Memoirs, Letters, and Comic Miscellanies in Prose and Verse, of the late James Smith ... Edited by his Brother, Horace Smith ... In Two Volumes |
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 | II. |
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| MISCELLANEOUS PIECES IN VERSE. |
 | Memoirs, Letters, and Comic Miscellanies |  |
343
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES IN VERSE.
THE DINNER.
Thus to his mate Sir Richard spoke—
“The House is up; from London smoke
All fly; the Park grows thinner;
The friends who fed us, will condemn
Our backward board; we must feed them:
My dear, let's give a dinner.”
“The House is up; from London smoke
All fly; the Park grows thinner;
The friends who fed us, will condemn
Our backward board; we must feed them:
My dear, let's give a dinner.”
“Agreed!” his lady cries; “and first
Put down Sir George and Lady Hurst.”
“Done! now I name—the Gatties!”
“My dear, they're rather stupid.”—“Stuff!
We dine with them, and that's enough:
Besides, I like their patties.”
Put down Sir George and Lady Hurst.”
“Done! now I name—the Gatties!”
“My dear, they're rather stupid.”—“Stuff!
We dine with them, and that's enough:
Besides, I like their patties.”
“Who next?”—“Sir James and Lady Dunn.”
“O no.”—“Why not?”—“They'll bring their son,
That regular tormentor;
A couple, with one child, are sure
To bring three fools outside their door,
Whene'er abroad they venture.”
“O no.”—“Why not?”—“They'll bring their son,
That regular tormentor;
A couple, with one child, are sure
To bring three fools outside their door,
Whene'er abroad they venture.”
344
“Who next?”—“John Yates.”—“What! M. P. Yates;
Who, o'er the bottle, stale debates
Drags forth ten times a minute?”
“He's like the rest: whoever fails,
Out of St. Stephen's school tells tales
He'd quake to utter in it.”
Who, o'er the bottle, stale debates
Drags forth ten times a minute?”
“He's like the rest: whoever fails,
Out of St. Stephen's school tells tales
He'd quake to utter in it.”
“Well, have him if you will.”—“The Grants.”
“My dear, remember, at your aunt's
I view'd them with abhorrence.”
“Why so?”—“Why, since they've come from Lisle,
(Which they call Leel) they bore our isle
With Brussels, Tours, and Florence.
“My dear, remember, at your aunt's
I view'd them with abhorrence.”
“Why so?”—“Why, since they've come from Lisle,
(Which they call Leel) they bore our isle
With Brussels, Tours, and Florence.
“Where could you meet them?”—“At the Nore.”
“Who next?”—“The Lanes.”—“We want no more—
Lieutenant General Dizzy.”
“He's deaf.”—“But then he'll bring Tom White.”
“True! ask them both: the boy 's a bite;
We'll place him next to Lizzy.”
“Who next?”—“The Lanes.”—“We want no more—
Lieutenant General Dizzy.”
“He's deaf.”—“But then he'll bring Tom White.”
“True! ask them both: the boy 's a bite;
We'll place him next to Lizzy.”
'Tis seven—the Hunts, the Dunns, Jack Yates,
The Grants assemble: dinner waits;
In march the Lanes, the Gatties.
Objections, taunts, rebukes are fled,
Hate, scorn, and ridicule lie dead
As so many Donatties.
The Grants assemble: dinner waits;
In march the Lanes, the Gatties.
Objections, taunts, rebukes are fled,
Hate, scorn, and ridicule lie dead
As so many Donatties.
Yates carves the turbot, Lane the lamb,
Sir George the fowls, Sir James the ham,
Dunn with the beef is busy;
His helpmate pats her darling boy,
And, to complete a mo ther's joy,
Tom White sits next to Lizzy.
Sir George the fowls, Sir James the ham,
Dunn with the beef is busy;
His helpmate pats her darling boy,
And, to complete a mo ther's joy,
Tom White sits next to Lizzy.
345
All trot their hobbies round the room;
They talk of routs, retrenchments, Hume,
The bard who won't lie fallow,
The Turks, the statue in the Park,
Which both the Grants, at once, remark
Jump'd down from Mount Cavallo.
They talk of routs, retrenchments, Hume,
The bard who won't lie fallow,
The Turks, the statue in the Park,
Which both the Grants, at once, remark
Jump'd down from Mount Cavallo.
They talk of dances, operas, dress,
They nod, they smile, they acquiesce;
None pout; all seem delighted:
Heavens! can this be the self-same set,
So courteously received when met;
So taunted when invited?
They nod, they smile, they acquiesce;
None pout; all seem delighted:
Heavens! can this be the self-same set,
So courteously received when met;
So taunted when invited?
So have I seen, at Drury Lane,
A play rehearsed: the Thespian train
In arms; the bard astounded;
Scenes cut; parts shifted; songs displaced;
Jokes mangled; characters effaced;
“Confusion worse confounded.”
A play rehearsed: the Thespian train
In arms; the bard astounded;
Scenes cut; parts shifted; songs displaced;
Jokes mangled; characters effaced;
“Confusion worse confounded.”
But, on the night, with seeming hearts,
The warring tribe their several parts
Enact with due decorum.
Such is the gulf that intervenes
'Twixt those who get behind the scenes,
And those who sit before 'em!
The warring tribe their several parts
Enact with due decorum.
Such is the gulf that intervenes
'Twixt those who get behind the scenes,
And those who sit before 'em!
346
THE NEW MARRIAGE ACT.
CASES FOR THE OPINION OF DOCTOR LUSHINGTON.
Dear Doctor, in vain, by September set free,
Have I, a poor Proctor, eloped toward the sea.
This new Marriage Act, which my Lord Ellenborough
Has whisk'd through the House like a colt o'er the Curragh,
Has set the pent fears of my clients at large,—
I'm boarded by dunces, like Pope in his barge.
My bag won't contain half the Cases they draw,
The Church can't absolve, so they fly to the law.
The magistrates' clerks know not how to behave, it's
So puzzling to draw up the right affidavits:
Then how shall I pick Cupid's bone of contention,
Remote as I am from the scene of dissension?
Have I, a poor Proctor, eloped toward the sea.
This new Marriage Act, which my Lord Ellenborough
Has whisk'd through the House like a colt o'er the Curragh,
Has set the pent fears of my clients at large,—
I'm boarded by dunces, like Pope in his barge.
My bag won't contain half the Cases they draw,
The Church can't absolve, so they fly to the law.
The magistrates' clerks know not how to behave, it's
So puzzling to draw up the right affidavits:
Then how shall I pick Cupid's bone of contention,
Remote as I am from the scene of dissension?
My client, Jack Junk, with a heart hot as Ætna,
Has cut through the knot by post-horses and Gretna.
One says the church notice must not be a scrawl;
One says there is no need of notice at all;
A third swears it must be in black and in white;
A fourth hints that, where neither party can write,
A cross is sufficient; forgetting, of course,
That a cross before marriage is cart before horse.
Has cut through the knot by post-horses and Gretna.
One says the church notice must not be a scrawl;
One says there is no need of notice at all;
A third swears it must be in black and in white;
A fourth hints that, where neither party can write,
A cross is sufficient; forgetting, of course,
That a cross before marriage is cart before horse.
My female complainants are equally busy,
And ply me with plaints till I'm really dizzy.
Miss Struggle, aged fifty, still baiting Love's trap,
Asks who keeps the children, should Hymen's chain snap.
Miss Blue, equi-wrinkled, has dipp'd me in ink,
With doubts on divorces à mens. and è vinc.
Aunt Jane understands it; her niece Mary Anne
Says she cannot conceive—others say that she can;
And gladly would hie to St. George's full trot,
To clench Cupid's nail while the iron is hot.
To flourish my flail, feather mounted, and draw
A handful of wheat from a barn full of straw,
Five Cases I 've hit on, in Cupid's dominion,
On which I request your advice and opinion.
And ply me with plaints till I'm really dizzy.
Miss Struggle, aged fifty, still baiting Love's trap,
Asks who keeps the children, should Hymen's chain snap.
347
With doubts on divorces à mens. and è vinc.
Aunt Jane understands it; her niece Mary Anne
Says she cannot conceive—others say that she can;
And gladly would hie to St. George's full trot,
To clench Cupid's nail while the iron is hot.
To flourish my flail, feather mounted, and draw
A handful of wheat from a barn full of straw,
Five Cases I 've hit on, in Cupid's dominion,
On which I request your advice and opinion.
Case one.—Kitty Crocodile married Ned Bray,
And swore she would honour, and love, and obey.
The honeymoon over, thorns mingle with roses,
And Ned's upper head is the picture of Moses.
Love, honour, obey, toll a funeral knell,
Up start, in their place, hate, disdain, and rebel.
You'll please to look over the statute, and say,
In case, at the next Lent Assizes, Ned Bray
Indict Mistress Kate for false swearing, can her jury
Bring the delinquent in guilty of perjury?
And swore she would honour, and love, and obey.
The honeymoon over, thorns mingle with roses,
And Ned's upper head is the picture of Moses.
Love, honour, obey, toll a funeral knell,
Up start, in their place, hate, disdain, and rebel.
You'll please to look over the statute, and say,
In case, at the next Lent Assizes, Ned Bray
Indict Mistress Kate for false swearing, can her jury
Bring the delinquent in guilty of perjury?
Case two.—Captain Boyd, to his tailor in debt,
Adored, at the Op'ra, Ma'amselle Pirouette;
'Twas Psyche that slew him; he woo'd; she consented;
Both married in May, and in June both repented;
The steps that she took gain'd eight hundred a year,
The step that he took made that sum disappear.
Please look at the Act, and advise whether Boyd
By debt made the deed nudum pactum and void;
And say, if eight hundred per annum Miss Pirouette
May get back from Boyd, by a count Quantum meruit!
Adored, at the Op'ra, Ma'amselle Pirouette;
'Twas Psyche that slew him; he woo'd; she consented;
Both married in May, and in June both repented;
The steps that she took gain'd eight hundred a year,
The step that he took made that sum disappear.
Please look at the Act, and advise whether Boyd
By debt made the deed nudum pactum and void;
And say, if eight hundred per annum Miss Pirouette
May get back from Boyd, by a count Quantum meruit!
348
Case three.—Martha Trist, of Saint Peter-le-Poor,
Had stuck up her notice upon her church door.
The Act (section eight) says, the wife must annex
Her proper description, age, station, and sex.
Her age, four-and-thirty, she fix'd to the door,
But somehow the wafer stuck over the four;
And Martha, if judged by some ill-temper'd men,
Would seem to have own'd to no more than thrice ten.
If Wildgoose, her spouse, should discover the flaw,
Please to say if the wedlock's avoided by law;
And if, “on the whole,” you would not deem it safer
To interline “four” at the top of the wafer.
Had stuck up her notice upon her church door.
The Act (section eight) says, the wife must annex
Her proper description, age, station, and sex.
Her age, four-and-thirty, she fix'd to the door,
But somehow the wafer stuck over the four;
And Martha, if judged by some ill-temper'd men,
Would seem to have own'd to no more than thrice ten.
If Wildgoose, her spouse, should discover the flaw,
Please to say if the wedlock's avoided by law;
And if, “on the whole,” you would not deem it safer
To interline “four” at the top of the wafer.
Case four.—Captain Sykes won the heart of Miss Dighton
While driving a dennet from Worthing to Brighton.
Her West India fortune his hot bosom stirs,
His cap and mustachios are too much for hers.
They married; the Captain was counting his gain,
When sugar and rum grew a drug in Mark-lane.
In temper both fired; 'twas a word and a blow;
(See Dibdin's Reports, Captain Wattle and Roe;)
And both, while the stool is at either head flung,
Try to tear with their teeth what they tied with their tongue.
Please to study the Act for this couple, and tell 'em
If they can't be replaced “statu quo ante bellum.”
While driving a dennet from Worthing to Brighton.
Her West India fortune his hot bosom stirs,
His cap and mustachios are too much for hers.
They married; the Captain was counting his gain,
When sugar and rum grew a drug in Mark-lane.
In temper both fired; 'twas a word and a blow;
(See Dibdin's Reports, Captain Wattle and Roe;)
And both, while the stool is at either head flung,
Try to tear with their teeth what they tied with their tongue.
Please to study the Act for this couple, and tell 'em
If they can't be replaced “statu quo ante bellum.”
Case five.—Doctor Swapp'em, allied to a peer,
Has farm'd his great tithes for five thousand a year.
He never is vex'd but when pheasants are wild;
And got a rich helpmate who bore him no child.
The curate of Swapp'em is pious and thrifty,
His annual stipend in pounds mounts to fifty;
His helpmate in annual parturience is seen,
His children already amount to fifteen.
While keeping the dictum Ecclesiæ in view,
(God never sends mouths without sending bread too,)
You'll please to advise if the Act has a clause
To marshal the bread, or to average the jaws.
Has farm'd his great tithes for five thousand a year.
He never is vex'd but when pheasants are wild;
And got a rich helpmate who bore him no child.
349
His annual stipend in pounds mounts to fifty;
His helpmate in annual parturience is seen,
His children already amount to fifteen.
While keeping the dictum Ecclesiæ in view,
(God never sends mouths without sending bread too,)
You'll please to advise if the Act has a clause
To marshal the bread, or to average the jaws.
But see, while my pen your opinion implores,
Fresh couples, love stricken, besiege the church doors.
The porch of St. Anne's ninety couple disgorges,
Thrice ninety stand fix'd on the steps of St. George's;
The fresh and the jaded promiscuously mingle,
Some seek to get married, some seek to get single:
While those, sage Civilian, you're fettering, please
To hit on a scheme to emancipate these.
Teach mortals, who find, like the man who slew Turnus,
A marvellous facile descent to Avernus,
Like him, back their Pluto-bound steps to recall,
And breathe the light ether of Bachelors' Hall:
Do this, through my medium, dear Doctor, and then
Ere Easter, my life on't, we both are made men;
My purse shall swell, laden by fee upon fee,
King Proctor, in war-time, were nothing to me:
While you, happy man, down Pactolus's tide
Your silver-oar'd galley triumphant shall guide,
And whirl'd in no eddy, o'ertaken by no ill,
Reign Hymen's Arch-Chancellor, vice Lord Stowell.
Fresh couples, love stricken, besiege the church doors.
The porch of St. Anne's ninety couple disgorges,
Thrice ninety stand fix'd on the steps of St. George's;
The fresh and the jaded promiscuously mingle,
Some seek to get married, some seek to get single:
While those, sage Civilian, you're fettering, please
To hit on a scheme to emancipate these.
Teach mortals, who find, like the man who slew Turnus,
A marvellous facile descent to Avernus,
Like him, back their Pluto-bound steps to recall,
And breathe the light ether of Bachelors' Hall:
Do this, through my medium, dear Doctor, and then
Ere Easter, my life on't, we both are made men;
My purse shall swell, laden by fee upon fee,
King Proctor, in war-time, were nothing to me:
While you, happy man, down Pactolus's tide
Your silver-oar'd galley triumphant shall guide,
And whirl'd in no eddy, o'ertaken by no ill,
Reign Hymen's Arch-Chancellor, vice Lord Stowell.
350
THE STATUES AT LARGE.
A ROYAL DIALOGUE.
Charles.George, my equestrian brother, though
The fates have placed us dos-à-dos
In queer quadrilling fashion,
Prithee, in spite of critic snarls,
Grant to your royal brother Charles
Five minutes' conversation.
George.
Artists to condemnation doom
My anno domini costume,
Though to my era proper:
The epithets of “poor” and “flat”
Stick in my skirts, three-corner'd hat,
And pig-tail made of copper.
Charles.
Why, ay, my beard, my antique air,
My mantle, boots, and flowing hair,
Ambitiously aspire
Your lovely pedestal above,
Yet—measured by our people's love—
Methinks you're standing higher.
351
Though dwelling now in loftier scenes,
Each, thinking of the ways and means,
By golden trump is summon'd.
I to the banking-house below
Cry, “Mammon, to the Ransom, ho!”
Your right-hand man is Drummond.
Charles.
When James succumb'd to Nassau's yoke,
My palace, hid in lurid smoke,
Red Vulcan made a ruin.
My banquet-house survives alone,
And that—for reasons of my own—
I'd rather not be viewing.
George.
Co-equal fates our dwellings mark;
My mansion in St. James's Park
A new Stonehenge o'ermasters.
Yon marble arch exclaims—“Avaunt!
Duke Sheffield's comfortable haunt—
Red brick and white pilasters!”
Charles.
There with my subjects ill at ease,
By sturdy puritan M.P.'s
Eluded and outwitted,
Ent'ring the house, with visage grim,
I sought for Hazlerig and Pym,
And found “the birds had flitted.”
352
Intruding on forbidden ground—
Had I thus ventured to impound
Joe Hume or Daniel Whittle,
Bearding St. Stephen, face to face,
The hardness of the Speaker's mace
Had proved my sceptre brittle.
Charles.
Shall I spur on with iron heel
And dispossess Sir Robert Peel?
Ah me! I am not able.
The “new Whitehall,” foretold by Pope,
Lives only in the poet's hope,
And Ripley builds a fable.
George.
What if, descending hand in hand,
Statues at large, we quit our stand
To wonder-strike the many,
And go to court by way of prank,
Like him, the marble man, who drank
With gallant Don Giovanni?
Charles.
No, brother, haunt no more that scene—
They whom it most concerns, I ween,
Would deem us rude aggressors.
Let neither from the stirrup stir—
Heirs seldom want to disinter
Departed predecessors.
353
Imagination cannot reach
A fairer substitute for each
Than gentle Queen Victoria.
Long may she reign—as long as we—
And may her Maids of Honour be
Felicitas et Gloria!
CLUB LAW.
Dear Tom, since, by a lucky knack,
Your white 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.
Your white 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.
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.
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.
354
At a house-dinner show your fun,—
Mount a horse-laugh, quiz, banter, pun,
Be saucy as a squirrel;
But if your foe possess a pair
Of Manton's polish'd pops, “beware
Of entrance to a quarrel.”
Mount a horse-laugh, quiz, banter, pun,
Be saucy as a squirrel;
But if your foe possess a pair
Of Manton's polish'd pops, “beware
Of entrance to a quarrel.”
If a roast fillet deck the board,
With bacon, you can well afford
To leave the viand per se;
But if a haunch supplant the veal,
“Grapple” the joint “with hooks of steel,”
And carve it without mercy.
With bacon, you can well afford
To leave the viand per 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.
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 part;—
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.
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 a waiter, bang the door,
And for your brethren care no more
Than Tippoo cared for Hindoos.
When Boreas howls, complain of heat,
And open all the windows:
Ring for a waiter, bang the door,
And for your brethren care no more
Than Tippoo cared for Hindoos.
355
Never to acquiesce be seen:
To those who dwell on Edmund Kean,
Talk of John Kemble's glories.
Dub all who do the civil, prigs;
Revile Lord Melbourne to the Whigs,
Sir Robert to the Tories.
To those who dwell on Edmund Kean,
Talk of John Kemble's glories.
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.
“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 paté, fare ye well,
Give me some cot Helvetian,
Thither I fain my flight would wing,
Of clubs the abdicated king,
An uncrown'd Dioclesian.”
Fish, soup, and paté, 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 petition'd Fate,
When lo! a card with lines so straight,
Arachne seem'd to rule 'em,
Woo'd me to fair Pastora's shrine—
An invitation out to dine
At Ivy Cottage, Fulham!
When lo! a card with lines so straight,
Arachne seem'd to rule 'em,
Woo'd me to fair Pastora's shrine—
An invitation out to dine
At Ivy Cottage, Fulham!
356
“'Tis well!” I cried. “At Wit'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.
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.
“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 di'mond spark,’
To suit my Hindoo habits.
Brown loaf; an avalanche of milk;
At most a brace of rabbits;
Cheese, hard enough to pose a shark;
And water, ‘clear as di'mond 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.”
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,
'Twould seem the ipse locus where
Macready pierced the pippin.
I came. Had Fanny Kelly up
The outside stair been skipping,
With three long plaits of braided hair,
'Twould seem the ipse locus where
Macready pierced the pippin.
But soon the inside put to rout
The dreams engender'd by the out;
Chintz chairs with sofa paddings;
Bright stoves, at war with humid damps;
Pianos; rosewood tables; lamps,
As brilliant as Aladdin's.
The dreams engender'd by the out;
Chintz chairs with sofa paddings;
Bright stoves, at war with humid damps;
Pianos; rosewood tables; lamps,
As brilliant as Aladdin's.
357
Fish, soup, and mutton, finely dress'd,
Adorn'd the board; a pleasant guest
Was placed my right and left on;
With dishes lateral, endued
With flavour to astonish Ude,
Lucullus, or Lord Sefton.
Adorn'd the board; a pleasant guest
Was placed my right and left on;
With dishes lateral, endued
With flavour to astonish Ude,
Lucullus, or Lord Sefton.
The party, 'mid the sound of corks,
(Although the bread was white; the forks
Were silver, not metallic,)
Seem'd not to see the joke was this,
That, while the outside walls were Swiss,
The feast was Anglo-Gallic.
(Although the bread was white; the forks
Were silver, not metallic,)
Seem'd 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 Haroün the Caliph.
Some sable, antiquated crone,
As wily as a bailiff,
Leads, blindfold, on his hands and knees,
Some youth, through alleys dark, to please
Great Haroün 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.
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.
MUSIC MAD.
“Madamina, il catalogo è questo
Delle belle che amo il padron mio:
Osservate, legete, con Me.”
—Il Don Giovann
Delle belle che amo il padron mio:
Osservate, legete, con Me.”
—Il Don Giovann
For song, in youth, my pulse beat quick,
For song, in age, beats quicker;
Applauding all, through thin and thick,
I shame Bray's veering Vicar.
On every voice, when most in vogue,
My glad attention lingers;
And Leporello's catalogue
Echoes my taste in singers.
For song, in age, beats quicker;
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I shame Bray's veering Vicar.
On every voice, when most in vogue,
My glad attention lingers;
And Leporello's catalogue
Echoes my taste in singers.
At twenty-one, as mad as he
Who rode on Rozinante,
Chain'd to the car of harmony,
I bow'd to haughty Banti.
My senses all absorb'd in sound,
I sang “Ah! mia cara,”
And raved; till suddenly I found
My antidote in Mara.
Who rode on Rozinante,
Chain'd to the car of harmony,
I bow'd to haughty Banti.
My senses all absorb'd in sound,
I sang “Ah! mia cara,”
And raved; till suddenly I found
My antidote in Mara.
Mara I swore to woo for life;
But, when she sang in Polly,
Her English, as the Robber's Wife,
Reliev'd me of my folly.
By Mara's pipe no longer fired,
I lived uncharm'd by any;
Till, conquer'd by the “Soldier Tired,”
In Billington's Mandané.
But, when she sang in Polly,
Her English, as the Robber's Wife,
Reliev'd me of my folly.
By Mara's pipe no longer fired,
I lived uncharm'd by any;
Till, conquer'd by the “Soldier Tired,”
In Billington's Mandané.
Destined, ere long, again to veer,
As fickle as Giovanni;
Fate, to enthral me, made appear
Majestic Catalani.
Forth from my pocket her half notes
Extracted my half guineas,
Pour'd from the first of human throats,
Till—follow'd by Grassini's.
As fickle as Giovanni;
Fate, to enthral me, made appear
Majestic Catalani.
Forth from my pocket her half notes
Extracted my half guineas,
Pour'd from the first of human throats,
Till—follow'd by Grassini's.
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Grassini's mournful Proserpine
Was now my heart's new pattern.
Oh! how I wish'd my lot were thine,
Contr'alto, son of Saturn!
Light Bolla, with her laughing eye,
Then drove me nearly crazy,
Till soothed by the sobriety
Of quiet Camporese.
Was now my heart's new pattern.
Oh! how I wish'd my lot were thine,
Contr'alto, son of Saturn!
Light Bolla, with her laughing eye,
Then drove me nearly crazy,
Till soothed by the sobriety
Of quiet Camporese.
Ronzi de Begnis' better half
Then ruled, till jocund Fodor
Came forward with her easy laugh,
And put her out of odour.
Sontag ruled next, and ruled me long,
Fair fav'rite of Apollo;
Till Malibran, the Queen of Song.
Beat baffled Sontag hollow.
Then ruled, till jocund Fodor
Came forward with her easy laugh,
And put her out of odour.
Sontag ruled next, and ruled me long,
Fair fav'rite of Apollo;
Till Malibran, the Queen of Song.
Beat baffled Sontag hollow.
Last in the scale, “though last not least,'
To make my heart uneasy,
Prime dainty in Euterpe's feast,
Comes all-accomplish'd Grisi.
Her magic notes make sorrow flit,
And Care his wrinkles soften;
But, since the stalls have spoilt the pit,
I fail to hear them often.
To make my heart uneasy,
Prime dainty in Euterpe's feast,
Comes all-accomplish'd Grisi.
Her magic notes make sorrow flit,
And Care his wrinkles soften;
But, since the stalls have spoilt the pit,
I fail to hear them often.
The pit, of yore, the acts between,
A lounge, a quiet ramble,
Is now a bear-garden—a scene
Of rude and noisy scramble.
Drawn thither from their sylvan haunt
By Orpheus—who can blame 'em?
Tigers are charm'd—I only want
The new police to tame 'em!
A lounge, a quiet ramble,
Is now a bear-garden—a scene
Of rude and noisy scramble.
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By Orpheus—who can blame 'em?
Tigers are charm'd—I only want
The new police to tame 'em!
MY HEAD'S SEVEN AGES.
“At early fifteen,” ere I mourn'd human wrongs,
My locks, pinch'd by nothing but Nature's warm tongs,
In colour well match'd with the Colchican fleece,
Unpunish'd by powder, ungarnish'd by grease,
Half-way down my back, as then worn by the young,
In many a corkscrew bewitchingly hung:
Whoever in print young Napoleon has seen,
May form a good notion of me at fifteen.
My locks, pinch'd by nothing but Nature's warm tongs,
In colour well match'd with the Colchican fleece,
Unpunish'd by powder, ungarnish'd by grease,
Half-way down my back, as then worn by the young,
In many a corkscrew bewitchingly hung:
Whoever in print young Napoleon has seen,
May form a good notion of me at fifteen.
But soon, like a Visigoth marching on Rome,
The barber rush'd in with his scissors and comb;
Poor Nature was presently push'd to the wall,
And shriek'd, like Belinda, to see my locks fall:
My hair scorch'd and frizz'd at the top became horrid,
Hard knocks of pomatum were dealt on my forehead,
I look'd like a linnet just caught in a cage,
So wide of its first was my head's second age!
The barber rush'd in with his scissors and comb;
Poor Nature was presently push'd to the wall,
And shriek'd, like Belinda, to see my locks fall:
My hair scorch'd and frizz'd at the top became horrid,
Hard knocks of pomatum were dealt on my forehead,
I look'd like a linnet just caught in a cage,
So wide of its first was my head's second age!
Ere long my vex'd hair, which, pomaded and sleek,
Hung straight as John Wesley's adown either check,
By combs metamorphosed, assumed a new shape,
No longer a pigtail swung black at my nape:
The queue, with its ligatures spiral in twists,
Gave place to a knocker as big as my fists:
Whoever the late Major Topham has seen,
May form a good notion of me at nineteen.
Hung straight as John Wesley's adown either check,
By combs metamorphosed, assumed a new shape,
No longer a pigtail swung black at my nape:
The queue, with its ligatures spiral in twists,
Gave place to a knocker as big as my fists:
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May form a good notion of me at nineteen.
Now knew I the joys the three Sisters prepare
For those who depend on the dressers of hair:
The dandies, who now “seek that bubble repute”
In the cut of a coat or the bend of a boot,
Can feebly imagine my often-felt woes,
With my watch in my hand, and my mask on my nose:
When lo! the huge knocker retired from the head,
And back came the pigtail to reign in its stead.
For those who depend on the dressers of hair:
The dandies, who now “seek that bubble repute”
In the cut of a coat or the bend of a boot,
Can feebly imagine my often-felt woes,
With my watch in my hand, and my mask on my nose:
When lo! the huge knocker retired from the head,
And back came the pigtail to reign in its stead.
O caput humanum! dark dungeon of doubt,
Spite of Spurzheim, a labyrinth, inside and out,
How fleeting is all that dwells under a hat—
The late Duke of Bedford now brought in a plat!
And as both Jack and Peter abolish'd their queues,
I quickly changed mine for a well-powder'd noose:
My head, at that time, will at once re-appear
To those who have ever seen Palmer in Sneer.
Spite of Spurzheim, a labyrinth, inside and out,
How fleeting is all that dwells under a hat—
The late Duke of Bedford now brought in a plat!
And as both Jack and Peter abolish'd their queues,
I quickly changed mine for a well-powder'd noose:
My head, at that time, will at once re-appear
To those who have ever seen Palmer in Sneer.
No sooner had I, spite of wisdom's rebuke,
Pinn'd the faith of my head on the plat of a duke,
When sudden his grace much astonish'd the town
With an unpowder'd pate, in its natural brown.
Away flew pomade: barbers shut up their shops:
Their harvest was ruin'd by too many crops;
While I, with a nob ev'ry morning brush'd clean,
Da-capo'd the tresses of “early fifteen.
Pinn'd the faith of my head on the plat of a duke,
When sudden his grace much astonish'd the town
With an unpowder'd pate, in its natural brown.
Away flew pomade: barbers shut up their shops:
Their harvest was ruin'd by too many crops;
While I, with a nob ev'ry morning brush'd clean,
Da-capo'd the tresses of “early fifteen.
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E'er since, Fashion vainly has left me alone,
For Time works the changes neglected by Ton.
My locks, erst so intimate, distant are seen,
Their visits are few, and the space far between:
Old Time, too, has made me my forelock resign;
I never seiz'd his, yet the dog has seized mine,
And seems to exclaim—“Prithee pay me my wages:
Your head has arrived at the last of its ages!
For Time works the changes neglected by Ton.
My locks, erst so intimate, distant are seen,
Their visits are few, and the space far between:
Old Time, too, has made me my forelock resign;
I never seiz'd his, yet the dog has seized mine,
And seems to exclaim—“Prithee pay me my wages:
Your head has arrived at the last of its ages!
FIVE HUNDRED A YEAR.
That gilt middle-path, which the poet of Rome
Extoll'd as the only safe highway to bliss;
That “haven” which many a poet at home
Assures us all Guinea-bound merchantmen miss;
That bless'd middle line,
Which bard and divine
In sonnet and sermon so sigh for, is mine;—
My uncle, a plain honest fat auctioneer,
Walk'd off, and bequeath'd me Five Hundred a year.
Extoll'd as the only safe highway to bliss;
That “haven” which many a poet at home
Assures us all Guinea-bound merchantmen miss;
That bless'd middle line,
Which bard and divine
In sonnet and sermon so sigh for, is mine;—
My uncle, a plain honest fat auctioneer,
Walk'd off, and bequeath'd me 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, who is now at the Bar,
Drove post to a Proctor to knock up the will.
They never could trace
What beauty 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!
Can fail to remember how stared brother Bill,
Jack bullied, and Tom, who is now at the Bar,
Drove post to a Proctor to knock up the will.
They never could trace
What beauty or grace
Sir Christopher Catalogue saw in my face,
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And deluge a fourth with Five Hundred a year!
The will, though law-beaten, stood firm as a rock,
The probate was properly lodged at the Bank;
Transferr'd 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 enter'd, what seem'd then, a happy career,
Possess'd of a gig and Five Hundred a year.
The probate was properly lodged at the Bank;
Transferr'd 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 enter'd, what seem'd then, a happy career,
Possess'd of a gig and Five Hundred a year.
Ere long, I began to be bored by a guest,
A strange sort of harpy, who poison'd 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 Ennui.
“I'm come,” he still cried, “to partake of your cheer,
I'm partial to folks of Five Hundred a year.”
A strange sort of harpy, who poison'd 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 Ennui.
“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 open'd a tea-shop in Bridgewater-square,
And Jack, as a writer, grew rich in Bengal.
Tom made his impressions
Through Newgate transgressions,
And got half the business at Clerkenwell Sessions.
They march'd in the van, while I lagg'd in the rear,
Condemn'd to Ennui and Five Hundred a year.
Got onward in life, while I stuck by the wall;
Bill open'd a tea-shop in Bridgewater-square,
And Jack, as a writer, grew rich in Bengal.
Tom made his impressions
Through Newgate transgressions,
And got half the business at Clerkenwell Sessions.
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Condemn'd to Ennui 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 girl in an angle,
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.”
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 girl in an angle,
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.
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.
SIR DUNDER O'KELLY.
—Pete regna per undas.—VIRG.
Old Mother O'Kelly, the scold,
Who lived in a county of blunder,
Called great Tipperary, I'm told,
Thus spoke to her little boy Dunder—
“I've only got you and a cow,
And, since I can't keep all the three,
I'd better keep her, you'll allow,
Because the kind creature keeps me.”
Who lived in a county of blunder,
Called great Tipperary, I'm told,
Thus spoke to her little boy Dunder—
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And, since I can't keep all the three,
I'd better keep her, you'll allow,
Because the kind creature keeps me.”
So Dunder O'Kelly set sail
From Ireland to better himself,
And climb'd up the Holyhead mail
To ease Johnny Bull of his pelf.
To follow of glory the path,
And put British beef in his belly,
At Margate, at Brighton, at Bath,
He sported Sir Dunder O'Kelly.
From Ireland to better himself,
And climb'd up the Holyhead mail
To ease Johnny Bull of his pelf.
To follow of glory the path,
And put British beef in his belly,
At Margate, at Brighton, at Bath,
He sported Sir Dunder O'Kelly.
Sir Dunder in dancing was skill'd,
And look'd very neat in his clothes;
But indeed all his beauty was kill'd
By a terrible wen on his nose.
This double appendage, alas!
He thought neither pretty nor proper;
Nature gave him one visage of brass,
And Bacchus two noses of copper.
And look'd very neat in his clothes;
But indeed all his beauty was kill'd
By a terrible wen on his nose.
This double appendage, alas!
He thought neither pretty nor proper;
Nature gave him one visage of brass,
And Bacchus two noses of copper.
He dived into Bath for a bride,
The ladies all check'd his advances,
And vow'd they could never abide
Loose manners, and straiten'd finances;
One lady alone met his flame,
With a hop, and a jig, and a nod.
I ask'd a blind fiddler her name,
And he answer'd me—Moll in the Wad.
The ladies all check'd his advances,
And vow'd they could never abide
Loose manners, and straiten'd finances;
One lady alone met his flame,
With a hop, and a jig, and a nod.
I ask'd a blind fiddler her name,
And he answer'd me—Moll in the Wad.
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His looking-glass set the poor knight
Ofttimes in his bedchamber raving,
His ugliness showing at night,
And eke in the morning when shaving.
He flung himself down on the floor;—
Was ever unfortunate elf
So terribly haunted before
By a ghost in the shape of himself?
Ofttimes in his bedchamber raving,
His ugliness showing at night,
And eke in the morning when shaving.
He flung himself down on the floor;—
Was ever unfortunate elf
So terribly haunted before
By a ghost in the shape of himself?
Resolved Charon's eddy to pass,
His pistol he primed, but — O blunder!
He thought, if he shot at the glass,
'Twould blow out the brains of Sir Dunder.
So bang went the slugs at his head,
At once from this life to dissever;
He shot all the quicksilver dead,
But himself was as lively as ever.
His pistol he primed, but — O blunder!
He thought, if he shot at the glass,
'Twould blow out the brains of Sir Dunder.
So bang went the slugs at his head,
At once from this life to dissever;
He shot all the quicksilver dead,
But himself was as lively as ever.
Amazed at the hubbub was he,
And began, in the midst of the clatter,
All over to felo-de-se,
But found there was nothing the matter.
So, glad Charon's eddy to shun,
His sentiments thus he discloses—
“Since two heads are better than one,
Perhaps 'tis the same with two noses.”
And began, in the midst of the clatter,
All over to felo-de-se,
But found there was nothing the matter.
So, glad Charon's eddy to shun,
His sentiments thus he discloses—
“Since two heads are better than one,
Perhaps 'tis the same with two noses.”
To his own Tipperary poor Dun,
From scenes of disturbance and bother,
Trudged back, like the Prodigal Son,
And fell on the neck of his mother.
At home he now follows the plough,
And, whilst in his rustical courses
He walks at their tails, you'll allow
He never can frighten his horses.
From scenes of disturbance and bother,
Trudged back, like the Prodigal Son,
And fell on the neck of his mother.
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And, whilst in his rustical courses
He walks at their tails, you'll allow
He never can frighten his horses.
EPITAPH TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER,
WHO SUCCEEDED HIS FATHER AS PATENTEE OF THE HAYMARKET THEATRE. HE WAS PRE-EMINENT AS A DRAMATIST, ADMIRED AS A POET, CONSPICUOUS AS A WIT, AND BELOVED AS A MAN.
Colman, the Muse's Child, the Drama's Pride,Whose works now waken joy, or grief impart;
Humour with pathos, wit with sense allied,
A playful fancy, and a feeling heart,—
His task accomplish'd, and his circuit run,
Here finds at last his monumental bed;
Take then, departed Shade, this lay from one
Who lov'd thee living, and laments thee dead.
Born, October 21st, 1762.
Died, October 26th, 1836.
Died, October 26th, 1836.
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