Memoir of Robert, Earl Nugent With Letters, Poems, and Appendices: By Claud Nugent: With Twelve Reproductions from Family Portraits by Sir Godfrey Kneller, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gainsborough and Others |
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VERSES
addressed TO THE ---
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 | Memoir of Robert, Earl Nugent |  |
141
VERSES addressed TO THE ---
WITH A NEW YEAR'S GIFT OF IRISH POTATOES. By LORD KNOWS WHO.
“Clara micante auro—”
“Materiem superabat opus, nam Mulciber illic.”—
Ovid.
“Materiem superabat opus, nam Mulciber illic.”—
Ovid.
Could a poor Hibernian dare
To emulate the generous Clare,
Of shining pewter pure and clean,
He'd make a present to the Queen.
On it a new invented work,
A charming etching, with a fork,
In curious stile, and matchless goût,
All Herculaneum should out do;
And as for touches, strokes, and air,
Put Cipriani in despair.
There should the royal Charlotte trace
His majesty king George's face,
In such nice strokes as shew it is
The mind illuminates the phyz.
While He should shake his sides to see
The likeness of her Majesty;
And both beheld their tiny moppets,
(Like the Fantoccini puppets,)
Culling heaps of pretty posies,
To salute their Royal noses;
Just such posies as they carried,
To refresh them when they married;
And such whose fresh and rosy hue,
Recall the Georgian bride to view.
But something more our skill to try on,
As mild as dove, as bold as lion,
Our King should stand—as thus—a sprig
Of bays should dignify his wig;
While olive branches stuck behind,
To enemies should prove him kind;
Tho', if one chest of tea is tost on
The waves, he's sure to ruin Britain.
To emulate the generous Clare,
Of shining pewter pure and clean,
He'd make a present to the Queen.
On it a new invented work,
A charming etching, with a fork,
In curious stile, and matchless goût,
All Herculaneum should out do;
And as for touches, strokes, and air,
Put Cipriani in despair.
There should the royal Charlotte trace
His majesty king George's face,
In such nice strokes as shew it is
The mind illuminates the phyz.
While He should shake his sides to see
The likeness of her Majesty;
And both beheld their tiny moppets,
(Like the Fantoccini puppets,)
Culling heaps of pretty posies,
To salute their Royal noses;
Just such posies as they carried,
To refresh them when they married;
And such whose fresh and rosy hue,
142
But something more our skill to try on,
As mild as dove, as bold as lion,
Our King should stand—as thus—a sprig
Of bays should dignify his wig;
While olive branches stuck behind,
To enemies should prove him kind;
Tho', if one chest of tea is tost on
The waves, he's sure to ruin Britain.
To prove the point, in the back ground,
(That so the distance might be found,)
A cloud of stinking smoke should rise,
(A tar and feather sacrifice,)
Such as in summer time is seen,
From burning weeds upon the green,
Which some old woman's purblind eyes,
Impute to dread incendiaries,
For spectacles she will not take,
To see her palpable mistake,
And, just as wisely we lay stress
On the American Congress.
(That so the distance might be found,)
A cloud of stinking smoke should rise,
(A tar and feather sacrifice,)
Such as in summer time is seen,
From burning weeds upon the green,
Which some old woman's purblind eyes,
Impute to dread incendiaries,
For spectacles she will not take,
To see her palpable mistake,
And, just as wisely we lay stress
On the American Congress.
But, close behind, the sun should rise,
By way of clearing up the skies;
And heavenly Dartmouth should present
A recipe for sure content;
Like naughty boys, with streaming eyes,
Should introduce the Colonies,
To promise, all their squabble ends,
If dear mama will kiss and friends;
Then how should industry abound;
With not a beggar to be found;
E'en sharpers should grow honest then,
And none be rogues but Fielding's men;
And Love, that little smiling boy,
Give us a belly full of joy.
By way of clearing up the skies;
And heavenly Dartmouth should present
A recipe for sure content;
Like naughty boys, with streaming eyes,
Should introduce the Colonies,
To promise, all their squabble ends,
If dear mama will kiss and friends;
Then how should industry abound;
With not a beggar to be found;
E'en sharpers should grow honest then,
And none be rogues but Fielding's men;
And Love, that little smiling boy,
Give us a belly full of joy.
And oh! while miracles take place,
May not poor Ireland hope for grace?
No more, to view Heaven's gifts in vain,
Let her have leave “to plough the main”;
Because her land's so very poor,
To plough on that she can't endure;
Exports of beef, good Queen, condemn;
Leave Irish bulls for Irish men
That so we may not still complain,
We are the only beasts remain;
But chief forbid to cross the seas,
Our sheep—those worst of absentees.
For them we make a double struggle,
Mutton to eat, and wool to smuggle;
Tho', (by the way) my mind it racks,
That Irish wool cloaths Frenchmen's backs;
But Frenchmen, like ill-natur'd fellows,
Will never cease to undersell us;
Thence, to avenge such treatment foul,
We all set up “the Irish howl.'
The godlike weavers catch the sound,
And raging white boys spread around:
Hanging ensues! that unkind way
To terminate an Irish fray.
Theirs be the blame, who are the cause,
By making those strange things call'd laws,
That give the weaver's fancy scope,
In manufacturing—a rope.
May not poor Ireland hope for grace?
No more, to view Heaven's gifts in vain,
Let her have leave “to plough the main”;
Because her land's so very poor,
To plough on that she can't endure;
Exports of beef, good Queen, condemn;
143
That so we may not still complain,
We are the only beasts remain;
But chief forbid to cross the seas,
Our sheep—those worst of absentees.
For them we make a double struggle,
Mutton to eat, and wool to smuggle;
Tho', (by the way) my mind it racks,
That Irish wool cloaths Frenchmen's backs;
But Frenchmen, like ill-natur'd fellows,
Will never cease to undersell us;
Thence, to avenge such treatment foul,
We all set up “the Irish howl.'
The godlike weavers catch the sound,
And raging white boys spread around:
Hanging ensues! that unkind way
To terminate an Irish fray.
Theirs be the blame, who are the cause,
By making those strange things call'd laws,
That give the weaver's fancy scope,
In manufacturing—a rope.
Laws are the cruel obstacles, my dear,
Good Lady, to our Irish chear,
For what, though all along our shore,
The winds are too polite to roar,
Though they blow an invitation
To the ships of ev'ry nation,
The merchants first must pay their court,
By touching at a British port:
A form of law that's very troubling
To the vessels bound for Dublin!
Thus Britain has the upper hand,
Though why I cannot understand,
Unless to shew us, 'gainst our will,
That she's our elder sister still.
And, yet shall these Potatoes prove
Emblems of Hibernian love:
Emblems though poor, yet, as I live,
They're all I can afford to give.
Then scruple not to eat your fill,
As they are tokens of good will:
So, though your Majesty display
Your glittering jewels at the play,
You'd rather see one English grin,
Than view your finest diamond pin,
Because, the ogles of John Trot
Can make your diamonds quite forgot:
And, if St. Margaret's steeple ring,
In broken notes, “God save the King;”
Although the bells as badly chime,
As even I myself can rhyme,
You'd rather list to them, than play
At your own harpsichord all day;
Because whatever makes a noise,
May seem at least like public joys;
So when the King to Portsmouth flew,
To give the navy a review,
Soon as the guns began to fire,
(A compliment great folks admire,)
The Genius smil'd, and vow'd before,
He ne'er had felt such joys on shore.
Good Lady, to our Irish chear,
For what, though all along our shore,
The winds are too polite to roar,
Though they blow an invitation
To the ships of ev'ry nation,
The merchants first must pay their court,
By touching at a British port:
A form of law that's very troubling
To the vessels bound for Dublin!
Thus Britain has the upper hand,
Though why I cannot understand,
Unless to shew us, 'gainst our will,
That she's our elder sister still.
And, yet shall these Potatoes prove
Emblems of Hibernian love:
Emblems though poor, yet, as I live,
They're all I can afford to give.
Then scruple not to eat your fill,
As they are tokens of good will:
So, though your Majesty display
Your glittering jewels at the play,
144
Than view your finest diamond pin,
Because, the ogles of John Trot
Can make your diamonds quite forgot:
And, if St. Margaret's steeple ring,
In broken notes, “God save the King;”
Although the bells as badly chime,
As even I myself can rhyme,
You'd rather list to them, than play
At your own harpsichord all day;
Because whatever makes a noise,
May seem at least like public joys;
So when the King to Portsmouth flew,
To give the navy a review,
Soon as the guns began to fire,
(A compliment great folks admire,)
The Genius smil'd, and vow'd before,
He ne'er had felt such joys on shore.
Finis.
| Memoir of Robert, Earl Nugent | |