsit viridcs spu-iiis albontibus ugros." — OVin, 
 
 Most thinking People, 
 
 When persons address an audience from the stage, it is 
 usual, either in words or gesture, to say, "Ladies and 
 Gentlemen, your servant.'^ If I were base enough, 
 mean enough, paltry enough, and hrnte beast enough, 
 to follow that fashion, I should tell two lies in a breath. 
 In the first place, you are not Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 but I hope something better, that is to say, honest men 
 and women ; and in the next place, if you w^ere ever so 
 much ladies, and ever so much gentlemen, I am not, 
 nor ever v/ill be^ your humble servant. You see me 
 here, 7nost thinkinfj people^ by mere chance. I have 
 not been within the doors of a playhouse before for 
 these ten years; nor, till that abominable custom of 
 taking money at the doors is discontinued, will I ever 
 sanction a theatre with my presence. The stage-door is 
 the only gate of freedom in the whole edifice, and 
 through that I made my way from Bagshaw's" in 
 Brydges Street, to accost you. Look about you. Are 
 you not all comfortable ? Nay, never slink, mun ; 
 speak out, if you are dissatisfied, and tell me so before I 
 leave town. A^ou a,re now, (thanks to Mr. Whitbread), 
 got into a large, comfortable house. Not into a gim- 
 crack palace ; not into a Solomon s temple ; not into a 
 frost-work of Brobdignag filigree ; but into a plain, 
 
HAMPSHIRE FARMER^S ADDRESS. 815 
 
 lionest, homely, industrious, wholesome, brown brick 
 playhouse. You have been struggling for indepen- 
 dence and elbow-room these three years : and w^ho gave 
 it you? Who helped you out of Lilliput? Who 
 routed you from a rat-hole, five inches by four, to perch 
 you in a palace? Again and again I answer, Mr. 
 Whitbread. You might have sweltered in that place 
 with the Greek name'^ till doomsday, and neither Lord 
 Castlereagh, Mr. Canning, no, nor the Marquess 
 Wellesley, would have turned a trowel to help you out ! 
 Kemember that. Never forget that. Kead it to your 
 children, and to your children's children ! And now, 
 most thinking j)eople, cast your eyes over my head to 
 w^hat the builder, (I beg his pardon, the architect,) calls 
 the proscenium. No motto, no slang, no popish Latin, 
 to keep the people in the dark. No veluti in speculum. 
 Nothing in the dead languages, properly so called, for 
 they ought to die, ay and be damned to boot ! The 
 Covent Garden manager tried that, and a pretty business 
 he made of it ! When a man says veluti in specidum, 
 he is called a man of letters. Very well, and is not a 
 man who cries 0. P. a man of letters too? You ran 
 your 0. P. against his veluti in speculum, and pray 
 which beat ? I prophesied that, though I never told any 
 body. I take it for granted, that every intelligent man, 
 woman, and child, to whom I address myself, has stood 
 severally and respectively in Little Russell Street, and 
 cast their, his, her, and its eyes on the outside of this 
 building before they paid their money to view the inside. 
 Look at the brick- work, English Audience ! Look at 
 the brick- work ! All plain and smooth like a quakers' 
 meeting. None of your Egyptian pyramids, to entomb 
 subscribers' capitals. No overgrown colonnades of 
 stone,^ like an alderman's gouty legs in white cotton 
 
816 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 stockings, fit onlj to use as rammers for paving Totten- 
 ham Court Road. This house is neither after the model 
 of a temple in Athens, no, nor a temple in Moo?[fteIdSj 
 but it is built to act English plays in ; and, provided you 
 have good scenery, dresses, and decorations, I daresay 
 you wouldn't break your hearts if the outside was as 
 plain as the pikestaff I used to carry when I was a ser- 
 geant. Apropos, as trie French valets say, who cut their 
 masters' throats'^ — apropos, a word about dresses. You 
 must, many of you, have seen what I have read a 
 description of, Kemble and Mrs. Siddons in Macbeth, 
 with more gold and silver plastered on their doublets 
 than would have kept an honest family in butcher's 
 meat and flannel from year's end to year's end ! I am 
 informed, (now mind, I do not vouch for the fact), but 
 I am informed that all such extravagant idleness is to be 
 done away with here. Lady Macbeth is to have a plain 
 quilted petticoat, a cotton gown, and a mob cap (as the 
 court parasites call it ; — it will be well for them, if, one 
 of these days, they do n't wear a mob cap — I mean a 
 7vhite cap, with a 7nob to look at them) ; and Macbeth 
 is to appear in an honest yeoman's drab coat, and a pair 
 of black calamanco breeches. Not >S'a/amanca ; no, nor 
 Talavera neither, my most Noble Marquess ; but plain, 
 honest, black calamanco stuff breeches. This is ridit : 
 this is as it should be. Most thinking people, I have 
 heard you much abused. There is not a compound in 
 the language but is strung fifty in a rope, like onions, 
 by the Morning Post, and hurled in your teeth. You 
 are called the mob, and when they have made you 
 out to be the mob, you are called the scum, of the 
 people, and the dregs of the people. I should like to 
 know how you can be both. Take a basin of broth — not 
 cheap soup, Mr. Wilberforce — not soup for the poor, 
 
HAMPSHIRE farmer's ADDRESS. 31 T 
 
 at a penny a quart, as your mixture of horses' legs, 
 brick-dust, and old shoes, was denominated — but plain, 
 wholesome, patriotic beef or mutton broth ; take this, 
 examine it, and you will find — mind, I do n't vouch for 
 the fact, but I am told — you will find the dregs at the 
 bottom, and the scum at the top. I will endeavour to 
 explain this to you : England is a large earthenware 
 •pipkin ; John Bull is the heef thrown into it ; taxes 
 are the hot icater he boils in ; rotten boroughs are the 
 fuel that blazes under this same pipkin; parliament is 
 the ladle that stirs the hodge-podge, and sometimes 
 
 . But, hold ! I do n't wish to pay Mr. Newman^ 
 
 a second visit. I leave you better off than you have 
 been this many a day : you have a good house over 
 your head; you have beat the French in Spain; the 
 harvest has turned out w^ell ; the comet keeps its dis- 
 tance ;^ and red slippers are hawked about Constan- 
 tinople for next to nothing ; and for all this, again and 
 again I tell you, you are indebted to Mr. Whit- 
 bread ! ! ! 
 
VI. 
 
 THE LIVING LUSTKES. 
 
 BY T. M. 
 
 'Jam te juvaverit 
 Viros relinquere, 
 Doctasque conjugis 
 Sinu quiescere." 
 
 Sir T. Moke. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHY should our dull retrospective addresses 
 Fall damp as wet blankets on Drury Lane fire ? 
 
 Away with blue devils, away with distresses, 
 And give the gay spirit to sparkling desire ! 
 
 II. 
 Let artists decide on the beauties of Drury, 
 
 The richest to me is when woman is there j 
 The question of houses I leave to the jury ; 
 
 The fairest to me is the house of the fair. 
 
 III. 
 When woman's soft smile all our senses bewilders, 
 
 And gilds, while it carves, her dear form on the heart, 
 What need has New Drury of carvers and gilders? 
 
 With Nature so bounteous, why call upon Art? 
 
 IV. 
 
 How well would our actors attend to their duties, 
 Our house save in oil, and our authors in wit. 
 
 In lieu of yon lamps, if a row of young beauties 
 
 Glanced light from their eyes between us and the pit I 
 
THE LIVIXa LUSTRES. 6l\3 
 
 Y. 
 
 The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowieclge 
 By woman were pluck" d, and she still Avears the prize, 
 
 To tempt us in theatre, senate, or college — 
 I mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There too is the lash wdiich, all statutes controlling, 
 Still governs the slaves that are made by the fair; 
 
 For man is the pupil, who, while her eye's rolling, 
 Is lifted to rapture, or sunk in despair. 
 
 vrr. 
 Bloom, Theatre, bloom, in the roseate blushes 
 
 Of beauty illumed by a love-breathing smile ! 
 And flourish, ye pillars,' as green as the rushes 
 
 That pillow the nymphs of the Emerald Isle ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean, 
 
 Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave. 
 
 Whose sons, unaccustomed to rebel commotion, 
 Tho' joyous, are sober — -tho' peaceful, are brave. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The shamrock their olive, sworn foe to a quarrel, 
 Protects from the thunder and liorhtnins; of rows : 
 
 Their sprig of shillelagh is nothing but laurel, 
 Which flourishes rapidly over their brows. 
 
 X. 
 
 ! soon shall they burst the tyrannical shackles 
 Which each panting bosom indignantly names, 
 
 Until not one goose at the capital cackles 
 
 Against the grand question of Catholic claims. 
 
320 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And then shall each Paddy, who once on the Liffy 
 Perchance held the helm of some mackerel-hoy, 
 
 Hold the helm of the state, and dispense in a jiffy 
 More fishes than ever he caught when a boy. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And those who now quit their hods, shovels, and barrows, 
 In crowds to the bar of some ale-house to flock. 
 
 When bred to our bar shall be Gibbses and Garrows, 
 Assume the silk gown, and discard the smock-frock. 
 
 xin. 
 For Erin surpasses the daugliters of Neptune, 
 
 As Dian outshines each encircling star ; 
 And the spheres of the heavens could never have kept tune 
 
 Till set to the music of Erin-so-bragh i 
 
VII. 
 THE REBUILDING. 
 
 " Per audaces nova dithjrrambos 
 
 Verba devolvit, numerisque fertur 
 Lege solutis." Hoeat. 
 
 [Spoken hy a Glendoveer.] 
 
 I AM a blessed Glendoveer •} 
 'Tis mine to speak, and yours to hear. 
 
 Midnight, yet not a nose 
 From Tower-hill to Piccadilly snored ! 
 
 Midnight, yet not a nose 
 From Indra drew the essence of repose ! 
 See with what crimson fury. 
 By Indra fann'd, the god of fire ascends the walls of 
 Drury ! 
 
 Tops of houses, blue with lead, 
 Bend beneath the landlord's tread. 
 Master and 'prentice, serving-man and lord, 
 Nailor and tailor, 
 Grazier and brazier, 
 Through streets and alleys pour'd — 
 All, all abroad to gaze, 
 And wonder at the blaze. 
 Thick calf, fat foot, and slim knee, 
 Mounted on roof and chimney,^ 
 The mighty roast, the mighty stew 
 
822 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 To see ; 
 
 As if the dismal view 
 
 Were but to them a Brentford juL'lee. 
 
 Vainly, all-radiant Surya, sire of Phaeton 
 
 (By Greeks call'd Apollo) 
 
 Hollow 
 
 Sounds from thy harp proceed; 
 
 Combustible as reed. 
 
 The tongue of Vulcan licks thy wooden legs: 
 
 From Drury's top, dissever'd from thy pegs, 
 
 Thou tumblest, 
 
 Humblest, 
 
 Where late thy bright elfulgence shone on high ; 
 
 While, by thy somerset^ excited, fly 
 
 Ten million 
 
 Billion 
 
 Sparks from the pit, to gem the sable sky. 
 
 Now come the men of fire to quench the fires : 
 
 To Russell Street see Globe and Atlas run, 
 
 Hope gallops first, and second Sun ; 
 
 On flying heel. 
 
 See Hand-in-Hand 
 
 O'er take the band ! 
 
 View with what glowing wheel 
 
 He nicks 
 
 Phoenix ! 
 
 While Albion scampers from Bridge Street, Black. 
 
 friars — 
 
 Drury Lane ! Drury Lane ! 
 
 Drury Lane ! Drury Lane ! 
 
 They shout and they bellow again and again. 
 
 All, all in vain ! 
 
THE REBUILDING. 323 
 
 Water turns steam ; 
 
 Each blazing beam 
 
 Hisses defiance to the eddying spout ; 
 
 It seems but too plain that nothing can put it out ! 
 
 Drury Lane ! Drury Lane 
 
 See, Drury Lane expires. 
 
 Pent in by smoke-dried beams, twelve moons or more, 
 
 Shorn of his ray, 
 
 Surya in durance lay : 
 
 The workmen heard him shout, 
 
 But thought it would not pay, 
 
 To dig him out. 
 
 When lo ! terrific Yamen, lord of hell, 
 
 Solemn as lead, 
 
 Judge of the dead. 
 
 Sworn foe to witticism, 
 
 By men call'd criticism. 
 
 Came passing by that way : 
 
 Rise ! cried the fiend, behold a sight of gladness ! 
 
 Behold the rival theatre I 
 
 I 've set 0. P. at her,* 
 
 Who, like a bull-dog bold. 
 
 Growls and fastens on his hold. 
 
 The many-headed rabble roar in madness ; 
 
 Thy rival staggers : come and spy her 
 Deep in the mud as thou art in the mire. 
 So saying, in his arms he caught the beaming one, 
 And crossing Russell Street, 
 He placed him on his feet 
 'Neath Co vent Garden dome. Sudden a sound, 
 As of the bricklayers of Babel, rose : 
 Horns, rattles, drums, tin trumpets, sheets of copper, 
 Punches and slaps, thwacks of all sorts and sizes, 
 
324 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 From the knobb'd bludgeon to the taper switch,^ 
 Ran echoing round the walls ; paper placards 
 Blotted the lamps, boots brown with mud the benches ; 
 A sea of heads roll'd roaring in the pit; 
 On paper wings 0. P.'s 
 Reclin'd in lettered ease ; 
 While shout and scoff, 
 Ya! ya! off! off! 
 Like thunderbolt on Surya's ear-drum fell, 
 And seemed to paint 
 The savage oddities of Saint . 
 Bartholomew in hell. 
 
 Tears dimm'd the god of light — 
 
 " Bear me back, Yamen, from this hideous sight; 
 
 Bear me back, Yamen, I grow sick, 
 
 Oh ! bury me again in brick ; 
 
 Shall I on New Drury tremble, 
 
 TobeO. R'dHkeKemble? 
 
 No, 
 
 Better remain by rubbish guarded, 
 
 Than thus hubbubish groan placarded ; 
 
 Bear me back, Yamen, bear me quick. 
 
 And bury me again in brick." 
 
 Obedient Yamen 
 
 Answered ''Amen," 
 
 And did 
 
 As he was bid. 
 
 There lay the buried god, and Time 
 
 Seemed to decree eternity of lime ; 
 
 But pity, like a dew-drop, gently prest 
 
 Almighty Veeshnoo's^ adamantine breast : 
 
THE REBUILDING. 325 
 
 He, the preserver, ardent still 
 
 To do whateer he says he will, 
 
 From South-hill wing'd his way, 
 
 To raise the drooping lord of day. 
 
 All earthly spells the busy one o'erpower'd; 
 
 He treats with men of all conditions. 
 Poets and players, tradesmen, and musicians ; 
 Nay, even ventures 
 To attack the renters. 
 Old and new : 
 A list he gets 
 Of claims and debts, 
 And deems nought done, while aught remains to do.- 
 
 Yamen beheld, and wither'd at the sight ; 
 Long had he aim'd the sunbeam to control, 
 For hght was hateful to his soul : 
 '^ Go on !" cried the hellish one, yellow with spite ; 
 *' Go on !" cried the hellish one, yellow with spleen, 
 "Thy toils of the morning, like Ithaca's queen, 
 I'll toil to undo every night." 
 
 Ye sons of song, rejoice ! 
 Veeshnoo has stilled the jarring elements. 
 The spheres hymn music ; 
 Again the god of day 
 Peeps forth with trembling ray, 
 Wakes, from their humid caves, the sleeping Nine, 
 And pours at intervals a strain divine. 
 "I have an iron yet in the fire," cried Yamen; 
 " The voUied flame rides in my breath. 
 My blast is elemental death ; 
 This hand shall tear your paper bonds to pieces ; 
 Ingress your deeds, assignments, leases, 
 
326 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Mj breath shall every line erase 
 Soon as I blow the blaze." 
 
 The lawyers are met at the Crown and Anchor, 
 And Yamen's visage grows blanker and blanker; 
 The lawyers are met at the Anchor and Crown, 
 And Yamen's cheek is a russety brown : 
 Veeshnoo, now thy work proceeds ; 
 The solicitor reads, 
 And, merit of merit ! 
 Red wax and green ferret 
 Are fixed at the foot of the deeds 1 
 
 Yamen beheld and shiver' d ; 
 His finger and thumb were cramp'd ; 
 His ear by the flea in 't was bitten, 
 When he saw by the hiAvyer's clerk written, 
 Sealed and delivered, 
 Being first duly stamped. 
 
 '' Now for my turn !" the demon cries, and blows 
 A blast of sulphur from his mouth and nose. 
 Ah ! bootless aim ! the critic fiend, 
 Sagacious Yamen, judge of hell, 
 Is judged in his turn ; 
 Parchment won't burn ! 
 His schemes of vengeance are dissolved in air. 
 Parchment won't tear ! ! 
 
 Is it not written in the Himakoot book, 
 (That mighty Baly from Kehama took) 
 " Who blows on pounce 
 Must the Swerga renounce?" 
 It is ! it is ! Yamen, thine hour is nigh ; 
 
THE REBUILDING. 327 
 
 Like as an eagle claws an asp, 
 Veeshnoo has caught him in his mighty grasp, 
 And hurl'd him, in spite of his shrieks and his squalls, 
 Whizzing aloft, like the Temple fountain, 
 Three times as high as Meru mountain. 
 
 Which is 
 Ninety-nine times as high as St. Paul's. 
 
 Descending, he twisted like Levy the Jew, 
 
 Who a durable grave meant 
 To dig in the pavement 
 
 Of Monument-yard : 
 To earth by the laws of attraction he flew, 
 
 And he fell, and he fell 
 
 To the regions of hell ; 
 Nine centuries bounced he from cavern to rock, 
 And his head, as he tumbled, went nickety-nock. 
 Like a pebble in Carisbrook well. 
 
 Now Yeeshnoo turn'd round to a capering varlet. 
 Array' d in blue and white and scarlet. 
 And cried, " Oh ! brown of slipper as of hat ! 
 Lend me, Harlequin, thy bat!" 
 He seized the wooden sword, and smote the earth ; 
 When lo ! upstarting into birth 
 A fabric, gorgeous to behold, 
 Outshone in elegance the old, 
 And Yeeshnoo saw, and cried, "Hail, playhouse mine !" 
 Then, bending his head, to Surya he said : 
 
 " Soon as thy maiden sister Di 
 Caps with her copper lid the dark blue sky, 
 And through the fissures of her clouded fan 
 Peeps at the naughty monster man, 
 
328 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Go mount jon edifice, 
 And show thy steady face 
 In renovated pride, 
 More bright, more glorious than before!" 
 But ah ! coy Surya still felt a twinge, 
 Still smarted from his former singe ; 
 And to Veeshnoo replied, 
 In a tone rather gruff, 
 " No, thank you ! one tumble 's enough!'* 
 
VIII. 
 DRURY'S DIRGE 
 
 BY LAURA MATILDA.* 
 
 *' Yon praise our sires : but though they wrote with force 
 Their rhymes were vicious, and their dictiou coarse ; 
 We want their strength, agreed ; but we atone 
 For that, and more, by sweetness all our own." — Giffobd. 
 
 I. 
 
 Balmy Zephyrs, lightly flitting, 
 Shade me with your azure wing; 
 
 On Parnassus' summit sitting:. 
 Aid me, Clio, while I sing, 
 
 IT. 
 
 Softly slept the dome of Drury 
 
 O'er the empyreal crest, 
 When Alecto's sister- fury 
 
 Softly slumb'ring sunk to rest. 
 
 III. 
 Lo ! from Lemnos limping lamely, 
 
 Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, 
 Cytherea yielding tamely 
 
 To the Cyclops dark and dire. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, 
 Dulcet joys and sports of youth. 
 
 Soon must yield to haughty sadness ; 
 Mercy holds tlie veil to Truth. 
 
330 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 V. 
 
 See E rostra t us the second 
 Fires again Diana's fane; 
 
 Bj the Fates from Orcus beckon' d, 
 Clouds envelope Drurj Lane. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lurid smoke and frank suspicion 
 Hand in hand reluctant dance : 
 
 While the God fulfils his mission, 
 Chivalry, resign thj lance. 
 
 VII. 
 Hark ! the engines blandly thunder, 
 
 Fleecy clouds dishevelled lie, 
 And the firemen, mute with wonder, 
 
 On the son of Saturn cry. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 See the bird of Ammon sailing, 
 Perches on the engine's peak. 
 
 And, the Eagle firemen hailing. 
 
 Soothes them with its bickering beak. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Juno saw, and mad with malice, 
 Lost the prize that Paris gave : 
 
 Jealousy's ensanguined chalice. 
 Mantling pours the orient wave. 
 
 X. 
 
 Pan beheld Patroclus dying, 
 
 Nox to Niobe was turn'd ; 
 From Busiris Bacchus flying, 
 
 Saw his Semcle inurn'd. 
 
druey's dirge. 331 
 
 XI. 
 Thus fell Drury"s lofty glory, 
 
 Leveird with the shuddering stones; 
 Mars, with tresses black and gory, 
 
 Drinks the dew of pearly groans. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Hark ! what soft Eolian numbers 
 
 Gem the blushes of the morn ! 
 Break, Amphion, break your slumbers, 
 
 Nature's ringlets deck the thorn. 
 
 XIII. 
 Ha ! I hear the strain erratic 
 
 Dimly glance from pole to pole ; 
 Raptures sweet and dreams ecstatic 
 
 Fire my everlasting soul. 
 
 XIV. 
 "Where is Cupid's crimson motion? 
 
 Billowy ecstasy of woe, 
 Bear me straight, meandering ocean, 
 
 Where the stagnant torrents flow. 
 
 XV. 
 Blood in every vein is gushing, 
 
 Vixen vengeance lulls my heart; 
 See, the Gorgon gang is rushing ! 
 
 Never, never let us part ! 
 
IX. 
 
 A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 
 
 Br w. s. 
 
 "Thus he went on, stringing one extravagance upon another, in the style his 
 hooks of chivalry had taught him, and imitating, as near as he could, their very 
 phrase." — Don Quixote.i 
 
 [To he sjpoken hy Mr. Kemhle^ in a suit of the Black Prince's 
 armour^ borrowed from the Tower. '\ 
 
 Survey this shield, all bossy bright — 
 
 These cuisses twain behold ! 
 
 Look on my form in armour dight 
 
 Of steel inlaid with gold ; 
 
 My knees are stiif in iron buckles, 
 
 Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. 
 
 These once belonged to sable prince. 
 
 Who never did in battle wince ; 
 
 With valour tart as pungent quince, 
 
 He slew the vaunting Gaul. 
 Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, 
 While from green curtain I advance 
 To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance,^ 
 And tell the town what sad mischance 
 
 Did Drury Lane befall. 
 
 On fair Augusta's towers and trees 
 Flitted the silent midnight breeze. 
 Curling the foliage as it past 
 Which from the moon-tipp'd plumage cast 
 
A TALE OF DRURY LAKE. ^^3 
 
 A spangled light, like dancing spray, 
 Then re-assumed its still array ; 
 When, as night's lamp unclouded hung, 
 And down its full effulgence flung, 
 It shed such soft and balmy power 
 That cot and castle, hall and bower, 
 
 And spire and dome, and turret height, 
 
 Appeared to slumber in the light. 
 
 From Henry's chapel, Rufus^ hall, 
 
 To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul ; 
 
 From Knightsbridge, Pancras. Camden Town, 
 
 To Redriffe, Shadwell, Horsleydown, 
 
 No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, 
 
 But all in deepest sleep reposed. 
 
 They might have thought, who gazed around 
 
 Amid a silence so profound, 
 
 It made the senses thrill, 
 That 'twas no place inhabited. 
 But some vast city of the dead- 
 All was so hushed and still. 
 
 m-)c Bttvuing. 
 As Chaos, which, by heavenly doom, 
 Had slept in everlasting gloom, 
 Started with terror and surprise 
 When light first flashed upon her eyes— 
 So London's sons in nightcap woke. 
 In bed-gown woke her dames ; 
 For shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke, 
 And twice ten hundred voices spoke— 
 
 " The playhouse is in flames !" 
 And, lo ! where Catherine Street extends, 
 A fiery tail its lustre lends 
 
 To every window-pane ; 
 
834 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Blushes each spout in Martlet Court, 
 And Barbican, motli-eaten fort, 
 And Covent garden kennels sport, 
 
 A bright ensanguined drain ; 
 Meux's new Brewhouse shows the liorht, 
 Rowland Hill's Chapel, and the height 
 
 Where Patent Shot thej sell ; 
 The Tennis Court, so fair and tall. 
 Partakes the ray, with Surgeons' Hall. 
 The Ticket-Porters' House of Call, 
 Old Bedlam, close bj London Wall,^ 
 Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal, 
 
 And Richardson's Hotel. 
 Nor these alone, but far and wide, 
 Across red Thames's gleaming tide. 
 To distant fields, the blaze was borne. 
 And daisy white and hoary thorn 
 In borrowed lustre seem"d to sbam 
 The rose or red sweet Wil-li-am. 
 To tliose who on the hills around 
 Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, 
 
 As from a lofty altar rise, 
 It seemd that nations did conspire 
 To offer to the God of fire 
 
 Some vast stupendous sacrifice! 
 The summon'd firemen woke at call, 
 And hied them to their stations all : 
 Starting from short and broken snooze, 
 Each sought his pond'rous hobnail'd shoes. 
 But first his worsted hosen plied, 
 Plush breeches next, in c rimson dyed, 
 
 His nether bulk embraced ; 
 Then jacket thick, of red or blue, 
 
A TALE OF DRURY LAXE. 
 
 Whose massy shoulder gave to view 
 The badge of each respective crew, 
 
 In tin or copper traced. 
 The engines thunder" d through the street. 
 Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, 
 And torches glared, and clattering feet 
 
 Along the pavement paced. 
 And one, the leader of the band, 
 From Charing Cross along the Strand, 
 Like stag hj beagles hunted hard. 
 Ran till he stopp"d at Vin'gar Yard.^ 
 The burnino; bado;e his shoulder bore, 
 The belt and oil-skin hat he wore. 
 The cane he had, his men to bang, 
 Show'd foreman of the British gang — - 
 His name was Higginbottom. Now 
 'Tis meet that I should tell you how 
 
 The others came in view : 
 The Hand-in-Hand-the race began, ^ 
 Then came the Phoenix and the Sun, 
 Th' Exchange, where old insurers run, 
 
 The Eagle, where the new : 
 With these came Rumford, Bumford, Cole, 
 Robins from Hockley in the Hole, 
 LaAVSon and Dawson, cheek by jowl. 
 
 Crump from St. Giles's Pound : 
 Whitford and Mitford joined the train, 
 Huggins and Muggins from Chick Lane, 
 And Clutterbuck, who got a sprain 
 
 Before the plug was found. 
 Hobson and Jobson did not sleep, 
 But ah ! no trophy could they reap, 
 For both were in the Donjon Keep 
 
 Of Bridcweirs gloomy mound ! 
 
336 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 E'en Higginbottom now was posed, 
 For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed ; 
 Without, within, in hideous show, 
 Devouring flames resistless glow, 
 And blazing rafters downward go, 
 And never halloo " Heads below !^' 
 
 Nor notice give at all. 
 The firemen terrified are slow 
 To bid the pumping torrent flow. 
 
 For fear the roof should fall. 
 Back, Robins, back! Crump, stand aloof! 
 Whitford, keep near the walls ! 
 Huggins, regard your own behoof, 
 For, lo ! the blazing rocking roof 
 Down, down, in thunder falls ! 
 An awful pause succeeds the stroke, 
 And o'er the ruins volumed smoke, 
 Rolling around its pitchy shroud. 
 Concealed them from th' astonish' d crowd. 
 At length the mist aAvhile was clear'd, 
 When, lo ! amid the wreck uprear'd, 
 Gradual a moving head appear' d, 
 
 And Eagle firemen knevr 
 'Twas Joseph Muggins, name revered, 
 
 The foreman of their crew. 
 Loud shouted all in signs of woe, 
 " A Muggins ! to the rescue, ho !" 
 
 And pour'd the hissing tide : 
 Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain, 
 And strove and struggled all in vain, 
 For, rallying but to fiill again, 
 
 He totter' d, sunk, and died ! 
 
 Did none attempt, before ho fell. 
 To succour oiio they loved su well? 
 
A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 33' 
 
 Yes, Higginbottom did aspire 
 (His fireman's soul was all on fire), 
 
 His brother chief to save ; 
 But ah ! his reckless generous ire 
 
 Served but to share his grave ! 
 'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, 
 Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke, 
 
 Where Muggins broke before. 
 But sulphrj stench and boiling drench 
 Destroying sight o'erwhelm'd him quite, 
 
 He sunk to rise no more. 
 Still o'er his head, while Eate he braved, 
 His whizzing water-pipe he waved; 
 '' Whitford and Mitford, plj jour pumps, 
 ^'You, Ciutterbuck, come, stir jour stumps, 
 ^' Whj are jou in such doleful dumps? 
 ^' A fireman, and afraid of bumps ! — 
 ''What are thej fear'd on? fools! 'od rot 'em !" 
 Were the last words of Higginbottom. 
 
 ^\)c ilcmmil. 
 Peace to his soul ! new prospects bloom, 
 And toil rebuilds what fires consume ! 
 Eat we and drink we, be our dittj, 
 '' Joj to the managing committee !" 
 Eat we and drink we, join to rum 
 Roast beef and pudding of the plum ; 
 Forth from thj nook, John Horner, come, 
 With bread of ginger brown thj thumb. 
 
 For this is Drurj's gaj daj ; 
 Roll, roll thj hoop, and twirl thj tops, 
 And buj, to glad thj smiling chops, 
 Crisp parliament with lolljpops, 
 
 And fingers of the Ladj, 
 15 
 
838 REJECTED ADDRESSES, 
 
 Didst mark, how toird the busj train, 
 From morn to eve, till Drurj Lane 
 Leap'd like a roebuck from the plain ? 
 Ropes rose and sunk, and rose again, 
 
 And nimble workmen trod ; 
 To realise bold Wyatt's plan 
 Rush'd many a howling Irishman ; 
 Loud clatter* d many a porter-can, 
 And many a ragamuffin clan 
 
 With trowel and with hod. 
 
 Drury revives ! her rounded pate 
 Is blue, is heavenly blue with slate; 
 She "wings the midway air" elate, 
 
 As magpie, crow, or chough ; 
 White paint her modish visage smears, 
 Yellow and pointed are her ears, 
 No pendant portico appears 
 Dangling beneath, for Whitbread's shears'^ 
 
 Have cut the bauble oif 
 
 Yes, she exalts her stately head ; 
 
 And, but that solid bulk outspread, 
 
 Opposed you on your onward tread, 
 
 And posts and pillars warranted 
 
 That all was true that Wyatt said, 
 
 You might have deem'd her walls so thick 
 
 Were not composed of stone or brick, 
 
 But all a phantom, all a trick, 
 
 Of brain disturb' d and fancy sick. 
 
 So high she soars, so vast, so quick 1 
 
X. 
 
 JOHNSON'S GHOST. 
 
 [ Ghost of Dr. Johnson rises from trap-door P. S., and Ghost of 
 BoswELL from trap-door 0. P. The latter hows respectfully to 
 the House^ and obsequiously to the Dodofs Ghost^ and retires.'] 
 
 Doctor's Ghost loquitur. 
 
 That which was organised bj the moral ability of one 
 has been executed bj the physical efforts of many, and 
 Drury Lane Theatre is now complete. Of that 
 part behind the curtain, which has not yet been destined 
 to glow beneath the brush of the varnisher, or viprate to 
 the hammer of the carpenter, little is thought by the 
 public, and little need be said by the committee. Truth, 
 however, is not to be sacrificed for the accommodation 
 of either ; and he who should pronounce that our edifice 
 has received its final embellishment would be dissemin- 
 ating falsehood without incurring favour, and risking 
 the disgrace of detection Avithout participating the 
 advantage of success. 
 
 Professions lavishly effused and parsimoniously veri- 
 fied are alike inconsistent with the precepts of innate 
 rectitude and the practice of external policy : let it not 
 then be conjectured, that because w^e are unassuming, 
 we are imbecile ; that forbearance is any indication of 
 despondency, or humility of demerit. He that is the 
 most assured of success will make the fewest appeals to 
 favour, and where nothing is claimed that is undue. 
 
840 KEJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 nothing that is due will be withheld. A swelling open- 
 ing is too often succeeded by an insignificant conclusion. 
 Parturient mountains have ere now produced muscipular 
 abortions ; and the auditor who compares incipient gran- 
 deur with final vulgarity is reminded of the pious hawkers 
 of Constantinople, who solemnly perambulate her streets, 
 exclaiming, " In the name of the Prophet — figs !" 
 
 Of many who think themselves wise, and of some who 
 are thought wise by others, the exertions are directed to 
 the revival of mouldering and obscure dramas ; to en- 
 deavours to exalt that which is now rare only because it 
 was always worthless, and whose deterioration, while it 
 condemned it to living obscurity, by a strange obliquity 
 of moral perception constitutes its title to posthumous 
 renown. To embody the flying colours of folly, to 
 arrest evanescence, to give to bubbles the globular con- 
 sistency as well as form, to exhibit on the stage the pie- 
 bald denizen of the stable, and the half-reasoning parent 
 of combs, to display the brisk locomotion of Columbine, 
 or the tortuous attitudinising of Punch ; — these are the 
 occupations of others, whose ambition, limited to the 
 applause of unintellectual fatuity, is too innocuous for 
 the application of satire, and too humble for the incite- 
 ment of jealousy. 
 
 Our refectory will be found to contain every species 
 of fruit, from the cooling nectarine and luscious peach 
 to the puny pippin and the noxious nut. There In- 
 dolence may repose, and Inebriety revel ; and the spruce 
 apprentice, rushing in at second account, may there 
 chatter with impunity ; debarred, by a barrier of brick 
 and mortar, from marring that scenic interest in others, 
 which nature and education have disqualified him from 
 comprehending himself 
 
 Permanent stage-doors wo have none. That which is 
 
JOHNSON'S GHOST. 341 
 
 permanent cannot be removed, for, if removed, it soon 
 ceases to be permanent. What stationary absurdity can 
 vie with the ligneous barricado, which, decorated with 
 frappant and tintinnabulant appendages, now serves as 
 the entrance of the lowly cottage, and now as the exit 
 of a lady's bedchamber ; at one time, insinuating plastic 
 Harlequin into a butcher's shop, and, at another, yawn- 
 ing as a flood-gate, to precipitate the Cyprians of St. 
 Giles's into the embraces of Macheath. To elude this 
 glaring; absurdity, to give each respective mansion the 
 door which the carpenter would doubtless have given, 
 we vary our portal with the varying scene, passing from 
 deal to mahogany, and from mahogany to oak, as the 
 opposite claims of cottage, palace, or castle, may appear 
 to require. 
 
 Amid the general hum of gratulation which flatters 
 us in front, it is fit that some regard should be paid to 
 the murmurs of despondence that assail us in the rear. 
 They, as I have elsewhere expressed it, "who live to 
 please," should not have their own pleasures entirely 
 overlooAcd. The children of Thespis are general in 
 their censures of the architect, in having placed the 
 locality of exit at such a distance from the oily irradia- 
 tors which now dazzle the eyes of him who addresses 
 you. I am, cries the Queen of Terrors, robbed of my 
 fair proportions. When the king-killing Thane hints to 
 the breathless auditory the murders he means to per- 
 petrate, in the castle of Macduflf, " ere his purpose cool ;" 
 so vast is the interval he has to travel before he can 
 escape from the stage, that his purpose has even time to 
 freeze. Your condition, cries the Muse of Smiles, is 
 hard, but it is cygnet's down in comparison with mine. 
 The peerless peer of capers and congees' has laid it 
 down as a rule, that the best good thing uttered by the 
 
342 HEJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 morning visitor should conduct him rapidly to the door- 
 way, last impressions vying in durability with first. 
 But when, on this boarded elongation, it falls to my lot 
 to say a good thing, to ejaculate, "keep moving," or 
 to chant, " hie hoc horum (jenitivo^''^ many are the 
 moments that must elapse, ere I can hide myself from 
 public vision in the recesses of 0. P. or P. S. 
 
 To objections like these, captiously urged and queru- 
 lously maintained, it is time that equity should conclu- 
 sively reply. Deviation from scenic propriety has only 
 to vituperate itself for the consequences it generates. 
 Let the actor consider the line of exit as that line beyond 
 which he should not soar in quest of spurious applause : 
 let him reflect, that in proportion as he advances to the 
 lamps, he recedes from nature ; that the truncheon of 
 Hotspur acquires no additional charm from encountering 
 the cheek of beauty in the stage-box, and that the bra- 
 vura of Mandane may produce effect, although the 
 throat of her who warbles it should not overhang the 
 orchestra. The Jove of the modern critical Olympus, 
 Lord Mayor of the theatric sky," has, ex cathedra, 
 asserted, that a natural actor looks upon the audience 
 part of the theatre as the third side of the chamber he 
 inhabits. Surely, of the third wall thus fancifully 
 erected, our actors should, by ridicule or reason, be 
 withheld from knockino- their heads ao;ainst the stucco. 
 
 Time forcibly reminds me, that all things which have 
 a limit must be brought to a conclusion. Let me, ere 
 that conclusion arrives, recall to your recollection, that 
 the pillars which rise on either side of me, blooming in 
 virid antiquity, like two massy evergreens, had yet 
 slumbered in their native quarry, but for the ardent 
 exertions of the individual who called them into life : to 
 bis never-slumbering talents you are indebted for what- 
 
JOHNSOX'S GHOST. 843 
 
 ever pleasure this haunt of the Pluses is calculated to 
 afford. If, in defiance of chaotic malevolence, the 
 destroyer of the temple of Diana jet survives in the 
 name of Erostratus, surelj Ave may confidently predict, 
 that the rebuilder of the temple of Apollo will stand 
 recorded to distant posterity in that of - Samuel Wuit- 
 
 BREAD. 
 
XI. 
 THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 
 
 BY THE HON. AY. S. 
 
 Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida sylvas. — Viegii^ 
 
 Scene draws, and discovers a Lady asleep on a couch. 
 
 Enter Philandek. 
 
 PHILANDER 
 I. 
 
 Sobriety, cease to be sober,* 
 
 Cease Labour, to dig and to delve ; 
 All hail to this tenth of October, 
 
 One thousiind eight hundred and twelve I ^ 
 Ha ! whom do my peepers remark? 
 
 'Tis Hebe with Jupiter's jug ; 
 no, 'tis the pride of the Park, 
 
 Fair Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
 II. 
 "Why, beautiful nymph, do you close 
 
 The curtain that fringes your eye ? 
 Why veil in the clouds of repose 
 
 The sun that should brighten our sky ! 
 Perhaps jealous Venus has oiled 
 
 Your hair with some opiate drug, 
 Not choosing her charms should be foiled 
 
 By Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 345 
 
 III. 
 
 But ah ! why awaken the blaze 
 
 Those bright-burnmg glasses contain, 
 Whose lens with concentrated rajs 
 
 Proved fatal to old Drury Lane? 
 'Twas all accidental, they cry — 
 
 Away with the flimsy humbug ! 
 'Twas fired by a flash from the eye 
 
 Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
 IV. 
 Thy glance can in us raise a flame, 
 
 Then why should old Drury be free ? 
 Our doom and its doom are the same, 
 
 Both subject to beauty's decree. 
 No candles the w^orkmen consumed, 
 
 When deep in the ruins they dug ; 
 Thy flash still their progress illumed, 
 
 Sweet Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thy face a rich fire-place displays : 
 
 The mantel-piece marble — thy brows; 
 Thine eyes are the bright beaming blaze; 
 
 Thy bib, which no trespass allows. 
 The fender's tall barrier marks ; 
 
 Thy tippet's the fire-quelling rug, 
 Which serves to extinguish the sparks 
 
 Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Countess a lily appears, 
 
 Whose tresses the pearl-drops emboss ; 
 The Marchioness, blooming in years, 
 
 A rose-bud enveloped in moss; 
 15* 
 
346 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 But thou art the sweet passion-flower, 
 For who would not slavery hug, 
 
 To pass but one exquisite hour, 
 In the arms of Elizabeth Muo-o;? 
 
 VII. 
 
 When at court, or some Dowager's rout, 
 
 Her diamond aigrette meets our view, 
 She looks like a glow-worm dressed out, 
 
 Or tulips bespangled with dew. 
 Her two lips denied to man's suit. 
 
 Are shared with her favourite Puoj ; 
 What lord would not change with the brute, 
 
 To live with Elizabeth Muo-o- ? 
 
 VIII. 
 Could the stage be a large vis-a-vis. 
 
 Reserved for the polished and great. 
 Where each happy lover might see 
 
 The nymph he adores tete-a-tete ; 
 No longer I 'd gaze on the ground, 
 
 And the load of despondency lug, 
 Eor I 'd book myself all the year round, 
 
 To ride with the sweet Lady Mugg. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yes, she in herself is a host, 
 
 And if she were here all alone, 
 Our house might nocturnally boast 
 
 A bumper of fashion and ton. 
 Again should it burst in a blaze, 
 
 In vain would they ply Congreve's plug,^ 
 Eor nought could extinguish the rays 
 
 From the glance of divine Lady Mugg. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 347 
 
 X. 
 could I as Harlequin frisk, 
 
 And thou be my Columbine fair, 
 My wand should with one magic whisk 
 
 Transport us to Hanover Square : 
 St. George's should lend us its shrine. 
 
 The parson his shoulders might shrug, 
 But a license should force him to join 
 
 My hand in the hand of my Mugg. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Court-plaster the weapons should tip, 
 
 By Cupid shot down from above, 
 Which, cut into spots for thy lip. 
 
 Should still barb the arrows of love. 
 The God who from others flies quick, 
 
 With us should be slow as a slug ; 
 As close as a leech he should stick 
 
 To me and Elizabeth Mugg. 
 
 X. 
 
 For time would, with us, 'stead of sand, 
 
 Put filings of steel in his glass. 
 To dry up the blots of his hand. 
 
 And spangle life's page as they pass. 
 Since all flesh is grass ere 'tis hay,* 
 
 may I in clover live snug. 
 And when old Time mows me away. 
 
 Be stacked with defunct Lady Mugg ! 
 
XII. 
 FIRE AND ALE. 
 
 BY M. G. L. 
 
 Omnia transformat sese in miracnla reriim. — ^Vikgiu 
 
 My palate is parched with Pierian thirst, 
 
 Away to Parnassus I'm beckoned ; 
 List, warriors and dames, while my lay is rehearsed, 
 I sing of the singe of Miss Drury the first. 
 
 And the birth of Miss Drury the second. 
 
 The Fire King, one day, rather amorous felt ; 
 
 He mounted his hot copper filly ; 
 His breeches and boots were of tin, and the belt 
 Was made of cast iron, for fear it should melt 
 
 With the heat of the copper colt's belly. 
 
 Sure never was skin half so scalding as his ! 
 
 When an infant 'twas equally horrid ; 
 For the water, when he was baptized, gave a fizz, 
 And bubbled and simmer' d and started off, whizz ! 
 
 As soon as it sprinkled its forehead, 
 
 ! then there was glitter and fire in each eye, 
 
 For two living coals were the symbols ; 
 His teeth were calcined, and his tongue was so dry, 
 It rattled against them, as though you should try 
 To play the piano in thimbles. 
 
FIRE AND ALE. 349 
 
 From his nostrils a lava sulphureous flows, 
 
 Which scorches wherever it lingers ; 
 A snivelling fellow he's call'd bj his foes, 
 For he can't ra'se his paw up to blow his red nose, 
 
 For fear it should blister his fingers. 
 
 His wio; is of flames curlino; over his head, 
 
 Well powder' d wdtli white smoking ashes ; 
 He drinks gunpowder tea, melted sugar of lead. 
 Cream of tartar, and dines on hot spice gingerbread, 
 W^hich black from the oven he gnashes. 
 
 Each fire-nymph his kiss from her countenance shields, 
 
 'T would soon set her cheek bone a frying; 
 He spit in the Tenter-Ground near Spital-fields, 
 And the hole that it burnt, and the chalk that it yields, 
 Make a capital lime-kiln for drying. 
 
 When he open'd his mouth, out there issued a blast, 
 
 (Nota bene, I do not mean swearing.) 
 But the noise that it made, and the heat that it cast, 
 I 've heard it from those who have seen it, surpass'cl 
 A shot manufactory flaring. 
 
 He blazed, and he blazed, as he gallop'd to snatch 
 
 His bride, little dreaming of danger ; 
 His whip was a torch, and his spur was a match, 
 And over the horse's left eye was a patch. 
 To keep it from burning the manger. 
 
 And who is the housemaid he means to enthral 
 
 In his cinder-producing alliance ? 
 'Tis Drury-Lane Playhouse, so wide, and so tall, 
 Who, like other combustible ladies, must fall. 
 
 If she cannot set sparks at defiance. 
 
350 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 On his warming-pan kneepan he clattering roll'd, 
 
 And the housemaid his hand would have taken, 
 But his hand, like his passion, was too i ot to hold, 
 And she soon let it go, but lier new ring of gold 
 All melted, like butter or bacon ! 
 
 Oh ! then she look'd sour, and indeed well she might, 
 
 For Yinegar Yard was before her; 
 But, spite of her shrieks, the ignipotent knight. 
 Enrobing the maid in a flame of gas light. 
 
 To the skies in a sky-rocket bore her. 
 
 Look ! look ! 'tis the Ale King, so stately and starch, 
 
 Whose votaries scorn to be sober ; 
 He pops from his vat, like a cedar or larch ; 
 Brown-stout is his doublet, he hops in his march, 
 
 And froths at the mouth in October. 
 
 His spear is a spigot, his shield is a bung ; 
 
 He taps where the housemaid no more is, 
 When lo ! at his magical bidding, upsprung 
 A second Miss Drurj, tall, tidy and young, 
 
 And sported i?i loco sororis. 
 
 Back, lurid in air, for a second regale. 
 
 The Cinder King, hot with desire, 
 iTo Bridges Street hied ; but the Monarch of Ale, 
 With uplifted spigot and faucet, and pail, 
 
 Thus chided the Monarch of Fire : 
 
 " Yile tyrant, beware of the ferment I brew; 
 
 I rule the roast here, dash the wig o' me ! 
 If, spite of your marriage with Old Drury, you 
 Come here with your tinderbox, courting the New, 
 
 I '11 have you indicted for bigamy !" 
 
XIII. 
 PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. 
 
 BY S. T. C. 
 
 lUe velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim 
 
 Credebat libris ; neque si male cesserat, usquam 
 
 Decurreas alio, neque si bene. Hok, 
 
 My pensive Public, wherefore look you sad? 
 I had a grandmother, she kept a donkey 
 To carry to the mart her crockery ware, 
 And when that donkey look'd me in the face, 
 His face was sad ! and you are sad, my Public ! 
 
 Joy should be yours : this tenth day of October 
 Again assembles us in Drury Lane- 
 Long wept my eye to see the timber planks 
 That hid our ruins ; many a day I cried, 
 Ah me ! I fear they never will rebuild it ! 
 Till on one eve, one joyful Monday eve, 
 As along Charles Street I prepared to walk, 
 Just at the corner, by the pastrycook's, 
 I heard a trowel tick against a brick. 
 I look'd me up, and straight a parapet 
 Uprose at least seven inches o'er the pranks. 
 Joy to thee, Drury ! to myself I s^id: 
 'He of Backfriiirs' Road, v/ho hyraned thy downfall 
 In loud Hosannahs, and who prophesied 
 That flames, like those from prostrate Solyma, 
 
352 KEJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Would scorch the hand that ventured to rebuild thee, 
 Has proved a lying prophet. From that hour, 
 As leisure offer' d, close to Mr. Spring's 
 Box-office door, I've stood and eyed the builders. 
 They had a plan to render less their labours ; 
 Workmen in olden times would mount a ladder 
 With hodded heads, but these stretched forth a pole 
 From the wall's pinnacle, they placed a pulley 
 Athwart the pole, a rope athwart the pulley ; 
 To this a basket dangled ; mortar and bricks 
 Thus freighted, swung securely to the top, 
 And in the empty basket workmen twain 
 Precipitate, unhurt, accosted earth. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a goodly sound, to hear the people 
 Who watch'd the work, express their various thoughts ! 
 While some believed it never would be finish'd. 
 Some, on the contrary, believed it ayouH. 
 
 I've heard our front that faces Drury Lane 
 Much criticised ; they say 'tis vulgar brick- work, 
 A mimic manufactory of floor-cloth. 
 One of the morning papers wish'd that front 
 Cemented like the front in Brydges Street ; 
 As now it looks, they call it Wyatt's Mermaid, 
 A handsome woman with a fish's tail. 
 
 White is the steeple of St. Bride's in Fleet Street : 
 The Albion (as its name denotes) is white ; 
 Morgan and Saunders' shop for chairs and tables 
 Gleams like a snow-ball in the setting sun ; 
 White is Whitehall. But not St. Bride's in Fleet 
 Street, 
 
PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. ^5^ 
 
 The spotless Albion, Morgan, no, nor Saunders, 
 Nor white Whitehall, is white as Drurj's face. 
 
 ^Oh, Mr. Whitbreacl ! fie upon you, sir ! 
 I think you should have built a colonnade ; 
 When tender Beauty, looking for her coach. 
 Protrudes her gloveless hand, perceives the shower 
 And draws the tippet closer round her throat, 
 Perchance her coach stands half a dozen off, 
 And, ere she mounts the step, the oozing mud 
 Soaks through her pale kid slipper. On the morrow, 
 She coughs at breakfast, and her gruff papa 
 Cries, "There you go! this comes of play houses I" 
 To build no portico is penny wise : 
 Heaven grant it prove not in the end pound foolish 1 
 
 Hail to thee, Drury ! Queen of Theatres ! 
 What is the Regency in Tottenham Street, 
 The Royal Amphitheatre of Arts, 
 Astley's, Olympic, or the Sans Pareil, 
 Compared with thee ? Yet when I view thee push'd 
 Back from the narrow street that christened thee, 
 I know not why they call thee Drury Lane. 
 
 Amid the freaks that modern fashion sanctions, 
 It grieves me much to see live animals 
 Brought on the stage. Grimaldi has his rabbit, 
 Laurent his cat, and Bradbury his pig ; 
 Fie on such tricks ! Johnson, the machinist 
 Of former Drury, imitated life 
 Quite to the life. The Elephant in Blue Beard, 
 Stuff d by his hand, wound round his lithe proboscis, 
 As spruce as he who roar'd in Padmanaba.^^ 
 Nought born on earth should die. On hackney stands 
 
 e 
 
354 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 I reverence the coachman who cries " Gee," 
 And spares the lash. When I behold a spider 
 Prey on a fly, a magpie on a worm, 
 Or view a butcher with horn-handled knife 
 Slaughter a tender lamb as dead as mutton, 
 Indeed, indeed, I'm very, very sick ! 
 
 [Exit hastily. 
 
xrv. 
 DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 
 
 BY A PIC-NIC POET. 
 
 This is the very age of promise : To promise is most courtly and fashionable. 
 Performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his 
 judgment that makes it. — Tjlmon of Athens. 
 
 [To he sung hy Mr. Johnstone in the character of Lookey 
 
 M'TWOLTER.] 
 
 I. 
 Mr. Jack, your address, says the Prompter to me, 
 So I gave him my card — no, that a'nt it, says he ; 
 'Tis your public address. Oh ! says I, never fear, 
 If address you are bother' d for, only look here. 
 
 iPiits on hat affectedly. 
 
 Tol de rol lol, &c. 
 II. 
 "With Drury's for sartin we '11 never have done. 
 We 've built up another, and yet there's but one; 
 The old one was best, yet I 'd say, if I durst, 
 The new one is better— the last is the first. 
 
 Tol de roi, &c. 
 III. 
 These pillars are call'd by a Frenchified word, 
 A something that's jumbled of antique and verd; 
 The boxes may show us some verdant antiques, 
 Some old harridans who beplaster their cheeks. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
356 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Only look how high Tragedy, Comedy, stick, 
 Lest their rivals, the horses, should give them a kick ! 
 If you will not descend when our authors beseech ye, 
 You '11 stop there for life, for I'm sure they can 't 
 reach ye. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
 V. 
 
 Each one shilling god Avithin the reach o^ a nod is, 
 And plain are the charms of each gallery goddess — 
 You, Brandy-faced Moll, don't be looking askew. 
 When I talked of a goddess I didn't mean you. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Our stage is so prettily fashion 'd for viewing. 
 The whole house can see what the whole house is doing : 
 'Tis just like the Hustings, we kick up a bother ; 
 But saying is one thing, and doing's another. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We 've many new houses, and some of them rum ones. 
 But the newest of all is the new House of Commons; 
 'Tis a rickety sort of a bantling, I 'm told. 
 It Avill die of old age when it 's seven years old. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As I don't know on whom the election will fall, 
 I move in return for returning them all ; 
 But for fear Mr. Speaker my meaning should miss. 
 The house that I wish 'em to sit in is this. 
 
 Tol de rol, &c. 
 
DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 857 
 
 IX. 
 Let us cheer our great Commoner, but for whose aid 
 "VVe all should have gone with short commons to bed ; 
 And since he has saved all the fat from the fire, 
 I move that the house be call'd Whitbread's Entire.' 
 
 Tol de rol, &;c. 
 
XV. 
 ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY DR. 13. 
 
 Lege, Dick, Lege !— Joseph ANnKEwa 
 
 To be recited by the Translatoi'\s Son. 
 
 Away, fond dupes ! who, smit with sacred lore, 
 Mosaic dreams in Genesis explore, 
 Boat with Copernicus, or darkling stray 
 With Newton, Ptomley, or Tjcho Brahe ! 
 To you I sing not, for I sing of truth, 
 Primeval systems, and creation's youth ; 
 Such as of old, with magic wisdom fraught, 
 Inspired Lucretius to the Latians tau^dit 
 
 I sing how casual bricks, in airy climb, 
 Encounter'd casual cow-hair, casual lime ; 
 How rafters, borne through wondering clouds elate, 
 Kiss'd in their slope blue elemental slate. 
 Clasp' d solid beams in chance-directed fury, 
 A.nd gave to birth our renovated Drury. 
 
 Thee, son of Jove ! whose sceptre was confess'd, 
 Where fair iEolia springs from Tethys' breast; 
 Thence on Olympus, 'mid celestials placed, 
 God of the Winds, and Ether's boundless waste— 
 Thee I invoke ! Oh pn^ my bold design, [line; 
 
 Prompt the bright thought, and swell th' harmonious 
 
ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 859 
 
 Uphold mj pinions, and mj verse inspire 
 With Winsor"s ^ patent gas, or wind of fire. 
 In whose pure blaze thy embryo form enroll' d, 
 The dark enlightens, and enchafes the cold. 
 
 But, while I court thy gifts, be mine to shun 
 The deprecated prize Ulysses won ; 
 Who, sailing homeward from the breezy shore, 
 The prisoned winds in skins of parchment bore. 
 Speeds the fleet bark till o'er the billows green 
 The azure heights of Ithaca are seen ; 
 But while with fiivouring gales her way she wins, 
 His curious comrades ope tlie mystic skins ; 
 W^hen, lo ! the rescued winds, with boisterous sweep, 
 Boar to the clouds and lash the rocking deep ; 
 Heaves the smote vessel in the howling blast. 
 Splits the stretch'd sail, and cracks the tottering mast. 
 Launched on a plank, the buoyant hero rides. 
 Where ebon Afric stems the sable tides, 
 While his duck'd comrades o'er the ocean fly, 
 And sleep not in the whole skins they untie. 
 
 So, wdien to raise the wind some lawyer tries, 
 Mysterious skins of parchment meet our eyes ; 
 On speeds the smiling suit — " Pleas of our Lord 
 The Kino;" shine sable on the w^ide record ; 
 Nods the prunella'd bar, attorneys smile. 
 And syren jurors flatter to beguile ; 
 Till stript — nonsuited — he is doomed to toss 
 In legal shipwreck and redeemless loss ! 
 Lucky, if, like Ulysses, he can keep. 
 His head alcove the waters of the deep. 
 
 iEolian monarch ! Emperor of Pufls ! 
 We modern sailors dread not thy rebufis ; 
 
360 HEJECTED ADDRESSED. 
 
 See to til/ golden shore promiscuous come 
 
 Quacks for the lame, the blind, the deaf, the dumb; 
 
 Fools are their bankers — a prolific line, 
 
 And every mortal malady ' s a mine. 
 
 Each sly Sangrado, with his poisonous pill, 
 
 riies to the printer's devil with his bill, 
 
 Whose Midas touch can gild his ass's ears. 
 
 And load a knave with folly's rich arrears. 
 
 And lo ! a second miracle is thine, 
 
 Por sloe-juice water stands transformed to wine. 
 
 Where Day and Martin's patent blacking roll'd, 
 
 Burst from the vase Pactolian streams of gold ; 
 
 Laugh the sly wizards, glorying in their stealth, 
 
 Quit the black art, and loll in lazy wealth. 
 
 See Britain's Algerines, the lottery fry, 
 
 Win annual tribute by the annual lie ! 
 
 Aided by thee — but whither do I stray ? — 
 
 Court, city, borough, own thy sovereign sway ; 
 
 An age of puffs an age of gold succeeds, 
 
 And windy bubbles are the spawn it breeds. 
 
 If such thy power, hear the Muse's prayer ! 
 Swell thy loud lungs and wave thy wings of air ; 
 Spread, viewless giant, all thy arms of mist 
 Like windmill-sails to bring the poet grist ; 
 As erst thy roaring son, with eddying gale, 
 Whirl'd Orithyia from her native vale — 
 So, while Lucretian wonders I rehearse, 
 Augusta's sons shall patronise my verse. 
 
 I sing of Atoms, whose creative brain, 
 With eddying impulse, built new Drury Lane • ' 
 Not to the labours of subservient man, 
 To no young Wyatt appertains the plan — 
 
ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 361 
 
 We mortals stalk, like horses in a mill, 
 Impassive media of atomic will ; 
 Ye stare ! then Truth's broad talisman discern — 
 'Tis demonstration sp3aks — attend, and learn! 
 
 From floating elements in Chaos hurl'd, 
 Self-form"d of atoms, sprang the infant world : 
 No great First Cause inspired the happy plot, 
 But all was matter — and no matter what. 
 Atoms, attracted bj some law occult. 
 Settling in spheres, the globe was the result; 
 Pure child of Chance^ which still directs the ball, 
 As rotatory atoms rise or fall. 
 In ether launch' d, the peopled bubble floats, 
 A mass of particles and confluent motes, 
 So nicely poised, that if one atom flings 
 Its weight away, aloft the planet springs. 
 And wings its course through reabus of boundless space, 
 Outstripping comets in eccentric race. 
 Add but one atom more, it sinks outright 
 Down to the realms of Tartarus and night. 
 What waters melt or scorching fires consume. 
 In difierent forms their being re-assume : 
 Hence can no change arise, except in name. 
 For weiij;ht and substance ever are the same. 
 
 Thus with the flames that from old Drury rise 
 Its elements primeval sought the skies ; 
 There pendulous to wait the happy hour 
 When new attractions should restore their power : 
 So, in this procreant theatre elate, 
 Echoes unborn their future life await ; 
 Here embryo sounds in ether lie conceal'd, 
 Like words in northern atmosphere congeal'd. 
 
8G2 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Here many a foetus laugh aud balf encore 
 
 Clings to the roof, or creeps along the floor ; 
 
 By puifs concipient some in etber flit, 
 
 And soar in bravos from the thundering pit; 
 
 Some forth on ticket-nights' from tradesmen break, 
 
 To mar tlie actor they design to make ; 
 
 Wbile some this mortal life abortive miss, 
 
 Crusird by a gi'oan, or strangled by a hiss. 
 
 So, when " Dog's-meat" re-echoes through the streets, 
 
 Rush sympathetic dogs from their retreats, 
 
 Beam with bright blaze their supplicating eyes, 
 
 Sink their hind-legs, ascend their joyful cries ; 
 
 Each, wild with hope, and maddening to prevail, 
 
 Points the pleased ear, and wags the expectant tail. 
 
 Ye Mien bricks ! in Drury's fire calcined. 
 Since doom'd to slumber, couch'd upon the wind. 
 Sweet was the hour, when, tempted by your freaks. 
 Congenial trowels smoothed your yellow cheeks. 
 Float dulcet serenades upon the ear. 
 Bends every atom from its ruddy sphere. 
 Twinkles each eye, and, peeping from its veil, 
 Marks in the adverse crowd its destined male. 
 The oblong beauties clap their hands of grit, 
 And brick-dust titterings on the breezes flit ; 
 Then down they rush in amatory race. 
 Their dusty bridegrooms eager to embrace. 
 Some choose old lovers, some decide for new, 
 But each, when fix d, is to her station true. 
 Thus various bricks are made, as tastes invite — 
 The red, the gray, the dingy, or the white. 
 
 Perhaps some half-baked rover, frank and free, 
 To alien beauty bends the lawless knee, 
 
ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 363 
 
 But of uiiliallow'd fascinations sick, 
 
 Soon quits his Cjprian for his married brick ; 
 The Dido atom calls and scolds in vain, 
 No crisp ^-Eneas soothes the widow's pain. 
 
 So in Cheapside, what time Aurora peeps, 
 A mingled noise of dustmen, milk, and sweeps, 
 Falls on the housemaid's ear : amazed she stands. 
 Then opes the door w^ith cinder-sabled hands. 
 And "Matches" calls. The dustman, bubbled flat, 
 Thinks "tis for him, and doffs his fan-tail'd hat ; 
 The milkman, whom her second cries assail. 
 With sudden sink unyokes the clinking pail ; 
 Now louder grown, by turns she screams and weeps- 
 Alas ! her screaming only brings the sweeps. 
 Sweeps but put out — she wants to raise a flame, 
 And calls for matches, but 'tis all the same. 
 Atoms and housemaids ! mark the moral true — 
 If once ye go astray, no match for you ! 
 
 As atoms in one mass united mix, 
 So bricks attraction feel for kindred bricks ; 
 Some in the cellar view, perchance, on high. 
 Fair chimney chums on beds of mortar lie ; 
 Enamour" d of the sympathetic clod, 
 Jjeaps the red bridegroom to the labourer's hod : 
 And up the ladder bears the workman, taught 
 To think he bears the bricks — mistaken thouo;ht ! 
 A proof behold : if near the top they find 
 The nymphs or broken-corner'd or unkind, 
 Back to the base, " resulting with a bound, "^ 
 They bear their bleeding carriers to the ground ! 
 
 So legends tell along the lofty hill 
 Paced the twin heroes, gallant Jack and Jill ; 
 
864 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 On trudged tlie Gemini to reach the rail 
 
 That siiieids the well's top from the expectant pail, 
 
 When, ah! Jack falls; and, rolling in the rear, 
 
 Jill feels the attraction of his kindred sphere ; 
 
 Head over heels begins his toppling tra«k, 
 
 Throws sympathetic somersets with Jack, 
 
 And at the mountain's base bobs plump against him, whack! 
 
 Ye living atoms, Avho unconscious sit, 
 Jumbled by chance in gallery, box, and pit. 
 For jou no Peter opes the fabled door, 
 No cliurlish Charon plies the shadowy oar ; 
 Breathe but a space, and Boreas' casual sweep 
 Shall bear your scattered corses o'er the deep. 
 To gorge the greedy elements, and mix 
 With water, marl, and clay, and stones, and sticks ; 
 While, charged with fancied souls, sticks, stones, and clay, 
 Shall take your seats, and hiss or clap the play. 
 
 happy age ! wdien convert Christians read 
 No sacred writings but the Pagan creed — 
 happy age ! when, spurning Newton's dreams, 
 Our poets' sons recite Lucretian themes, 
 Abjure the idle systems of their youth. 
 And turn again to atoms and to truth ; — 
 O happier still ! when England's dauntless dames, 
 Awed by no chaste alarms, no latent shames, 
 The bard's fourth book unblushingly peruse, 
 And learn the rampant lessons of the stews ! 
 
 All hail, Lucretius ! renovated sage ! 
 Unfold the modest mystics of thy page ; 
 Eeturn no more to thy sepulchral shelf, 
 But live, kind bard — that I may live myself. 
 
XVI. 
 THEATRICAL ALARM-BELL. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR OF THE M. P. 
 
 "Bounce, Jupiter, bounce!" — O'Haea. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 As it is now the universally- admitted, and indeed prettj- 
 generallj-suspected, aim of Mr. Whitbread and the 
 infamous, bloodthirsty, and, in fact, illiberal faction to 
 which he belongs^ to burn to the ground this free and 
 happy Protestant city, and establish himself in St. 
 James's Palace, his fellow committeemen have thouajht 
 it their duty to watch the principles of a theatre built 
 under his auspices. The information they have re- 
 ceived from an undoubted authority — -particulai'ly from 
 an old fruit- woman who had turned kino;'s evidence, 
 and whose name, for obvious reasons, we forbear to 
 mention, though we have had it some weeks in our 
 possession — has induced them to introduce various re- 
 forms—not such reforms as the vile factions clamour for, 
 meaning thereby revolution, but such reforms as are neces- 
 sary to preserve the glorious constitution of the only free, 
 happy, and prosperous country now left upon the face of 
 the earth. From the valuable and authentic source above 
 alluded to, we have learnt that a sanguinary plot has been 
 formed by some united Irishmen, combined with a gang 
 of Luddites, and a special committee sent over by the 
 Pope at the instigation of the beastly Corsican fiend, for 
 
366 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 destroying all the loyal part of the audience on the an- 
 niversary of that deeply- to-be-abhorred- and-highly-to- 
 be-blamed stratagem, the Gunpowder Plot, which falls 
 this year on Thursday the fifth of November. The 
 whole is under the direction of a delegated committee 
 of 0. P's whose treasonable exploits at Co vent Garden 
 you all recollect, and all of whom would have been hung 
 from the chandeliers at that time, but for the mistaken 
 lenity of government. At a given signal, a well-known 
 0. P. was to cry out from the gallery, " Nosey ! Music !" 
 wdiereupon all the 0. P.'s were to produce from their 
 inside pockets a long pair of shears, edged with felt, to 
 prevent their making any noise, manufactured expressly 
 by a wTctch at Birmingham, one of Mr. Brougham's 
 evidences, and now in custody. With these they were 
 to cut off the heads of all the loyal N. P.'s in the house, 
 w^ithout distinction of sex or ao;e. At the simal, simi- 
 larly given, of "Throw him over!" which it now" ap- 
 pears always alluded to the overthrow of our never- 
 sufficiently-enough - to-be-deeply-and-universally-to - be- 
 venerated constitution, all the heads of the N. P.'s were 
 to be thrown at the fiddler, to prevent their appearing 
 in evidence, or perhaps as a false and illiberal insinua- 
 tion that they have no heads of their own. All that 
 we know of the further designs of these incendiaries is, 
 that they are by-a-great-deal-too-much-too-horrible-to- 
 be-mentioned. 
 
 The manager has acted with his-usual promptitude on 
 this trying occasion. He has contracted for 300 tons 
 of gunpowder, which are at this moment placed in a 
 small barrel under the pit ; and a descendant of Guy 
 Faux, assisted by Col. Congreve, has undertaken to 
 blow up the house, w^hen necessary, in so novel and in- 
 genious a manner, that every 0. P. shall be annihilated, 
 
THEATRICAL ALARM-BELL. 367 
 
 while not a whisker of the N. P.'s shall be singed. 
 This strikingly displays the advantages of loyalty and 
 attachment to government. Several other hints have 
 been taken from the theatrical regulations of the not-a- 
 bit-the-less-on-that- account-to-be-uni versally- execrated 
 monster Bonaparte. A park of artillery, provided with 
 chain-shot, is to be stationed on the stage, and play upon 
 the audience, in case of any indication of misplaced ap- 
 plause or popular discontent (which accounts for the 
 large space between the curtain and the lamps) ; and 
 the public will participate our satisfaction in learning 
 that the indecorous custom of standing up with the hat 
 on is to be abolished, as the Bow-street officers are pro- 
 vided with dao;o;ers, and have orders to stab all such 
 persons to the heart, and send their bodies to Surgeons' 
 Hall. Gentlemen wdio cough are only to be slightly 
 wounded. Fruit-women bawling "Bill of the Play!" 
 are to be forthwith shot, for Avhich purpose soldiers will 
 be stationed in the slips, and ball-cartridge is to be 
 served out with the lemonade. If any of the spectators 
 happen to sneeze or spit, they are to be transported for 
 life ; and any person who is so tall as to prevent another 
 seeing, is to be dragged out and sent on board the tender, 
 or, by an instrument to be taken out of the pocket of 
 Procrustes, to be forthwith cut shorter, either at the 
 head or foot, according as his own convenience may 
 dictate. 
 
 Thus, ladies and gentlemen, have the committee, 
 through my medium, set forth the no t-in-a-hurry -to-be- 
 paralleled plan they have adopted for preserving order 
 and decorum within the walls of their magnificent edi- 
 fice. Nor have they, while attentive to their own con- 
 cerns, by any means overlooked those of the cities of 
 London and Westminster. Finding 
 
368 REJECTED ADDRESSES, 
 
 that they have with a with-two-hancls-and-one-tongue- 
 to-be-applauded hberahtj contracted for more gunpow- 
 der than they want, they have parted with the surplus 
 to the mattock-carrying and hustings-hammering high- 
 bailiff of Westminster, who has, with his own shovel, 
 dug a large hole in the front of the parish-church of 
 St. Paul, Covent Garden, that, upon the least symptom 
 of ill-breeding in the mob at the general election, the 
 whole of the market may be blown into the air. This, 
 ladies and gentlemen, may at first make provisions rise^ 
 but we pledge the credit of our theatre that they will 
 soon fall again, and people be supplied, as usual, with 
 vegetables, in the in-general-sti^e wed-with-cabbage-stal ks- 
 but-on-Saturday-night-lighted-up-with-lamps market of 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 I should expatiate more largely on the other advan- 
 tages of the glorious constitution of these by-the-whole- 
 of-Europe-envied realms, but I am called away to take 
 an account of the ladies, and other artificial flowers of a 
 fashionable rout, of which a full and particular account 
 will hereafter appear. For the present, my fashionable 
 intelligence is scanty, on account of the opening of 
 Drury Lane ; and the ladies and gentlemen who honour 
 me will not be surprised to find nothing under my usual 
 head ! I 
 
XVII. 
 THE THEATRE. 
 
 BY THE REV. G. C. 
 
 • Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetae, 
 Nee minimum meruere decns, vestigia Graeca 
 Ausi deserere, et celebrare domestica facta." Hon. 
 
 A PREFACE OF APOLOGIES.' 
 
 If the following poem should be fortunate enough to be 
 selected for the opening address, a few 'words of expla- 
 ation may be deemed necessary, on my part, to avert 
 invidious misrepresentation. The animadversion I have 
 thought it right to make on the noise created by tuning 
 the orchestra, will, I hope, give no lasting remorse to 
 any of the gentlemen employed in the band. It is to be 
 desired that they would keep their instruments ready 
 tuned, and strike off at once. This would be an accom- 
 modation to many well-meaning persons who frequent 
 the theatre, who, not being blest with the ear of St. 
 Cecilia, mistake the tuning for the overture, and think 
 the latter concluded before it is begun. 
 
 " one fiddle will 
 
 Give, half ashamed, a tiny flourish still," 
 
 was originally written "one hautboy "will;" but, having 
 providentially been informed, when this poem was on the 
 point of being sent off, that there is but one hautboy in 
 the band, I averted the storm of popular and managerial 
 indignation from the head of its blower : as it now stands, 
 
 16* 
 
370 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 '•one fiddle" among many, the faulty individual, will, I 
 hope, escape detection. The story of the flying play- 
 bill is calculated to expose a practice much too common, 
 of pinning play-bills to the cushions insecurely, and 
 frequently, I fear, not pinning them at all. If these 
 lines save one play-bill only from the fate I have 
 recorded, I shall not deem my labour ill employed. 
 The concluding episode of Patrick Jennings glances at 
 the boorish foshion of wearing the hat in the one-shilling 
 gallery. Had Jennings thrust his between his feet at 
 the commencement of the play, he might have leaned 
 forward Avith impunity, and the catastrophe I relate 
 would not have occurred. The line of handkerchiefs 
 formed to enable him to recover his loss, is purposely so 
 crossed in texture and materials as to mislead the reader 
 in respect to the real owner of any one of them. For, 
 in the statistical view of life and manners which I oc- 
 casionally present, my clerical profession has taught me 
 how extremely improper it would be, by any allusion, 
 however slight, to give any uneasiness, however trivial, 
 to any individual, however foolish or wicked. 
 
 G. C. 
 
THE THEATRE. 
 
 Interior of a Theatre described.— Pit gradually fills.— The Check-taker.— Pit 
 full. — The Orchestra tuned. — One fiddle rather dilatory. — Is reproved — and 
 repents. — Evolutions of a Play-bill.— Its final Settlement on the Spikes.— The 
 Gods taken to task — and why. — Motley Group of Play-goers. — Holywell 
 Street, St. Pancras.— Emanuel Jennings binds his Son apprentice — not in 
 London — and why. — Episode of the Hat. 
 
 'Tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, 
 Our long vrax-candles, with short cotton wicks, 
 Touched by the lamplighter's Promethean art, 
 Start into light, and make the lighter start ; 
 To see red Phoebus through the gallery-pane 
 Tinge with his beam the beams of Drury Lane ; 
 While gradual parties fill our widen'd pit, 
 And gape, and gaze, and wonder^ ere they sit. 
 
 At first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, 
 Distant or near, they settle where they please ; 
 But when the multitude contracts the span. 
 And seats are rare, they settle where they can. 
 
 Now the full benches to late-comers doom 
 No room for standing, miscall'd standing room. 
 
 Hark ! the check-taker moody silence breaks, 
 And bawling " Pit full !" gives the check he takes; 
 Yet onward still the gathering numbers cram, 
 Contending croAvders shout the frequent damn, 
 And all is bustle, sc[uecze, row, jabbering, and jam. 
 
872 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 See to their desks Apollo's sons repair — 
 Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair ! 
 In unison their various tones to tune, 
 Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon ; 
 In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, 
 Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, 
 Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, 
 Winds the French-horn, and twangs the tingling harp ; 
 Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in, 
 Attunes to order the chaotic din. 
 Now all seems hush'd — but, no, one fiddle will 
 Give, half-ashamed, a tiny flourish still. 
 Toil'd in his crash, the leader of the clan 
 Reproves with frowns the dilatory man : 
 Then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow, 
 Nods a new signal, and away they go. 
 
 Perchance, while pit and gallery cry, "Hats ofi"!" 
 And awed Consumption checks his chided cough, 
 Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love 
 Drops, reft of pin, her play-bill from above : 
 Like Icarus, while laughing giilleries clap, 
 Soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap; 
 But, wiser fir than he, combustion fears. 
 And, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers ; 
 Till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl. 
 It settles, curling, on a fiddler's curl; 
 Who from his powder'd pate the intruder strikes, 
 And, from mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. 
 
 Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues ? 
 Who's that calls " Silence I" with such leathern lungs? 
 He who, in quest of quiet, " Silence !" hoots. 
 Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes. 
 
THE THEATRE. ^To 
 
 What various swains our motley walls contain ! — 
 Fashion from Moorfields, honour from Chick Lane; 
 Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort, 
 Bankrupts from Golden Square and Riches Court ; 
 From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain, 
 Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water Lane ; 
 The lottery-cormorant, the auction- shark. 
 The full-price master, and the half-price clerk ; 
 Boys who long linger at the gallery-door, 
 With pence twice five — they want but twopence more; 
 Till some Samaritan the twopence spares, 
 And sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs. 
 
 Critics we boast who ne'er their malice balk. 
 But talk their minds — we Avish they 'd mind their talk ; 
 Big-worded bullies, wdio by quarrels live — 
 Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give ; 
 Jews from St. Mary Axe,^ for jobs so wary, 
 That for old clothes they 'd even axe St. Mary ; 
 And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, 
 Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait ; 
 Who oft, when Ave our house lock up, carouse 
 With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. 
 
 Yet here, as elsewhere. Chance can joy bestow, 
 For scowling Fortune seem'd to threaten woe. 
 
 John Richard William Alexander Dwyer 
 Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire; 
 But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, 
 Emanuel Jennings polish'd Stubbs's shoes. 
 Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy 
 Up as a corn-cutter — a safe employ ; 
 In Holy- well Street, St. Pancras, he was bred 
 
374 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 (At number twenty-seven, it is said), 
 Facing the pump, and near the Granbj's Head : 
 He would have bound him to some shop in town, 
 But with a premium he could not come down. 
 Pat was tbe urchin's name — a red-hair'd youth, 
 Fonder of purl and skittle grounds than truth. 
 
 Silence, ye gods ! to keep your tongues in awe, 
 The Muse shall tell an accident she saw. 
 
 Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, 
 But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat : 
 Down from the gallery the beaver flew. 
 And spurn'd the one to settle in the two. 
 How shall he act ? Pay at the gallery-door 
 Tw^o shillings for what cost, when new, but four ? 
 Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, 
 And gain his hat again at half-past eight ? 
 Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, 
 John Mullens whispers, "Take my handkerchief." 
 " Thank you," cries Pat ; " but one won't make a line." 
 ''Take mine," cried Wilson ; and cried Stokes, -'Take 
 
 mine." 
 A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, 
 Where Spitalfields with real India vies. 
 Like Iris' bow, down darts the painted clue, 
 Starr'd, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, 
 Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. 
 George Green beloAV, with palpitating hand, 
 Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band — 
 Upsoars the prize ! The youth with joy unfeign'd, 
 Regain'd the felt, and felt what he regain"d ; 
 While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat 
 Made a low bow, and touch'd the ransom'd hat. 
 
XVIII. XIX. XX. 
 
 TO THE MANAGING COMMITTEE OF THE NEW 
 DRURYLANE THEATRE. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Happening to be wool-gathering at the foot of 
 Mount Parnassus, I was suddenly seized with a violent 
 travestie in the head. The first symptoms I felt were 
 several triple rhymes floating about my brain, accompa- 
 nied by a singing in my throaty which quickly commu- 
 nicated itself to the ears of every body about me, and 
 made me a burthen to my friends and a torment to Dr. 
 Apollo; three of whose favourite servants — that is to 
 say, Macbeth, his butcher ; Mrs. Haller, his cook ; and 
 George Barnwell, his book-keeper — I waylaid in one of 
 my fits of insanity, and mauled after a very frightful 
 fashion. In this woeful crisis, I accidentally heard of 
 your invaluable New Patent Hissing Pit, which cures 
 every disorder incident to Grub Street. I send you 
 inclosed a more detailed specimen of my case : if you 
 could mould it into the shape of an address, to be said 
 or sung on the first night of your performance, I have 
 no doubt that I should feel the immediate effects of your 
 invaluable New Patent Hissing Pit, of which they tell 
 me one hiss is a dose. 
 
 I am, &c., 
 
 MoMUS Medlar. 
 
CASE No. I. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 lEnter Macuetii in a red niglitcax). Vxq-e, folloioing xciili a torch.1 
 
 Go, bo J, and thy good mistress tell 
 
 (She knows that mj purpose is cruel), 
 I 'd thank her to tingle her bell 
 
 As soon as she 's heated my gruel. 
 Go, get thee to bed and repose — 
 
 To sit up so late is a scandal ; 
 But ere jou have ta'en off your clothes, 
 
 Be sure that you put out that candle. 
 Ri fol de rol tol de rol lol. 
 
 My stars, in the air here 's a knife ! — 
 
 I 'm sure it can not be a hum ; 
 I '11 catch at the handle, add's life ! 
 
 And then I shall not cut my thumb. 
 I 've got him ! — no, at him again ! 
 
 Come, come, I 'm not fond of these jokes; 
 This must be some blade of the brain — 
 
 Those witches are given to hoax. 
 
 I 've one in my pocket, I know. 
 
 My w^ife left on purpose behind her; 
 
 She bought tliis of Teddy-high-ho, 
 The poor Caledonian grinder. 
 
MACBETH. 377 
 
 I see thee again ! o'er thy middle 
 
 Large drops of red blood now are spill'd, 
 
 Just as much as to say, diddle diddle, 
 Good Duncan, pray come and be kill'd. 
 
 It leads to his chamber, I swear ; 
 
 I tremble and quake every joint — 
 No dog at the scent of a hare 
 
 Ever yet made a cleverer point. 
 Ah, no ! 'twas a dagger of straw — 
 
 Give me blinkers, to save me from starting; 
 The knife that I thought that I saw 
 
 Was nought but my eye, Betty Martin. 
 
 Now o'er this terrestrial hive 
 
 A life paralytic is spread ; 
 For Avhile the one half is alive, 
 
 The other is sleepy and dead. 
 King Duncan, in grand majesty, 
 
 Has got my state-bed for a snooze ; 
 I 've lent him my slippers, so I 
 
 May certainly stand in his shoes. 
 
 Blow softly, ye murmuring gales ! 
 
 Ye, feet, rouse no echo in walking ! 
 For though a dead man tells no tales, 
 
 Dead walls are much given to talking, 
 This knife shall be in at the death — 
 
 I '11 stick him, then oiF safely get ! 
 Cries the Avorld, this could not be Macbeth, 
 
 For he 'd ne'er stick at any thing yet. 
 
 Hark, hark! 'tis the signal, by goles ! 
 It sounds like a funeral knell ; 
 
378 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 0, Iiear it not, Duncan ! it tolls 
 To call thee to heaven or hell. 
 
 Or if you to heaven won't fly, 
 But rather prefer Pluto's ether. 
 
 Only wait a few years till I die, 
 And we '11 go to the devil together. 
 Ri fol de rolj &c. 
 
CASE No. II. 
 
 THE STRANGER.^ 
 
 Who has e'er been at Drury must needs know the 
 
 Stranger, 
 A wailing old Methodist, gloomy and wan, 
 A husband suspicious — his Avife acted Ranger, 
 She took to her heels, and left poor Hjpocon. 
 Her martial gallant swore that truth was a libel, 
 That marriage was thraklom, elopement no sin ; 
 Quoth she, I remember the words of my Bible — 
 My spouse is a Stranger, and I '11 take him in. 
 With my sentimentalibus lachrymae roar'em. 
 And pathos and bathos delightful to see; 
 And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, 
 And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee. 
 
 To keep up her dignity no longer rich enough. 
 Where was her plate ? — why, 'twas laid on the shelf; 
 Her land fuller's earth, and her great riches kitchen- 
 stuff- 
 Dressing the dinner instead of herself 
 No longer permitted in diamonds to sparkle. 
 Now plain Mrs. Haller, of servants the dread. 
 With a heart full of grief, and a pan full of charcoal, 
 She lighted the company up to their bed. 
 
 Incensed at her flight, her poor Hubby in dudgeon 
 Roam'd after h>s rib in a gig and a pout, 
 
380 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Till, tired with his journey the peevish curmudgeon 
 Sat down and blubber' d just hke a-church-spout. 
 One day on a bench as dejected and sad he laid, 
 Hearing a squash, he cried. Damn it, what's that? 
 'Twas a child of the count s, m whose service lived 
 
 Adelaide, 
 Soused in the river, and squall' d like a cat. 
 
 Having drawn his young excellence up to the bank, it 
 Appear' d that himself was all dripping, I swear ; 
 No wonder he soon became dry as a blanket, 
 Exposed as he was to the count's son and heir^ 
 Dear sir, quoth the count, in reward of your valour, 
 To shew that my gratitude is not mere talk. 
 You sliall eat a beefsteak with my cook, Mrs. Haller, 
 Cut from the rump Avith her own knife and fork. 
 
 Behold, now the count gave the Stranger a dinner, 
 With gunpowder-tea, which you know brings a ball. 
 And, thin as he was, that he might not grow thinner, 
 He made of the Stranger no stranger at all. 
 At dinner fiiir Adelaide brought up a chicken — 
 A bird that she never had met with before ; 
 But, seeing him, scream' d, and was carried off kicking, 
 And he bang'd his nob 'gainst the opposite door. 
 
 To finish my tale without roundaboutation. 
 Young master and missee besieged their papa ; 
 They sung a quartetto in grand blubberation — 
 The Stranger cried Oh ! Mrs. Haller cried Ah ! 
 Though pathos and sentiment largely are dealt in, 
 I have no good moral to give in exchange ; 
 
STRANGER TRAVESTIE. 381 
 
 For though she, as a cook, might be given to melting, 
 The Stranger's behaviour was certainly strange, 
 With this sentimentalibus lachrymoB roar 'em, 
 And pathos and bathos delightful to see, 
 And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, 
 And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee. 
 
CASE, No. III. 
 
 GEORGE BARNWELL. 
 
 George Barnwell stood at the shop-door, 
 A customer hoping to find, sir ; 
 His apron was hanging before, 
 But the tail of his coat was behind, sir. 
 A ladj, so painted and smart, 
 Cried, Sir, I've exhausted mj stock o' late ; 
 I've got nothing left but a groat — 
 Could you give me four penn'orth of chocolate ? 
 Bum ti, &c. 
 
 Her face was rouged up to the eyes, 
 Which made her look prouder and prouder ; 
 His hair stood on end with surprise, 
 And hers with pomatum and powder. 
 The business was soon understood ; 
 The lady, who wish'd to be more rich, 
 Cries, Sw^et sir, my name is Milwood, 
 And I lodge at the Gunner's in Shoreditch. 
 Bum ti, &c. 
 
 Now nightly he stole out, good lack ! 
 And into her lodging would pop, sir ; 
 And often forgot to come back. 
 Leaving master to shut up the shop, sir. 
 
GEORGE BARNWELL TRAVE3TIE. 883 
 
 Her beauty his wits did bereave— 
 Determined to be quite the crack 0, 
 He lounged at the Adam and Eve, 
 And caird for his gin and tobacco, 
 Kum ti. <fcc. 
 
 And now — for the truth must be told, 
 
 Though none of a 'prentice should speak ill — 
 
 He stole from the till all the gold, 
 
 And ate the lump-sugar and treacle. 
 
 In vain did his master exclaim, 
 
 Dear George, do n't engage with that dragon ; 
 
 She '11 lead you to sorrow and shame, 
 
 And leave you the devil a rag on 
 
 Your rum ti, &c. 
 
 In vain he entreats and implores 
 The weak and incurable ninny. 
 So kicks him at last out of doors. 
 And Georgy soon spends his last guinea. 
 His uncle, whose generous purse 
 Had often relieved him, as I know. 
 Now finding him grow worse and worse, 
 Refused to come down with the rhino. 
 Rum ti, (fee. 
 
 Cried Milwood, whose cruel heart's core 
 Was so flinty that nothing could shock it, 
 If ye mean to come here any more. 
 Pray come Avith some cash in your pocket: 
 Make Nunky surrender his dibs. 
 Rub his pate with a pair of lead towels. 
 Or stick a knife into his ribs — 
 I '11 warrant he '11 then shew some bowels. 
 Ruiu ti, &c. 
 
384 REJECTED ADDRESSEr,. 
 
 A pistol he got from his love — 
 "Twas loaded with powder and bullet ; 
 He trudged oiF to Camberwell Grove, 
 But wanted the courage to pull it. 
 There 's Nunky as fat as a hog, 
 While I am as lean as a lizard ; 
 Here 's at you, you stingy old dog ! — 
 And he whips a long knife in his gizard. 
 Rum ti, &c. 
 
 All of you who attend to my song, 
 A terrible end of the farce shall see, 
 If you join in the inquisitive throng 
 That follow'd poor George to Marshalsea. 
 If Mil wood were here, dash my wigs, 
 Quoth he, I would pummel and lam her well,* 
 Had I stuck to my prunes and figs, 
 I ne'er had stuck Nunky at Camberwell. 
 Rum ti, &c. 
 
 Their bodies were never cut down ; 
 For granny relates with amazement, 
 A witch bore 'em over the town. 
 And hung them on Thorowgood's casement. 
 The neighbours, I've heard the folks say, 
 The miracle noisily brag on ; 
 And the shop is, to this very day. 
 The sign of the George and the Dragon. 
 Rum ti, &c. 
 
XXI 
 PUNCH'S APOTHEOSIS. 
 
 BY T. H. 
 
 ■ Rhymes the rudders are of verses, 
 With which, like ships, they steer their courses." 
 
 HUDIliEAS. 
 
 Scene draius, and discovers Punch On a throne, surrounded h'y 
 Lear, Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, Othello, George Barn- 
 well, Hamlet, Ghost, Macheath, Juliet, Friar, Apothe- 
 cary, Romeo, and Falstaff.— Punch descends and addmsses 
 them in the following 
 
 UECITATIVE. 
 
 As manager of horses Mr. Merr jman is, 
 
 So I with jou ani master of the ceremonies — 
 
 These grand rejoicings. Let me see, how name ye 'em ?— 
 
 Oh, in Greek lingo 'tis E-pi-thalamium. 
 
 October's tenth it is : toss up each hat to-day, 
 
 And celebrate with shouts our opening Saturday ! 
 
 On this great night, 'tis settled by our manager. 
 
 That we, to please great Johnny Bull, should plan a 
 
 jeer, 
 Dance a bang-up theatrical cotillion. 
 And put on tuneful Pegasus a pillion ; 
 That every soul, whether or not a cough he has, 
 May kick like Harlequin, and sing like Orpheus. 
 So come, ye pupils of Sir John Gallini,^ 
 Spin up a teetotum like Angiolini ;"- 
 
 17 
 
38G REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 That John and Mrs. Bull, from ale and tea-houses, 
 May shout huzza for Punch's Apotheosis ! 
 
 Tliey dance and sing. 
 Air — " Sure such a aayT Tom Thumb. 
 
 LEAR. 
 
 Dance, Regan ! dance, with Cordelia and Goneril — 
 
 Down the middle, up again, poussette, and cross ; 
 
 Stop, Cordelia ! do not tread upon her heel, 
 
 Regan feeds on coltsfoot, and kicks like a horse. 
 
 See, she twists her mutton fists like Moljneux or Beel- 
 zebub, 
 
 And t' other 's clack, who pats her back, is louder far 
 than hell's hubbub. 
 
 They tweak my nose and round it goes— I fear they'll 
 break the ridge of it, 
 
 Or leave it all just like Yauxhall, with only half the 
 bridge of it.^ 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holyday, 
 Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 LADY MACBETH. 
 
 / kill'd the king ; my husband is a heavy dunce ; 
 
 He left the grooms unmassacred, then massacred the 
 
 stud. 
 One loves long gloves ; for mittens, like king's evidence, 
 Let truth with the fingers out, and won't hide blood. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 When spoonys on two knees implore the aid of sorcery, 
 To suit their wicked purposes they quickly put the laws 
 awry; 
 
punch's apotheosis. 387 
 
 ■With Adam I in wife may vie, for none could tell the 
 
 use of her, 
 Except to cheapen golden pippins hawk'd about by 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holyday, 
 Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Wife, come to life, forgive what your black lover did, 
 Spit the feathers from your mouth, and munch roast 
 
 beef; 
 lago he may go and be toss'd in the coverlet 
 That smother' d you, because you pawn'd my handker- 
 chief. 
 
 GEORGE BARNWELL. 
 
 Why, neger, so eager about your rib immaculate ? 
 Milwood shews for hanging us they 've got an ugly 
 
 knack o' late ; 
 If on beauty 'stead of duty but one peeper bent he sees, 
 Satan waits with Dolly baits to hook in us apprentices. 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holyday, 
 Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza I huzza ! 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 I'm Hamlet in camlet, my ap and peri-helia 
 
 The moon can fix, which lunatics makes sharp or flat. 
 
 I stuck by ill luck, enamoured of Ophelia, 
 
 Old Polony, like a sausage, and exclaim' d, "Rat, rat!" 
 
388 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 GHOST. 
 
 Let Gertrude sup the poison' d cup — no more I'll be an 
 
 actor in 
 Such sorry food, but drink home-brew' d of Whitbread's 
 
 manufacturing. 
 
 MACHEATH. 
 
 I'll Polly it, and folly it, and dance it quite the dandy ; 
 But as for tunes, I have but one, and that is Drops of 
 Brandy 0. 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holyday. 
 Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 JULIET. 
 
 I'm Juliet Capulet, who took a dose of hellebore — 
 A hell-of-a-bore I found it to put on a pall. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 And I am the friar, who so corpulent a belly bore. 
 
 APOTHECARY. 
 
 And that is why poor skinny I have none at all. 
 
 ROMEO. 
 
 I'm the resurrection-man, of buried bodies amorous. 
 
 FALSTAFF. 
 
 I'm fagg'd to death, and out of breath, and am for quiet 
 clamorous ; 
 
punch's apotheosis. 389 
 
 For though mj paunch is round and stanch, I ne'er 
 begin to feel it ere I 
 
 Feel that I have no stomach left for entertainment mili- 
 tary. 
 
 OMNES. 
 
 Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
 Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 [Exeunt dancing. 
 
NOTES 
 
 THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 I.— LOYAL EFFUSION. 
 
 BY W. T. F. [WILLIAM THOMAS FITZGERALD.] 
 [Mr. Fitzgerald died 9th July, 1829, aged 70.] 
 
 " The first piece, under the name of the loyal Mr. Fitzgerald, 
 though as good we suppose as the original, is not very interest- 
 ing. Whether it be very like Mr. Fitzgerald or not, however, it 
 must be allowed that the vulgarity, servility, and gross absurdity 
 of the newspaper scribblers is well rendered." — Jeffrey, Edin- 
 burgh Review. 
 
 William Thomas Fitzgerald. The annotator's first personal 
 knowledge of this gentleman was at Harry Greville's Pic-Nic 
 Theatre, in Tottenham-street, where he personated Zanga in a 
 wig too small for his head. The second time of seeing him was 
 at the table of old Lord Dudley, who familiarly called him Fitz, 
 but forgot to name him in his will. The Viscount's son (recently 
 deceased), however, liberally supplied the omission by a donation 
 of five thousand pounds. The third and last time of encounter- 
 ing him was at an anniversary dinner of the Literary Fund, at 
 the Freemasons' Tavern. Both parties, as two of the stewards, 
 met their brethren in a small room about half an hour before 
 dinner. The lampooner, out of delicacy, kept aloof from the 
 poet. The latter, however, made up to liim, when the following 
 dialogue took place : 
 
 Fitzgerald (with good humor). " Mr. , I mean to recite 
 
 after dinner." 
 
 Mr. — . '' Do you ?" 
 
 Fitzgerald. " Yes : you '11 have more of ' God bless the Re- 
 gent and the Duke of York !' " 
 
 The whole of this imitation, after a lapse of twenty years, ap- 
 17* 
 
394 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 pears to the Authors too personal and sarcastic ; but they may 
 shelter themselves under a very broad mantle : 
 
 " Let hoarse Fitzgerald bawl 
 His creaking couplets in a tavern-hall." — Byron. 
 
 Fitzgerald actually sent in an address to the committee on the 
 31st of August, 1812. It vv^as published among the other Genuine 
 Rejected Addresses, in one volume, in that year. The following is 
 an extract : — 
 
 " The troubled shade of Garrick, hovering near, 
 Dropt on the burning pile a pitying tear." 
 
 What a pity that, Uke Sterne's recording angel, it did not suc- 
 ceed in blotting the fire out forever! That failing, why not 
 adopt GuUiver's remedy ? 
 
 1. [Mr. B. Wyatt, architect of Drury Lane Theatre, son of 
 James Wyatt, architect of the Pantheon.] 
 
 2. In plain English, the Halfpenny-hatch, then a footway 
 through fields ; but now. as the same bards sing elsewhere — 
 
 "St. George's Fields are fields no more. 
 The trowel supersedes the plough ; 
 Swamps, huge and inundate of yore. 
 Are changed to civic villas now." 
 
 3. [Covent Garden Theatre was burnt down 20th September, 
 1808 ; Drury Lane Theatre 24th February, 1809.] 
 
 4. [The east end of St. James's Palace was destroyed by fire, 
 21st January, 1809. The wardrobe of Lady Charlotte Finch 
 (alluded to in the next line) was burnt in the fire.] 
 
 5. [The Honourable William Wellesley Pole, now (1852) Earl 
 of Mornington, married, 14th March, 1812, Catherine, daughter 
 and heir of Sir James Tylney Long, Bart. ; upon which occasion 
 he assumed the additional names of Tylney and Long.] 
 
 IL— THE BABY'S DEBUT. 
 
 BY W. W. [WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.] 
 [Mr. Wordsworth died 23d April, 1850, in his eighty-second year.] 
 " The Author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any 
 of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry ; but has suc- 
 ceeded perfectly in the imitation of liis mawkish affectations of 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 395 
 
 childish simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will 
 make him ashamed of his Alice Fell, and the greater part of his 
 last volumes — of which it is by no means a parody, but a very 
 fair, and indeed we think a flattering, imitation.'' — Jeffrey, 
 JEdirthurgh Review. 
 
 1. Jack and Nancy, as it was afterwards remarked to the Au- 
 thors, are here made to come into the world at periods not suffi- 
 ciently remote. The writers were then bachelors. One of them 
 [James], unfortunately, still continues so, as he has thus recorded 
 in Ms niece's album : 
 
 " Should I seek Hymen's tie, 
 
 As a poet I die — 
 Ye Benedicks, mourn my distresses I 
 
 For what little fame 
 
 Is annexed to my name 
 Is derived from Rejected Addresses." 
 
 The blunder, notwithstanding, remains unrectified. The reader 
 of poetry is always dissatisfied with emendations : they sound 
 discordantly upon the ear, like a modern song, by Bishop or 
 Braham, introduced in Love in a Village. 
 
 2. This alludes to the Young Betty mania. The writer was in 
 the stage-box at the height of this young gentleman's popularity. 
 One of the other occupants offered, in a loud voice, to prove 
 that young Betty did not understand Shakespeare. " Silence !" 
 was the cry ; but he still proceeded. " Turn him out !" was the 
 next ejaculation. He still vociferated, " He does not understand 
 Shakespeare ;" and was consequently shouldered into the lobby. 
 " I '11 prove it to you," said the critic to the door-keeper. " Prove 
 what, sir ?" " That he does not understand Shakespeare." This 
 was Moliere's housemaid with a vengeance ! 
 
 Young Betty may now [1833] be seen walking about town — a 
 portly personage, aged about forty — clad in a furred and frogged 
 surtout ; probably muttering to himself (as he has been at col- 
 lege), " mihi praeteritos !" &c. [He is still ahve, 1852. Master 
 Betty, or "■ The young Roscius," was born in 1791, and made liis 
 first appearance on a London stage as Achmet in " Barbarossa," 
 at Covent G-arden Theatre, on the first of December, 1804. He 
 was, therefore, " not quite thii-teen." He lasted two seasons.] 
 
3&G NOTES TO THE' REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 in.~AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PHCENIX, 
 
 BY S. T. P. 
 For an account of this anonymous gentleman, see Preface. 
 
 1. [A " Phoenix" was perhaps excusable. The first Theatre in 
 Drury Lane was called '' Q'he Cock-pit or Phoenix Theatre." 
 Whitbread liimself wrote an address^ it is said^ for the occasion; 
 like the others^ it had of course a Phcenix, '^ But Wliitbread," 
 said Sheridan, " made more of the bird than any of them ; he 
 entered into particulars, and described its wings, beak, tail, &c, ; 
 in short, it wsis, o, poulterer' s description of a Phoenix."] 
 
 IY._CUI BONO ? 
 
 BY LORD B. [lord BYRON.] 
 
 [Lord Byron died 19th Aprils 1824, in his thirty-seventh year.2 
 
 " The author has succeeded better in copying the melody and 
 misanthropic sentiments of Childe Harold^ than the nervous and 
 impetuous diction in which his noble biographer has embodied 
 them. The attempt, however, indicates very considerable power ; 
 and the flow of the verse and the construction of the poetical 
 period are imitated with no ordinary skill." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh 
 Review. 
 
 1. This would seem to show that poet and prophet are syno- 
 nymous, the noble bard having afterwards returned to England, 
 and again quitted it, under domestic circumstances painfully no- 
 torious. His good-humored forgiveness of the Authors has 
 already been alluded to in the preface. Nothing of this illustrious 
 poet, however trivial, can be otherwise than interesting. '^ "We 
 knew him well." At Mr. Murray's dinner-table the annotator 
 met him and Sir John Malcolm. Lord Byron talked of intend- 
 ing to travel in Persia. "What must I do when I set off?" 
 said he to Sir John. " Cut off your buttons !" " My buttons ! 
 what, these metal ones ?" '' Yes ; the Persians are in the main 
 very honest fellows ; but if you go thus bedizened, you will in- 
 fallibly be murdered for your buttons !" At a dinner at Monk 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 397 
 
 Lewis's chambers in the Albany, Lord Byron expressed to the 
 writer his determination not to go there again, adding, " I never 
 will dine with a middle-aged man who fills up his table with 
 young ensigns, and has looking-glass panels to his book-cases." 
 Lord Byron, when one of the Drury-lane Committee of Manage- 
 ment, challenged the writer to sing alternately (like the swains 
 in Virgil) the praises of Mrs. Mardyn, the actress, who, by the 
 bye, was hissed off the stage for an imputed intimacy of which 
 she was quite innocent. 
 The contest ran as follows : 
 
 " Wake, muse of fire, your ardent lyre, 
 
 Pour forth your amorous ditty, 
 But first pi-ofound, in duty bound, 
 
 Applaud the new committee ; 
 Their scenic art from Thcspis' cart 
 
 All jaded nags discarding. 
 To London drove this queen of love. 
 
 Enchanting Mi-s. Mardyn. 
 
 Though tides of love around her rove, 
 
 I fear she'll choose Pactolus — 
 In that bright surge bards ne'er immerge, 
 
 So I must e'en swim solus. 
 • Out, out, alas !' ill-fated gas, 
 
 That shin' St round (Jovent Garden, 
 Thy ray how flat, compared with that 
 
 From eye of Mrs. Mardyn !" 
 
 And so on,. The reader has, no doubt, already discovered 
 "which is the justice, and which is the thief." 
 
 Lord Byron at that time wore a very narrow cravat of white 
 sarsnet, with the shirt-collar falhng over ; a black coat and waist- 
 coat, and very broad white trousers, to hide his lame foot — 
 these were of Russia duck in the morning and jean in the even- 
 ing. His watch-chain had a number of small gold seals appended 
 to it, and was looped up to a button of his waistcoat. His face 
 was void of colour ; he wore no whiskers. His eyes were grey, 
 fringed with long black lashes ; and his air was imposing, but 
 rather supercilious. He undervalued David Hume ; denying 
 his claim to genius on account of his bulk, and calling him, from 
 the Heroic Epistle, 
 
 "The fattest hog in Epicurus' sty." 
 
 One of this extraordinary man's allegations was, that '■'■ fat is an 
 oily dropsy." To stave off its visitation, he frequently chewed 
 
398 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 tobacco in lieu of dinner, alleging that it absorbed the gastric 
 juice of the stomach, and prevented hunger. " Pass your hand 
 down my side," said his lordship to the writer ; " can you count 
 my ribs ?" " Every one of them." '' I am dehghted to liear you 
 
 say so. I called last week on Lady ; ' Ah, Lord Byron,' 
 
 said she, ' how fat you grow !' But you know Lady is 
 
 fond of saying spiteful things!" Let this gossip be summed up 
 with the words of Lord Chesterfield, in his character of Boling- 
 broke : "Upon the whole, on a survej'- of this extraordinary 
 character, what can we say, but ' Alas, poor human nature !' " 
 
 His favourite Pope's description of man is apphcable to Byron 
 individually : 
 
 " Chaos of thought and passion all confused, 
 Still by himself abused or disabused ; 
 Created part to rise and part to fall. 
 Great lord of all things, yet a slave to all ; 
 Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled — 
 The glory, jest, and riddle of the world." 
 
 The writer never heard him allude to his deformed foot except 
 upon one occasion, when, entering the green-room of Drury-lane, 
 lie found Lord Byron alone, the younger Byrne and Miss Smith 
 the dancer having just left him, after an angry conference about 
 a pas seul. " Had you been a here a minute sooner," said Lord 
 B., " you would have heard a question about dancing referred to 
 me ; — me ! (looking mournfully downward) whom fate from my 
 birth has prohibited from taking a single step." 
 
 2. [The first stanza (see Preface) was written by James Smith ; 
 the remainder by Horace.] 
 
 3. " Holland's edifice." The late theatre was built by Holland 
 the architect. The writer visited it on the night of its opening 
 [April 21, 1794]. The performances were Macbeth and the Vir- 
 gin Unmasked. Between the play and the farce, an excellent 
 epilogue, written by George Colman, was excellently spoken by 
 ]\Iiss Farren. It referred to the iron curtain which was, in the 
 event of fire, to be let down between the stage and the audience, 
 and which accordingly descended, by way of experiment, leaving 
 Miss Farren between the lamps and the curtain. The fair speaker 
 informed the audience, that should the fire break out on the stage 
 (where it usually originates), it would thus be kept from the 
 spectators ; adding, with great solemnity — 
 
 " No ! we assure our generous benefactors 
 'Twill only burn the scenery and the actors." 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 399 
 
 A tank of Avater was afterwards exhibited, in the course of the 
 epilogue, in which a wherry was rowed by a real live man, the 
 band playing — 
 
 " And did you not hear of a jolly young -waterman ?" 
 
 Miss Earren recituig — 
 
 " Sit still, thsre 's nothing in it, 
 We '11 undertake to drown you in a single minute." 
 
 '• vain thought !" as Othello says. Notwithstanding the boast 
 in the epilogue — 
 
 " Blow, wind — come rack, in ages yet unhorn, 
 Our castle's strength shall laugh a siege to scorn" — 
 
 the theatre fell a victim to the flames within fifteen years from 
 the prognostic ! These preparations against fire always presup- 
 pose presence of mind and promptness in those who are to put 
 them into action. They remind one of the dialogue in Morton's 
 Speed the Plough^ between Sir Able Handy and his son Bob : 
 
 " Boh. Zounds, the castle's on fire ! 
 
 Sir A. Yes. 
 
 Boh. Where 's your patent Uquid for extinguishing fire ? 
 
 Sir A. It is not mixed. 
 
 Boh. Then where 's your patent fire-escape ? 
 
 Sir A. It is not fixed. 
 
 Boh. You are never at a loss ? 
 
 Sir A. Never. 
 
 Boh. Then what do you mean to do ? 
 
 Sir A. I don't know." 
 
 4. A rather obscure mode of expression for Jeiys'-harp ; which 
 some etymologists allege, by the way, to be a corruption of 
 Jaw^s'-harp. No connection, therefore, with King David. 
 
 v.— HAMPSHIRE FARMER'S ADDRESS. 
 
 BY W. C. [wiLLIAlSt COBBETT.] 
 [Mr. Cobbett died ISth June, 18r.5, aged seventy-three.] 
 
 1. [The Weekly Register, which he kept up without the fail- 
 ure of a single week from its first publication till his death — a 
 period of above thirty-three years.] 
 
400 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 2. Bagshaw. At that time the publisher of Cobbett's Register. 
 
 3. The old Lyceum Theatre, pulled down by Mr. Arnold. 
 That since destroyed by fire [16th Feb., 1830], was erected on its 
 site. [The Drury Lane Company performed at the Lyceum till 
 the house was rebuilt.] 
 
 4. [The present colonnade in Little Eussell Street formed no 
 part of the original design ; and was erected only a few years 
 back.] 
 
 5. An allusion to a murder then recently committed on Barnes 
 Terrace. [The murder (22d July, 1812) of the Count and 
 Countess D'Antraigues (distantly related to the Bourbons) by a 
 servant out of livery of the name of Laurence — an Italian or Pied- 
 montese ; who made away Avith himself immediately after.] 
 
 6. At that time keeper of Kewgate. The present superintend- 
 ent (1833) is styled governor ! 
 
 7. A portentous one that made its appearance in the year 
 1811 ; in the midst of the war, 
 
 " With fear of change perplexing nations." 
 
 YL— THE LIVING- LUSTEES. 
 
 BY T. M. [THOMAS MOORE.] 
 
 [Mr. Moore died 2Cth February, 1852, in his seventy-third year.] 
 
 '' Tlie Living Lustres appears to vs a very fair imitation of the 
 fantastic verses which that ingenious person, Mr. Moore, indites 
 when he is merely gallant, and, resisting the lures of voluptuous- 
 ness, is not enough in earnest to be tender." — Jeffrey, Edhiburgh 
 Review. 
 
 1. This alludes to two massive i^illars of verd antique which 
 then flanked the proscenium, but wliich have since been removed. 
 Their colour reminds the bard of the Emerald Isle, and this 
 causes him (more suo) to fly off at a tangent, and Hibernicise the 
 rest of the poem. 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 401 
 
 VII.— THE EEBUILDINa. 
 
 BY R. S. [ROBERT SOUTHEY.] 
 [Mr. Southey died March 13, 1843, in his sixty-ninth year.] 
 
 " Tlie Rebuilding is in the name of Mr. Southey, and is one of 
 the best in the collection. It is in the style of the Kehama of 
 that multifarious author, and is supposed to be spoken in the 
 character of one of his Grlendoveers. The imitation of the dic- 
 tion and measure, we think, is nearly almost perfect ; and the 
 descriptions as good as the original. It opens with an account 
 of the burning of the old theatre, formed upon the pattern of 
 the Funeral of Arvalan." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. For the Glendoveer, and the rest of the dramatis personce 
 of this imitation, the reader is referred to the " Curse of Kehama." 
 
 2. This couplet was introduced by the Authors by way of 
 bravado, in answer to one who alleged that the English language 
 contained no rhyme to chimney. 
 
 3. Apollo. A gigantic wooden figure of this deity was erected 
 on the roof The writer (horrescit ref evens!) is old enough to 
 recollect the time when it was first placed there. Old Bishop, 
 then one of the masters of Merchant Tailors' School, wrote an 
 epigram upon the occasion, which, referring to the aforesaid 
 figure, concluded thus : 
 
 "Above he fills up Shakespeare's place, 
 And Shakespeare fills up his below." 
 
 Yery antithetical; but quaere as to the meaning ? The writer, 
 like Pluto, " long puzzled his brain" to find it out, till he was 
 immersed " in a lower deep" by hearing Madame de Stael say, 
 at the table of the late Lord Dillon, "Buonaparte is not a man, 
 but a system." Inquiry was made in the course of the evening 
 of Sir James Mackintosh as to what the lady meant. He an- 
 swered, " Mass ! I cannot tell." Madame de Stael repeats this 
 apopthegm in her work on Germany. It is probably understood 
 there. 
 
 4. 0. P. This personage, who is alleged to have growled like 
 a bull-dog, requires rather a lengthened note, for the edification 
 of the rising generation. The ''horns, rattles, drums," with 
 which he is accompanied, are no inventions of th^^J^'^t. The 
 
402 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 new Covent Garden Theatre opened on the 18th September, 
 1809, when a cry of" Old Prices" (afterwards diminished to 0. 
 P.) burst out fi'om every part of the house. Tliis continued and 
 increased in violence until the 23rd, when rattles, drums, whistles, 
 and cat-calls, having completely drowned the voices of the actors, 
 Mr, Kemble, the stage-manager, came forward, and said, that a 
 committee of gentlemen had undertaken to examine the finances 
 of the concern, and that until they were prepared with their re- 
 port, the theatre would continue closed. "Name them!" was 
 shouted from all sides. The names were declared, viz., Sir Charles 
 Price, the Solicitor-General, the Recorder of London, the Gov- 
 ernor of the Bank, and Mr. Angerstein. " All shareholders !" 
 bawled a wag from the gallery. In a few days the theatre re- 
 opened : the public paid no attention to the report of the ref- 
 erees, and the tumult was renewed for several weeks with even 
 increased violence. The proprietors now sent in liired bruisers 
 to mill the refractory into subjection. This irritated most of their 
 former friends, and, amongst the rest, the annotator, who accord- 
 ingly wrote the song of " Heigh-ho, says Kemble," which was 
 caught up by the ballad-singers, and sung under Mr. Kemble's 
 house-windows in Great Russell-street. A dinner was given at 
 the Crown and Anchor Tavern in the Strand, to celebrate the 
 victory obtained by W. Clifford in his action against Brandon 
 the box-keeper, for assaulting him for wearing the letters O. P. 
 in his hat. At this dinner Mr. Kemble attended, and matters 
 were compromised by allowing the advanced price (seven shil- 
 lings) to the boxes. The writer remembers a former riot of a 
 similar sort at the same theatre (in the year 1782), when the 
 price to the boxes was raised from five shillings to six. That 
 tumult, however, only lasted three niglits. 
 
 5. " From the knobb'd bludgeon to the taper switch." This 
 image is not the creation of the poets : it sprang from reality. 
 The Authors happened to be at the Royal Circus when " God 
 save the King" was called for, accompanied by a cry of " Stand 
 up!" and "Hats off!" An inebriated naval lieutenant, perceiv- 
 ing a gentleman in an adjoining box slow to obey the call, struck 
 his hat off with his stick, exclaiming, " Take off your hat, sir !" 
 The other thus assaulted proved to be, unluckily for the lieute- 
 nant. Lord Camelford, the celebrated bruiser and duellist. A 
 set-to in the lobby was the consequence, where his lordship 
 
NOTES *T0 THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 403 
 
 quickly proved victorious. " The devil is not so black as he is 
 painted," said one of the Authors to the other ; " let us call upon 
 Lord Carnelford, and tell him that we were witnesses of liis being 
 first assaulted." The visit was paid on the ensuing morning at 
 Lord Camelford's lodgings, in Bond-street. Over the fire-place 
 in the drawing-room were ornaments strongly expressive of the 
 pugnacity of the peer. A long thick bludgeon lay horizontally 
 supported by two brass hooks. Above this was placed parallel 
 ones of lesser dimensions, until a pyramid of weapons gi-adually 
 arose, tapering to a horsewhip : 
 
 " Thus all below was strengtli, and all above was grace." 
 
 • Lord Carnelford received his visitants with great civility, and 
 thanked them warmly for the call ; adding, that their evidence 
 would be material, it being his intention to indict the heutenant 
 for an assault '' AIL I can say in return is this," exclaimed the 
 peer with great cordiality, " if ever I see you engaged in a row, 
 upon my soul, I '11 stand by you." The Authors expressed them- 
 selves thankful for so potent an ally, and departed. In about a 
 fortnight afterwards [March 7, 1804] Lord Carnelford was shot in 
 a duel with Mr, Best. 
 
 6. Yeeshnoo. The late Mr. Whitbread. 
 
 7. Levy. An insolvent Israehte who [18th January, 1810] 
 threw himself from the top of the Monument a short time before. 
 An inliabitant of Monument-yard informed the writer, that he 
 happened to be standing at his door talking to a neighbour ; and 
 looking up at the top of the pillar, exclaimed, " Why, here 's the 
 flag coming down." " Flag !" answered the other, " it 's a man !" 
 The words were hardly uttered when the suicide fell within ten 
 feet of the speakers. 
 
 Till.— DRURY'S DIRGE. 
 
 BY LAURA MATILDA. 
 
 " ' Drury's Dirgt^,' by Laura Matilda, is not of the first quality. 
 The verses, to be sure, are very smooth and very nonsensical — 
 as was intended ; but they are not so good as Swift's celebrated 
 Song by a Person of Quality ; and are so exactly in the same 
 
404 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 measure, and on the same plan, that it is impossible to avoid 
 making the comparison." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. The Authors, as in gallantry bound, wish this lady to con- 
 tinue anonymous. 
 
 IX.— A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 
 
 BY W. S. [sir WALTER SCOTT.] 
 [Sir Walter Scott died 21st September, 1832, in his sixty-second year.] 
 
 ''From the parody of Walter Scott we know not what to select 
 — it is all good. The effect of the fire on the town, and the de- 
 scription of a fireman in Ms official apparel, may be quoted as 
 amusing specimens of the misapplication of the style and metre 
 of Mr, Scott's admirable romances." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 " ' A Tale of Drury,' by Walter Scott, is, upon the whole, ad- 
 mirably executed ; though the introduction is rather tame. The 
 burning is described with the mighty minstrel's characteristic love 
 of localities . . . The catastrophe is described with a spirit not 
 unworthy of the name so venturously assumed by the describer." 
 — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. Sir Walter Scott informed the annotator, that at one time 
 he intended to print Ms collected works, and had pitched upon 
 this identical quotation as a motto ; — a proof that sometimes great 
 wits jump with little ones. 
 
 2. Alluding to the then great distance between the picture- 
 frame, in which the green curtain was set, and the band. For a 
 justification of this, see below — " Dr. Johnson." 
 
 3. [The old name for London : 
 
 For poets you can never want 'em 
 
 Spread through Augusta Trinobantum. — Swift. 
 
 Thomson in his " Seasons" calls it '^ huge Augusta."] 
 
 4. Old Bedlam, at that time, stood "close by London Wall." 
 It was built after the model of the Tuileries, which is said to 
 have given the French king great offence. In fi'ont of it 
 Moorfields extended, with broad gravel walks crossing each 
 other at right angles. These the writer well recollects ; and 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 405 
 
 Rivaz, an underwriter at Lloyd's, lias told him, that he remem- 
 bered when the merchants of London would parade these walks 
 on a summer evening with their wives and daughters, but now, 
 as a punning brother bard sings, 
 
 " Moorfields are fields no more." 
 
 5. [A narrow passage immediately adjoining Drury Lane 
 Theatre, and so called from the Vineyard attached to Covent or 
 Convent Garden.] 
 
 6. [The Hand-in-hand Insurance Office was one of the very 
 first insurance offices established in London. To make the engi- 
 neer of the office thus early in the race, is a piece of historical 
 accuracy intended, it is said, on the part of the writer.] 
 
 7. Whitbread's shears. An economical experiment of that 
 gentleman. The present portico, towards Bridges Street, was 
 afterwards erected under the lesseesliip of ERiston, whose por- 
 trait in the Exhibition was thus noticed in the Examiner : " Por- 
 trait of the great Lessee, in his favourite character of Mr. El- 
 liston." 
 
 X.— JOHNSON'S anosT. 
 
 " Samuel Johnson is not so good : the measure and solemnity 
 of his sentences, in all the hmited variety of their structure, are 
 indeed imitated with singular skill : but the diction is caricatured 
 in a vulgar and unpleasing degree. To make Johnson call a 
 door ' a ligneous barricado,' and its knocker and bell its ' frappant 
 and tintinnabulant appendages,' is neither just nor humorous; 
 and we are surprised that a Avriter who has given such extraor- 
 dinary proofs of his talent for finer ridicule and fairer imitation, 
 should have stooped to a vein of pleasantry so low, and so long 
 ago exhausted ; especially as, in other passages of the same 
 piece, he has shown how well qualified he was both to catch and 
 to render the true characteristics of his original. The beginning, 
 for example, we think excellent." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. The celebratad Lord Chesterfield, whose letters to his Son, 
 according to Dr. Johnson, inculcate '' the manners of a dancing 
 master and the morals of a — ," &c. 
 
 2. Lord Mayor of the theatric sky. Tin's alludes to Leigh Tlunt, 
 who, in Tlie Examiner^ at this time kept tlie actors in hot water. 
 
 K 
 
 (i 
 
406 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Dr. Johnson's argument is, like many of his other arguments, 
 specious, bat untenable ; that which it defends has since been 
 abandoned as impracticable. Mr. Whitbread contended that the 
 actor was like a portrait in a picture, and accordmgly placed the 
 green curtain in a gilded frame remote from the foot-lights ; al- 
 leging that no performer should mar the illusion by stepping out 
 of the frame. Dowton was the first actor who, like Manfred's 
 ancestor in the Castle of Otranto^ took the liberty of abandoning 
 the canon. '' Don't tell me of frames and pictures," ejaculated 
 the testy comedian ; " if I can't be heard by the audience in 
 the frame, I 'U walk out of it !" The proscenium has since been 
 new-modelled, and the actors thereby brought nearer to the 
 audience. 
 
 XI.— THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 
 
 BY THE HON. W. S. 
 
 [William Robert Spencer. The best writer of vers de socittt 
 in our time. He died at Paris in October, 1834, aged 65 ; and 
 his poems were published in London the next year in one 
 volume, I2mo.] 
 
 " ' The Beautiful Incendiary,' by the Honourable W. Spencer, 
 is also an imitation of great merit. The flashy, fashionable, arti- 
 ficial style of this writer, with Ms confident and extravagant com- 
 pliments, can scarcely be said to be parodied in such lines." — 
 Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. Sobriety, &c. The good humour of the poet upon occasion 
 of this parody has been noticed in the Preface. " It 's all very 
 well for once," said he afterwards, in comic confidence, at his 
 villa at Petersham, '' but do n't do it again. I had been almost 
 forgotten when you revived me ; and now all the newspapers 
 and reviews ring with '^ this fashionable, trashy author.' " The 
 sand and '' filings of glass," mentioned in the last stanza, are 
 referable to the well-known verses of the poet apologising to a 
 lady for having paid an unconscionably long morning visit ; and 
 where, alluding to Time, he says, 
 
 "All his sands are diamond sparks, 
 That glitter as they pass." 
 
NOTES TO THE HEJECTED ADBRESSES. 407- 
 
 Few men in society have more '•' gladdened life" than this poet. 
 He now [1833] resides in Paris, and may thence make the grand 
 tour without the aid of an interpreter — speaking, as he docs, 
 Prench, Italian, and German, as fluently as EngUsh. 
 
 2. [10th of October, 1812, the day of opening.] 
 
 3. Congreve's plug. The late Sir William Congreve had made 
 a model of Drury Lane Theatre, to which was affixed an engine 
 that, in the event of fire, was made to play from the stage into 
 every box in the house. The writer, accompanied by Theodore 
 Hook, went to see the model at Sir William's house in Cecil 
 Street. " Now I'll duck Whitbread I" said Hook, seizing the 
 water-pipe whilst he spoke, and sending a torrent of water into 
 the brewer's box. 
 
 4. See Byron, afterwards^ in Don Juan : — 
 
 '• For flcsli is gi-ass, which Time mows down to hay." 
 
 But as Johnson says of Dryden, *' His known wealth was so 
 great, he might borrow without any impeachment of Ms credit," 
 
 XII.— FIRE AND ALE. 
 
 BY M. G. L. [MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.] 
 [Mr. Lewis died 14th May, 1818, in his forty-third year.] 
 
 " ' Fire and Ale,' by M. Gr. Lewis, exhibits not only a faithful 
 copy of the spirited, loose, and flowing versification of that singu- 
 lar author, but a very just representation of that mixture of 
 extravagance and jocularity which has impressed most of his 
 writings with the character of a sort of farcical horror." — Jeffrey, 
 Edinburgh Review. 
 
 Matthew Gregory Lewis, commonly called Monk Lewis, from 
 his once popular romance of that name, was a good-hearted man, 
 and, like too many of that fraternity, a disagreeable one — verbose, 
 disputatious, and paradoxical. His Monk and Castle Spectre ele- 
 vated him into fame ; and he continued to write ghost-stories till, 
 following as he did in the wake of Mrs. Radcliffe, he quite over- 
 stocked the market. Lewis visited his estates in Jamaica, and 
 came back perfectly negro-bi^ ^n. He promulgated a new code of 
 laws in the island, for the government of his sable subjects : one 
 
 / 
 
408 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 may serve as a specimen : *• Any slave vv^lio commits murder shall 
 have his head shaved, and be confined three days and nights in a 
 dark room." Upon occasion of printing these parodies, Monh 
 Lewis said to Lady H[olland], '' Many of them are very fair, but 
 mine is not at all like ; they have made me v^^rite burlesque, which 
 I never do." " You don't know your own talent," answered the 
 lady. 
 
 Lewis aptly described himself, as to externals, in the verses 
 affixed to his Monk, as having 
 
 " A graceless fof m and dwarfish stature." 
 
 He had, moreover, large grey eyes, thick features, and an inex- 
 pressive countenance. In talking, he had a disagreeable habit of 
 drawing the fore-finger of liis right hand across his right eye-lid. 
 He affected, in conversation, a sort of dandified, drawHng tone ; 
 young Harlowe, the artist, did the same. A foreigner who had 
 but a slight knowledge of the English language might have con- 
 cluded, from their cadences, that they were httle better than 
 fools — ''just a born goose," as Terry the actor used to say. 
 Lewis died on his passage homeward from Jamaica, owing to a 
 dose of James's powders injudiciously administered by '' his own 
 mere motion." He wrote various plays, with various success : 
 he had admirable notion of dramatic construction, but the good- 
 ness of his scenes and incidents was marred by the badness of 
 his dialogue. 
 
 XIII.— PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. 
 
 BY S. T. C. [S. T. COLERIDGE.] 
 [Mr. Coleridge died 25th July, 1834, in his sixty-second year.] 
 
 " Mr. Coleridge will not, we fear, be as much entertained as 
 we were with his ' Playhouse Musings,' which begin with char- 
 acteristic pathos and simplicity, and put us much in mind of the 
 affecting story of old Poulterer's mare." Quarterly Review. 
 
 '' ' Playhouse Musings,' by Mr. Coleridge, a piece which is un- 
 questionably Lakish, though we cannot say that we recognise in 
 it any of the peculiar traits of that powerful and misdirected 
 genius whose name it has borrowed. We rather tliink, however, 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 409 
 
 that the tuneful brotherhood will consider it as a respectablo 
 eclogue." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 1. '' He of Blackfriars' Road," viz., the late Rev. Rowland Hill, 
 who is said to have preached a sermon congratulating his con- 
 gregation on the catastrophe. 
 
 2. " Oil, Mr. Whitbread !" Sir William Grant, then Master of 
 the Rolls, repeated this passage aloud at a Lord Mayor's dinner, 
 to the no small astonishment of the writer, who happened to sit 
 within ear-shot. 
 
 3. '' Padmanaba," viz., in a pantomime called Harlequin in 
 Padmanaha. This elephant [Chunee], some years afterwards, 
 was exhibited over Exeter 'Change, where, the reader will re- 
 member, it was found necessary [March, 1826] to destroy the 
 poor animal by discharges of musketry. When he made his en- 
 trance in the pantomime above mentioned, Johnson, the machin- 
 ist of the rival house, exclaimed, '' I should be very sorry if I 
 could not make a better elephant than that !" Johnson was right : 
 we go to the theatre to be pleased with the skill of tlie imitator, 
 and not to look at the reality. 
 
 XIV.— DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 
 
 A NEW HALFPENNY BALLAD. 
 BY A PIC-NIC POET. 
 
 " ' A New Halfpenny Ballad,' by a Pic-Nic Poet, is a good 
 imitation of what was not worth imitating — that tremendous 
 mixture of vulgarity, nonsense, impudence, and miserable puns, 
 which, under the name of humorous songs, rouses our poHte au- 
 diences to a far higher pitch of rapture than Garrick or Siddons 
 ever was able to inspire."— Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 \. [Mr. Whitbread — -it need hardly be added for the present 
 generation of Londoners — was a celebrated brewer. Pifty years 
 hence, and the allusion in the text may require a note which, 
 perhaps, even now (1851), is scarcely out of place.] 
 18 
 
410 KOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 XV.— ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY DR. B. [dR. THOMAS BUSBY, MUS. DOC] 
 
 Dr. Busby gave living recitations of his translations of Lucre- 
 tius, with tea and bread-and-butter. He sent in a real Address 
 to the Drury Lane Committee, which was really rejected. The 
 present imitation professes to- be recited by the translator's son. 
 The poet here, again^ was a prophet, A few evenings after the 
 opening of the Theatre, Dr. Busby sat with his son in one of 
 the stage-boxes. The latter, to the astonishment of the audience, 
 at the end of the play, stepped from the box upon the stage^ 
 with his father's real rejected address in his hand, and began to 
 recite it as follows : — 
 
 " When energising objects men pnrsne, 
 What are the prodigies they cannot do ?" 
 
 Raymond, the stage-manager, accompanied by a constable, at 
 this moment walked upon the stage, and handed away the ju- 
 venile cliUettanfe performer. 
 
 The doctor's classical translation was thus noticed in one of 
 the newspapers of the day, in the column of births: — '' Yester- 
 day at his house in Queen Anne Street, Dr. Busby of a still- 
 born Lucretius r 
 
 " In one single point the parodist has failed — there is a certain 
 Dr. Busby, whose supposed address is a translation called ' Archi- 
 tectural Atoms, intended to be recited by the translator's son.' 
 Unluckily, however, for the wag who had prepared this fun, the 
 genuine serious absurdity of Dr. Busby and his son has cast all 
 the humour into the shade. The doctor from the boxes, and the 
 son from the stage, have actually endeavoured, it seems, to recite 
 addresses, which they call monologues and un'ahgues; and which, 
 for extravagant folly, tumid meanness, and vulgar affectation, set 
 all the powers of parody at utter defiance." — Quarterly Review, 
 
 " Of ' Architectural Atoms,' translated by Dr. Busby, we can 
 say very little more than that they appear to ns to be far more 
 capable of combining into good poetry than the few hnes we 
 were able to read of the learned doctor's genuine address in the 
 newspapers. They might pass, indeed, for a very tolerable imi- 
 tation of Darwin." — Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES, 411 
 
 " 1. Winsor's patent gas" — at that time in its infancy. The 
 first place illumined by it was [Jan, 28th, 1807] the Carlton- 
 house side of Pall Mall; the second, Bishopsgate Street. The 
 writer attended a lecture given by the inventor: the charge of 
 admittance was three shiUings, but, as the inventor was about 
 to apply to parliament, members of both houses were admitted 
 gratis. The writer and a fellow-jester assumed the parts of sen- 
 ators at a short notice. ^' Members of parUament I" was their 
 important ejaculation at the door of entrance. " What places, 
 gentlemen ?" " Old Sarum and Bridgewatef " " Walk in, gen- 
 tlemen." Luckily, the real Simon Pures did not attend. This 
 Pall Mall illumination was further noticed in Horace in London : 
 
 " And Winsor lights, with flame of gas, 
 Home, to King's Place, his mother." 
 
 2. " Ticket-nights." This phrase is probably unintelligible to 
 the untheatrical portion of the community, which may now 
 be said to be all the world except the actors. Ticket-nights are 
 those whereon the inferior actors club for a benefit : each dis- 
 tributes as many tickets of admission as he is able among his 
 friends. A motley assemblage is the consequence ; and as each 
 actor is encouraged by his own set, who are not in general play- 
 going people, the applause comes (as Chesterfield says of Pope's 
 attempts at wit) " generally unseasonably, and too often unsuc- 
 cessfully." 
 
 3. {^Originally : — "Back to the bottom leaping with a hound" 
 altered in 1833.] 
 
 XVI.— THEATRICAL ALARM-BELL. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR OF THE M. P. 
 [moening post.] 
 
 This journal was, at the period i^i question, rather remarkable 
 for the use of the figure called by the rhetoricians catachresis. 
 The Bard of Avon may be quoted in justification of its adoption, 
 when he writes of taking arms against a sea, and seeking a 
 bubble in the mouth of a cannon. The Morning Post, in the 
 year 1812, congratulated its readers on having stripped off 
 Cobbett's mask and discovered his cloven foot ; adding, that it 
 was high time to give the hydra-head of Faction a rap on the 
 knuckles 1 
 
412 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 XVII.— THE THEATEE. 
 
 BY THE REV. G. C. [tHE REV. GEORGE CRABBE.] 
 [Mr. Crabbe died 3rd February, 1832, in his seventy-eighth year.] 
 u £ rj\^Q Theatre,' by the Eev. Gr. Crabbe, we rather think, is 
 the best piece in the collection. It is an exquisite and most mas- 
 terly imitation, not only of the peculiar style, but of the taste, 
 temper, and manner of description of that most original author ; 
 and can hardly be said to be in any respect a caricature of that 
 style or manner — except in the excessive profusion of puns and 
 verbal jingles — which, though undoubtedly to be ranked among 
 his characteristics, are never so thick sown in his original works 
 as in this admirable imitation. It does not aim, of course, at any 
 shadow of his pathos or moral sublimity, but seems to us to be a 
 singularly faithful copy of his passages of mere description." — 
 Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review. 
 
 The Rev. George Crabbe. The writer's first interview with 
 this poet, who may be designated Pope in worsted stockings, 
 took place at William Spencer's villa at Petersham, close to what 
 that gentleman called his gold-fish pond, though it was scarcely 
 three feet in diameter, throwing up Q.jet d'eau like a thread. The 
 venerable bard, seizing both the hands of his satirist, exclaimed, 
 with a good-humoured laugh, " Ah ! my old enemy, how do you 
 do ?" In the course of conversation, he expressed great aston- 
 ishment at his popularity in London ; adding, " In my own vil- 
 lage they think nothing of me." The subject happening to be 
 the inroads of time upon beauty, the writer quoted the following 
 lines: — 
 
 " Six years had pass'd, and forty ere the six. 
 When Time began to play his usual tricks : 
 My locks, once comely in a virgin's sight. 
 Locks of pure brown, now felt th' encroaching white • 
 Gradual each day I liked my horses less. 
 My dinner more — I learnt to play at chess." 
 
 " That 's very go6d !" criedthe bard ;— " whose is it ?" " Your 
 own." " Indeed 1 hah I well, I had quite forgotten it." Was 
 tliis affectation, or was it not ? In sooth, he seemed to push sim- 
 phcity to puerihty. This imitation contained in manuscript the 
 following lines, after describing certain Sunday newspaper critics 
 
NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 413 
 
 vho were supposed to be present at a new play, and who were 
 rather heated in their pohtics : — 
 
 " Hard is the task who edits — thankless job I 
 A Sunday journal for the factious mob ; 
 With bitter paragraph and caustic jest, 
 He gives to turbulence the day of rest ; 
 Condemned, this week, rash rancour to instil, 
 Or thrown aside, the next, for one who will : 
 Alike undone or if he praise or rail 
 (For this affects his safety, that his sale), 
 He sinks at last, in luckless limbo set. 
 If loud for libel, and if dumb for debt." 
 
 They were, however, never printed ; being, on reflection, con- 
 sidered too serious for the occasion. 
 
 It is not a httle extraordinary that Crabbe, who could write 
 with such vigour, should descend to such lines as the following : 
 
 " Something had happen' d wrong about a bill 
 Which was not drawn with true mercantile skill. 
 So, to amend it, I was told to go 
 And seek the firm of Clutterbuck and Co." 
 
 Surely ^' Emanuel Jennings," compared with the above, rises 
 to sublimity. 
 
 1. [You were more feehng than I was, when you read the ex- 
 cellent parodies of the young men who wrote the " Rejected 
 Addresses." There is a little ill-nature — and I take the liberty 
 of adding, undeserved ill-nature — in their prefatory address; but 
 in their versification they have done me admirably. They are 
 extraordinary men ; but it is easier to imitate style than to fur- 
 nish matter. — Crabbe ( WorkSj i. vol. Ed., p. 81.)] 
 
 2. [A street and parish in Lime Street Ward, London — chiefly 
 inhabited by Jews.] 
 
 XYIIL, XIX., XX.— TO THE MANAGING COMMITTEE 
 OF THE NEW DRURY LANE THEATRE. 
 
 " We come next to three ludicrous parodies — of the story of 
 2%e Stranger, of George BarmueU, and of the dagger-scene in 
 Macbeth, under the signature of Momus Medlar. They are as 
 good, we think, as that sort of tiling can be, and remind us of the 
 
414 NOTES TO THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 happier efforts of Colman, whose less successful fooleries are pro- 
 fessedly copied in the last piece in the volume." — Jeffrey, Edin- 
 burgh Review. 
 
 1. [A translation from Kotzebue by Thompson, and first acted 
 at Drury Lane, 24 March, 1798. Mrs. Siddons was famous in 
 the part of Mrs. Haller.] 
 
 2. [See Percy's Reliques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry, vol. iii. ; 
 and Lillo's tragedy, " The London Merchant ; or, the History of 
 George BarnweU." 8vo. 1731.] 
 
 XXI.— PUNCH'S APOTHEOSIS. 
 
 BY T. H. 
 [Mr. Hook died 24th August, 1841, in his fifty-third year.] 
 
 Theodore Hook, at that time a very young man, and the com-^ 
 panion of the annotator in many wild frolics. The cleverness of 
 his subsequent prose compositions has cast his early stage songs 
 into oblivion. This parody was, in the second edition, transferred 
 from Colman to Hook. 
 
 1. Then Director of the Opera House. 
 
 2. At that time the chief dancer at this establishment. 
 
 3. Vauxhall Bridge then, like the Thames Tunnel at present 
 [1833] stood suspended in the middle of that river.