The works of Thomas Hood Comic and serious: In prose and verse. Edited, with notes, by his son |
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 | III. | VOLUME III. |
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 | The works of Thomas Hood |  |
III. VOLUME III.
4
1834.
ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART.
“At certain seasons he makes a prodigious clattering with his bill.”
—Selby.
“The bill is rather long, flat, and tinged with green.”
—Bewick.
Oh Andrew Fairservice—but I beg pardon,
You never labour'd in Di Vernon's garden,
On curly kale and cabbages intent—
Andrew Churchservice was the thing I meant;
You are a Christian, I would be the same,
Although we differ, and I'll tell you why,
Not meaning to make game,
I do not like my Church so very High!
You never labour'd in Di Vernon's garden,
On curly kale and cabbages intent—
Andrew Churchservice was the thing I meant;
You are a Christian, I would be the same,
Although we differ, and I'll tell you why,
Not meaning to make game,
I do not like my Church so very High!
When people talk, as talk they will,
About your bill,
They say, among their other jibes and small jeers,
That, if you had your way,
You'd make the seventh day
As overbearing as the Dey of Algiers.
Talk of converting Blacks—
You make a thing so horrible of one day,
Each nigger they will bet a something tidy,
Would rather be a heathenish Man Friday,
Than your Man Sunday!
About your bill,
They say, among their other jibes and small jeers,
That, if you had your way,
You'd make the seventh day
As overbearing as the Dey of Algiers.
Talk of converting Blacks—
You make a thing so horrible of one day,
Each nigger they will bet a something tidy,
5
Than your Man Sunday!
So poor men speak,
Who, once a week,
Perhaps, after weaving artificial flowers,
Can snatch a glance of Nature's kinder bowers,
And revel in a bloom
That is not of the loom,
Making the earth, the streams, the skies, the trees,
A Chapel of Ease.
Whereas, as you would plan it,
Walled in with hard Scotch granite,
People all day should look to their behaviours;—
But though there be, as Shakspeare owns,
“Sermons in stones,”
Zounds! would you have us work at them like paviours?
Who, once a week,
Perhaps, after weaving artificial flowers,
Can snatch a glance of Nature's kinder bowers,
And revel in a bloom
That is not of the loom,
Making the earth, the streams, the skies, the trees,
A Chapel of Ease.
Whereas, as you would plan it,
Walled in with hard Scotch granite,
People all day should look to their behaviours;—
But though there be, as Shakspeare owns,
“Sermons in stones,”
Zounds! would you have us work at them like paviours?
Spontaneous is pure devotion's fire;
And in a green wood many a soul has built
A new Church, with a fir-tree for its spire,
Where Sin has prayed for peace, and wept for guilt,
Better than if an architect the plan drew;
We know of old how medicines were backed,
But true Religion needs not to be quacked
By an Un-merry Andrew!
And in a green wood many a soul has built
A new Church, with a fir-tree for its spire,
Where Sin has prayed for peace, and wept for guilt,
Better than if an architect the plan drew;
We know of old how medicines were backed,
But true Religion needs not to be quacked
By an Un-merry Andrew!
Suppose a poor town-weary sallow elf
At Primrose-hill would renovate himself,
Or drink (and no great harm)
Milk genuine at Chalk Farm;
The innocent intention who would baulk,
And drive him back into St. Bennet Fink?
For my part, for my life, I cannot think
A walk on Sunday is “the Devil's Walk.
At Primrose-hill would renovate himself,
Or drink (and no great harm)
Milk genuine at Chalk Farm;
The innocent intention who would baulk,
And drive him back into St. Bennet Fink?
6
A walk on Sunday is “the Devil's Walk.
But there's a sect of Deists, and their creed
Is D---ing other people to be d---d;
Yea, all that are not of their saintly level,
They make a pious point
To send, with an “aroint,”
Down to that great Fillhellenist, the Devil.
To such, a ramble by the River Lea,
Is really treading on the “Banks of D---.”
Is D---ing other people to be d---d;
Yea, all that are not of their saintly level,
They make a pious point
To send, with an “aroint,”
Down to that great Fillhellenist, the Devil.
To such, a ramble by the River Lea,
Is really treading on the “Banks of D---.”
Go down to Margate, wisest of law-makers,
And say unto the sea, as Canute did
(Of course the sea will do as it is bid),
“This is the Sabbath—let there be no breakers!”
Seek London's Bishop, on some Sunday morn,
And try him with your tenets to inoculate;
Abuse his fine souchong, and say in scorn,
“This is not Churchman's chocolate!”
And say unto the sea, as Canute did
(Of course the sea will do as it is bid),
“This is the Sabbath—let there be no breakers!”
Seek London's Bishop, on some Sunday morn,
And try him with your tenets to inoculate;
Abuse his fine souchong, and say in scorn,
“This is not Churchman's chocolate!”
Or, seek Dissenters at their mid-day meal,
And read them from your Sabbath Bill some passages,
And while they eat their mutton, beef, and veal,
Shout out with holy zeal—
“These are not Chappel's sausages!”
Suppose your Act should act up to your will,
Yet how will it appear to Mrs. Grundy,
To hear you saying of this pious bill,
“It works well—on a Sunday!”
And read them from your Sabbath Bill some passages,
And while they eat their mutton, beef, and veal,
Shout out with holy zeal—
“These are not Chappel's sausages!”
Suppose your Act should act up to your will,
Yet how will it appear to Mrs. Grundy,
To hear you saying of this pious bill,
“It works well—on a Sunday!”
To knock down apple-stalls is now too late,
Except to starve some poor old harmless madam;—
You might have done some good, and changed our fate,
Could you have upset that which ruined Adam!
'Tis useless to prescribe salt-cod and eggs,
Or lay post-horses under legal fetters,
While Tattersall's on Sunday stirs its Legs,
Folks look for good examples from their Betters!
Except to starve some poor old harmless madam;—
7
Could you have upset that which ruined Adam!
'Tis useless to prescribe salt-cod and eggs,
Or lay post-horses under legal fetters,
While Tattersall's on Sunday stirs its Legs,
Folks look for good examples from their Betters!
Consider—Acts of Parliament may bind
A man to go where Irvings are discoursing;
But as for forcing “proper frames of mind,”
Minds are not framed, like melons, for such forcing!
A man to go where Irvings are discoursing;
But as for forcing “proper frames of mind,”
Minds are not framed, like melons, for such forcing!
Remember, as a Scottish legislator,
The Scotch Kirk always has a Moderator;
Meaning, one need not ever be sojourning
In a long Sermon Lane without a turning.
Such grave old maids as Portia and Zenobia
May like discourses with a skein of threads,
And love a lecturé for its many heads;
But as for me, I have the Hydra-phobia.
The Scotch Kirk always has a Moderator;
Meaning, one need not ever be sojourning
In a long Sermon Lane without a turning.
Such grave old maids as Portia and Zenobia
May like discourses with a skein of threads,
And love a lecturé for its many heads;
But as for me, I have the Hydra-phobia.
Religion one should never overdo:
Right glad I am no minister you be,
For you would say your service, sir, to me,
Till I should say, “My service, sir, to you.”
Six days made all that is, you know, and then,
Came that of rest, by holy ordination,
As if to hint unto the sons of men,
After creation should come re-creation.
Read right this text, and do not further search
To make a Sunday Workhouse of the Church.
Right glad I am no minister you be,
For you would say your service, sir, to me,
Till I should say, “My service, sir, to you.”
Six days made all that is, you know, and then,
Came that of rest, by holy ordination,
As if to hint unto the sons of men,
After creation should come re-creation.
Read right this text, and do not further search
To make a Sunday Workhouse of the Church.
8
QUEEN MAB.
A little fairy comes at night,
Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
And from the moon she flutters down.
Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
And from the moon she flutters down.
She has a little silver wand,
And when a good child goes to bed
She waves her wand from right to left,
And makes a circle round its head.
And when a good child goes to bed
She waves her wand from right to left,
And makes a circle round its head.
And then it dreams of pleasant things,
Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit
And bow their branches at a wish:
Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit
And bow their branches at a wish:
Of arbours filled with dainty scents
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
And glow-worms shining in the shade:
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
And glow-worms shining in the shade:
And talking birds with gifted tongues,
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.
9
But when a bad child goes to bed.
From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly, horrid things!
From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly, horrid things!
Then lions come with glaring eyes,
And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And ogres draw their cruel knives,
To shed the blood of girls and boys.
And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And ogres draw their cruel knives,
To shed the blood of girls and boys.
Then stormy waves rush on to drown,
Or raging flames come scorching round,
Fierce dragons hover in the air,
And serpents crawl along the ground.
Or raging flames come scorching round,
Fierce dragons hover in the air,
And serpents crawl along the ground.
Then wicked children wake and weep,
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.
| The works of Thomas Hood | |