The Ingoldsby Lyrics By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham] |
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 | POLITICAL SKITS, PARODIES, Etc.
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 | The Ingoldsby Lyrics |  |
39
POLITICAL SKITS, PARODIES, Etc.
Waddington's Name.
While Johnny Gale Jones the memorial was keeping
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by, at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But, oh! what a grin on his visage shone brightly,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame,
'Midst his soi disant betters,
In vilely-formed letters,
The Doctor beheld little Waddington's name!
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by, at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But, oh! what a grin on his visage shone brightly,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame,
'Midst his soi disant betters,
In vilely-formed letters,
The Doctor beheld little Waddington's name!
“Hail, imp of sedition!” he cried, while he nodded
His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes;
“Magnanimous pigmy! Since Carlile's been quodded,
We wanted some shopman, about of your size!
For though many we've had, yet unbless'd was their lot,
When Murray and Sharpe with the constable came,
And for want of good bail
They were sent off to jail,
And the mittimus signed with an alderman's name.
His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes;
“Magnanimous pigmy! Since Carlile's been quodded,
We wanted some shopman, about of your size!
40
When Murray and Sharpe with the constable came,
And for want of good bail
They were sent off to jail,
And the mittimus signed with an alderman's name.
Then come, the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!
High perched on that counter where Carlile once stood,
Issue torments of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,
Well secured with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little Waddington's name.
The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!
High perched on that counter where Carlile once stood,
Issue torments of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,
Well secured with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little Waddington's name.
“Little Waddington,” as he was called, was employed during the imprisonment of Carlile, the infidel publisher, to conduct the sale of seditious works at the latter's shop in Fleet Street. He sat concealed behind a sliding panel, through which the money was paid, when the book required was dropped down from a room above. Waddington was tried, in 1820, for sedition, and acquitted. The above parody was, by an error of the editor, included in the “Remains of Theodore Hook.”
41
My Adieu to a “Man of Sense.”
A PARODY.
Fare thee well! and since for ever,
Why, for ever fare thee well!
Though relenting now—thou never
'Gainst me shalt again rebel.
Why, for ever fare thee well!
Though relenting now—thou never
'Gainst me shalt again rebel.
Why, not, Husky! look before thee,
Ere the fatal leap was ta'en,
When that sulky fit came o'er thee?
Place thou ne'er shalt fill again!
Ere the fatal leap was ta'en,
When that sulky fit came o'er thee?
Place thou ne'er shalt fill again!
Though the Whigs for this commend thee,
As thy lengthen'd face they view,
Even praises must offend thee,
Coming from so base a crew.
As thy lengthen'd face they view,
Even praises must offend thee,
Coming from so base a crew.
Why not check thy fond presumption,
While retreat I'd yet allow;
“Huskisson's a man of gumption,
Let him truckle—he knows how.”
While retreat I'd yet allow;
“Huskisson's a man of gumption,
Let him truckle—he knows how.”
42
Should some other Sub resemble,
Let him, too, remember thee;
And from thy example, tremble
At the thought of bullying me.
Let him, too, remember thee;
And from thy example, tremble
At the thought of bullying me.
Grant and Palmerston, thou knowest,
Dudley, too, thou well may'st know,
Grumbled that thus out thou goest,
Therefore out with thee they go.
Dudley, too, thou well may'st know,
Grumbled that thus out thou goest,
Therefore out with thee they go.
Yes, 'tis done—all words are idle,
Notes from thee are vainer still,
The contempt I cannot bridle
Makes its way against my will.
Notes from thee are vainer still,
The contempt I cannot bridle
Makes its way against my will.
Get thee gone!—thus disunited,
Forc'd from every worthier tie;
By Tories scorn'd, by Whiglings slighted,
Lower than this thou scarce canst lie.
Forc'd from every worthier tie;
By Tories scorn'd, by Whiglings slighted,
Lower than this thou scarce canst lie.
Arthur.
43
The London University;
OR, STINKOMALEE TRIUMPHANS.
Whene'er with pitying eye I view,
Each operative sot in town,
I smile to think how wondrous few
Get drunk who study at the U-
niversity we've Got in town,
niversity we've Got in town.
Each operative sot in town,
I smile to think how wondrous few
Get drunk who study at the U-
niversity we've Got in town,
niversity we've Got in town.
What precious fools “The People” grew,
Their Alma Mater not in town;
The “useful classes” hardly knew
Four was composed of two and two,
Until they learned it at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Their Alma Mater not in town;
The “useful classes” hardly knew
Four was composed of two and two,
Until they learned it at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
But now they're taught by Joseph Hu-
me, by far the cleverest Scot in town,
Their items and their tottles too;
Each may dissect his sister Sue,
From his instructions at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
me, by far the cleverest Scot in town,
Their items and their tottles too;
Each may dissect his sister Sue,
From his instructions at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
44
Then Lansdowne comes, like him how few
Can caper and can trot in town,
In pirouette and pas de deux—
He beats the famed Monsieur Giroux,
And teaches dancing at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Can caper and can trot in town,
In pirouette and pas de deux—
He beats the famed Monsieur Giroux,
And teaches dancing at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
And Gilchrist, see, that great Gentoo-
Professor, has a lot in town
Of Cockney boys, who fag Hindoo,
And larn Fem-nasties at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Professor, has a lot in town
Of Cockney boys, who fag Hindoo,
And larn Fem-nasties at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Sam Rogers' corpse of vampire hue,
Comes from its grave to rot in town;
For Bays the dead bard's crowned with Yew,
And chaunts the Pleasures of the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Comes from its grave to rot in town;
For Bays the dead bard's crowned with Yew,
And chaunts the Pleasures of the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Frank Jeffrey, of the Scotch Review,—
Whom Moore had nearly shot in town,
Now with his pamphlet stitched in blue
And yellow, d—ns the other two,
But lauds the ever-glorious U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Whom Moore had nearly shot in town,
Now with his pamphlet stitched in blue
And yellow, d—ns the other two,
But lauds the ever-glorious U-
niversity we've Got in town.
45
Great Birkbeck, king of chips and glue,
Who paper oft does blot in town,
From the Mechanics' Institu-
tion, comes to prate of wedge and screw,
Lever and axle at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Who paper oft does blot in town,
From the Mechanics' Institu-
tion, comes to prate of wedge and screw,
Lever and axle at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Lord Waithman, who long since withdrew
From Mansion-house to cot in town;
Adorned with chair of ormolu,
All darkly grand, like Prince Le Boo,
Lectures on Free Trade at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
From Mansion-house to cot in town;
Adorned with chair of ormolu,
All darkly grand, like Prince Le Boo,
Lectures on Free Trade at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Fat Favell, with his coat of blue,
Who speeches makes so hot in town,
In rhetoric spells his lectures through,
And sounds the V for W,
The vay they speak it at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Who speeches makes so hot in town,
In rhetoric spells his lectures through,
And sounds the V for W,
The vay they speak it at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Then Hurcombe comes, who late at New-
gate-market, sweetest spot in town!
Instead of one clerk popped in two!
To make a place for his ne-phew,
Seeking another at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
gate-market, sweetest spot in town!
Instead of one clerk popped in two!
To make a place for his ne-phew,
Seeking another at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
46
There's Captain Ross, a traveller true,
Has just presented, what in town-
's an article of great virtu,
(The telescope he once peep'd through,
And 'spied an Esquimaux canoe
On Croker Mountains), to the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Has just presented, what in town-
's an article of great virtu,
(The telescope he once peep'd through,
And 'spied an Esquimaux canoe
On Croker Mountains), to the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Since Michael gives no roast nor stew,
Where Whigs might eat and plot in town,
And swill his port, and mischief brew—
Poor Creevy sips his water gru-
el as the beadle of the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Where Whigs might eat and plot in town,
And swill his port, and mischief brew—
Poor Creevy sips his water gru-
el as the beadle of the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
There's Jerry Bentham and his crew,
Names ne'er to be forgot in town,
In swarms like Banquo's long is-sue—
Turk, Papist, Infidel, and Jew,
Come trooping on to join the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
Names ne'er to be forgot in town,
In swarms like Banquo's long is-sue—
Turk, Papist, Infidel, and Jew,
Come trooping on to join the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
To crown the whole with triple queue,—
Another such there's not in town,
Twitching his restless nose askew,
Behold tremendous Harry Brough-
am! Law Professor at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
niversity we've Got in town.
Another such there's not in town,
Twitching his restless nose askew,
Behold tremendous Harry Brough-
am! Law Professor at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
niversity we've Got in town.
47
Grand chorus:
Huzza! huzza! for Harry Brough-am! Law Professor at the U-
niversity we've Got in town.
The Spots in the Sun.
Large Spots in the Sun”—How alarming the state
Of the year eighteen hundred and twenty and eight—
'Tis awful to fancy, when all's said and done,
What mischiefs are caused by the “Spots in the Sun.”
Of the year eighteen hundred and twenty and eight—
'Tis awful to fancy, when all's said and done,
What mischiefs are caused by the “Spots in the Sun.”
The Courier declares that to those it was owing,
That we had in August such raining and blowing;
While steam-engines, steam-boats, and Perkins's gun,
Combined to produce these strange “Spots in the Sun.”
That we had in August such raining and blowing;
While steam-engines, steam-boats, and Perkins's gun,
Combined to produce these strange “Spots in the Sun.”
Whatever the cause, the effect is too clear,
We'd such very odd weather for that time of year:
Odd things have been ended, more odd things begun,
And all it would seem, through the “Spots in the Sun.”
We'd such very odd weather for that time of year:
Odd things have been ended, more odd things begun,
And all it would seem, through the “Spots in the Sun.”
At Lisbon, where blockheads would make John Bull try
For the deuce can tell what, and the deuce can tell why,
A throne has been lost, and a crown has been won,
And all, it is said, through these “Spots in the Sun.”
For the deuce can tell what, and the deuce can tell why,
A throne has been lost, and a crown has been won,
And all, it is said, through these “Spots in the Sun.”
48
In Dublin with Dan, and the rest of the gang,
When some would “conciliate,” others would hang,
George Dawson recants, just as Brownlow has done,
And shows what his friends think a “Spot in the Sun.”
When some would “conciliate,” others would hang,
George Dawson recants, just as Brownlow has done,
And shows what his friends think a “Spot in the Sun.”
When young Perceval turned to the same way of thinking,
Whose sire from the cause never once thought of shrinking;
Sam Rogers declared—(he's so fond of a pun)—
That the Tories would call it a “Spot in the Son.”
Whose sire from the cause never once thought of shrinking;
Sam Rogers declared—(he's so fond of a pun)—
That the Tories would call it a “Spot in the Son.”
At Stinkomalee there's confusion and bother,
Tom Campbell's new lecture makes way for another
By Ma'amselle Le Normand, who now has begun
To compose a whole course on the “Spots in the Sun.”
Tom Campbell's new lecture makes way for another
By Ma'amselle Le Normand, who now has begun
To compose a whole course on the “Spots in the Sun.”
But ah! rest not there, “Brightest star of the nation;”
Call in thy professor of Haerostation,
And send Jemmy Green, as the Times says was done,
Upon horseback, to scrub out the “Spots in the Sun.”
Call in thy professor of Haerostation,
And send Jemmy Green, as the Times says was done,
Upon horseback, to scrub out the “Spots in the Sun.”
On the one hundredth ascent of Mr. Green, the aëronaut, he was reported by the ‘Times’ to have bestridden a favourite pony who accompanied him. The fact was denied by the ‘Morning Post.’
49
Greece.
A King for Greece!—a King for Greece!
—Wanted a “Sovereign Prince” for Greece!
For the recreant Knight
Hath broken his plight,
Some say from policy, some from fright,
Some say in hope to rule for his niece,
He hath refused to be King over Greece.
—Wanted a “Sovereign Prince” for Greece!
For the recreant Knight
Hath broken his plight,
50
Some say in hope to rule for his niece,
He hath refused to be King over Greece.
A King for Greece!—a King for Greece!
Where shall we find a King for Greece?
Score after score,
A hundred and more,
Candidates crowd round the Treasury door,
From Athens, and Thebes, and the Peloponnese,
All of them eager to reign over Greece.
Where shall we find a King for Greece?
Score after score,
A hundred and more,
Candidates crowd round the Treasury door,
From Athens, and Thebes, and the Peloponnese,
All of them eager to reign over Greece.
Big O exclaims “Be the diadem mine!
I spring from chiefs of an ‘iligant’ line,
The Mahonites swear
If to stand I should dare
I shall ne'er again sit for the County of Clare.
Oh! what will I do should Parliament cease?
Oh! make me the Sovereign Prince of Greece!”
I spring from chiefs of an ‘iligant’ line,
The Mahonites swear
If to stand I should dare
I shall ne'er again sit for the County of Clare.
Oh! what will I do should Parliament cease?
Oh! make me the Sovereign Prince of Greece!”
Now naye, now naye, thou vagabond Dan,
In faith thou never mayst be the man,
Thou'lt cringe, and cry,
And bully, and lie,
Yet shrink from danger whene'er it comes night!
A Skulker in war, a Braggart in peace,
Thou never mayst be the Prince of Greece.
In faith thou never mayst be the man,
Thou'lt cringe, and cry,
And bully, and lie,
Yet shrink from danger whene'er it comes night!
51
Thou never mayst be the Prince of Greece.
“Oh! I'll be King, and the Nation shall thrive,
And I'll make one halfpenny pass for five!
Subscribe! Subscribe!
Ye Chaw-bacon tribe,
Give Peel and Wellington each a bribe;
'Twill cost no more than a penny a-piece,
To buy Will. Cobbett the crown of Greece!”
And I'll make one halfpenny pass for five!
Subscribe! Subscribe!
Ye Chaw-bacon tribe,
Give Peel and Wellington each a bribe;
'Twill cost no more than a penny a-piece,
To buy Will. Cobbett the crown of Greece!”
Now spare, now spare, thou grey-headed sinner,
The poor-man's purse for the poor-man's dinner!
In vain thou'dst rob it,
To mob it, and job it,
Thou never mayst reign, thou wicked Will. Cobbett!
Traitor to all parties, all to fleece,
A Vampyre were better than thou for Greece.
The poor-man's purse for the poor-man's dinner!
In vain thou'dst rob it,
To mob it, and job it,
Thou never mayst reign, thou wicked Will. Cobbett!
Traitor to all parties, all to fleece,
A Vampyre were better than thou for Greece.
“Oh! I'll be King!—oh! I'll be King!
And the people for joy shall dance and sing.
For Lords shall mix
With Layers of Bricks,
And Chimney-sweeps ride in their coaches and six;
Then shout, boys, shout, nor your clamouring cease
Till Henry Hunt is the Monarch of Greece.”
And the people for joy shall dance and sing.
For Lords shall mix
With Layers of Bricks,
And Chimney-sweeps ride in their coaches and six;
Then shout, boys, shout, nor your clamouring cease
Till Henry Hunt is the Monarch of Greece.”
52
Now naye, now naye, thou vain Blacking-man,
Thou wert fitter by far to be King of Japan;
Thy Reps, and Rapscallions,
And Tatterdemallions,
With their whitey-brown hats and their pewter medallions,
Fit subjects they for the new Police,
They never shall make thee the King of Greece!
Thou wert fitter by far to be King of Japan;
Thy Reps, and Rapscallions,
And Tatterdemallions,
With their whitey-brown hats and their pewter medallions,
Fit subjects they for the new Police,
They never shall make thee the King of Greece!
“Now tell me the price! now tell me the price!
Don't stand shilly-shally, nor be over-nice;
No matter how high,
I'll buy, I'll buy!
Then who'll be so great or so grand as I?
In my diamond tiara and ermined pelisse,
No longer a Duchess but Queen of Greece!”
Don't stand shilly-shally, nor be over-nice;
No matter how high,
I'll buy, I'll buy!
Then who'll be so great or so grand as I?
In my diamond tiara and ermined pelisse,
No longer a Duchess but Queen of Greece!”
Now naye, proud Duchess, now naye, now naye,
No Queen, but Quean, which is spelt with an a!
Full shameful, I ween,
It were in a Queen
To tipple Kürsch Wasser and proof Maraschin,
Now naye, now naye!—thy maudlin caprice
Shall never, O never, give law to Greece!
No Queen, but Quean, which is spelt with an a!
Full shameful, I ween,
It were in a Queen
To tipple Kürsch Wasser and proof Maraschin,
Now naye, now naye!—thy maudlin caprice
Shall never, O never, give law to Greece!
53
A King for Greece!—Oh, who may he be?—
“Ye'll just gie the ‘Souveran Croon’ to me!
The Siller's the thing
That maks a gude King;
To sic a fine pass the ‘revanue’ I'll bring,
Ye'll see the whole ‘tottle hoorly’ increase,
Gin ye'll mak Joey the King o' Greece!”
“Ye'll just gie the ‘Souveran Croon’ to me!
The Siller's the thing
That maks a gude King;
To sic a fine pass the ‘revanue’ I'll bring,
Ye'll see the whole ‘tottle hoorly’ increase,
Gin ye'll mak Joey the King o' Greece!”
Now naye, now naye, thou pawkie auld Scot,
Thy knaverie is not so soon forgot,
Thy tricks in the Loan
Are far too well known,
Thou'dst “rob the Exchequer,” and call it thine own!
Now naye, friend Joey, ne'er think us such Geese
That a Fox like thee should be King over Greece.
Thy knaverie is not so soon forgot,
Thy tricks in the Loan
Are far too well known,
Thou'dst “rob the Exchequer,” and call it thine own!
Now naye, friend Joey, ne'er think us such Geese
That a Fox like thee should be King over Greece.
Alas! for Greece!—Alas! for Greece!
We never shall find a fit King for Greece;
That Royal pair,
“Lance” and Chabert,
Are both of them burning to blaze away there,
Like William and Mary on a half-crown piece,
With heads conjoined to reign over Greece.
We never shall find a fit King for Greece;
That Royal pair,
“Lance” and Chabert,
Are both of them burning to blaze away there,
54
With heads conjoined to reign over Greece.
That never may be!—That never may be!
Though Satan were joined to make Fire-Kings three;
No Quackified Gander,
Nor red Salamander,
May sit where sat Macedon's Great Alexander:
Oh! had we Sovereigns fiery as these
Who might insure the safety of Greece?
Alas for Greece!—our hopes decrease—
We must look for a King among the Chinese!
Though Satan were joined to make Fire-Kings three;
No Quackified Gander,
Nor red Salamander,
May sit where sat Macedon's Great Alexander:
Oh! had we Sovereigns fiery as these
Who might insure the safety of Greece?
Alas for Greece!—our hopes decrease—
We must look for a King among the Chinese!
There's Dombrowsky,
And Poniatowsky,
Soltikoffs twenty,
And Romanoffs plenty,
Mastuchiewitz, Tchitchagoff,
(Enough to give a witch a cough,)
Pole and Russ,
All making a fuss,
With Germans and Dutch,
The sceptre to clutch—
Van Rump, Van Frump,
Van Beest, and Van Trump!
There's Prince Esterhazy,
So rich and so lazy;
There's Prince Emilius,
Looking so bilious;
And Count Capo d'Istery,
Famous in History;
With Wirtemberg Paul,
And the Devil and all,
French, Swiss, Spanish, and Piedmontese,
All of them mad to reign over Greece!
And Poniatowsky,
Soltikoffs twenty,
And Romanoffs plenty,
Mastuchiewitz, Tchitchagoff,
(Enough to give a witch a cough,)
Pole and Russ,
All making a fuss,
55
The sceptre to clutch—
Van Rump, Van Frump,
Van Beest, and Van Trump!
There's Prince Esterhazy,
So rich and so lazy;
There's Prince Emilius,
Looking so bilious;
And Count Capo d'Istery,
Famous in History;
With Wirtemberg Paul,
And the Devil and all,
French, Swiss, Spanish, and Piedmontese,
All of them mad to reign over Greece!
Oh, Jupiter! Sire of Gods and Men,
To thine own Olympus return again!
Bring back Mercurius,
Thy son, though spurious,
And Phœbus, and Juno,
And Hebe, whom you know;
Sweet little Cupid,
Who strikes people stupid,
With Bacchus and Venus,
And Pan and Silenus,
And the rest, who at school used so much to chagrin us!
Restore, once more,
To thy Classical Shore
Her “bright golden Age” and her “Glories of Yore!”
(Two phrases I've borrowed from honest Tom Moore),
From fierce Seraskiers,
Whisker'd up to the ears;
From Slaves,
And Knaves,
And Fools,
And Tools,
Thine own fair realm at length release,
And send us a Patriot Prince for Greece!
To thine own Olympus return again!
Bring back Mercurius,
Thy son, though spurious,
And Phœbus, and Juno,
And Hebe, whom you know;
Sweet little Cupid,
Who strikes people stupid,
With Bacchus and Venus,
And Pan and Silenus,
And the rest, who at school used so much to chagrin us!
56
To thy Classical Shore
Her “bright golden Age” and her “Glories of Yore!”
(Two phrases I've borrowed from honest Tom Moore),
From fierce Seraskiers,
Whisker'd up to the ears;
From Slaves,
And Knaves,
And Fools,
And Tools,
Thine own fair realm at length release,
And send us a Patriot Prince for Greece!
Monsieur Chabert was a sort of conjurer, who, in addition to the title of Fire King, claimed, like his royal predecessor the “Pontic Monarch,” immunity from the effects of poison. Unhappily for him, Mr. Wakley, the editor of the “Lancet,” thought proper to take up the cudgels in the interests of science; and very soon proved that a fire of his kindling and prussic acid of his preparing were not matters to be trifled with.
57
La Belle Ordamis.
March, march, march away, pretty ones,
See where the road to distinction's before ye;
March, march, country and city ones,
Follow the lass that will lead ye to glory.
See where the road to distinction's before ye;
March, march, country and city ones,
Follow the lass that will lead ye to glory.
58
On with the pretty coat—off with the petticoat,
Stays and tight-lacing no longer shall teaze us;
Cast away all clothes for jacket and small clothes,
And hey for a peep into Peloponnesus!
March, march, etc.
Stays and tight-lacing no longer shall teaze us;
Cast away all clothes for jacket and small clothes,
And hey for a peep into Peloponnesus!
March, march, etc.
Come then, sweet damsels, all sorts and all sizes,
Maids, widows, wives, “unequivocals,” come!
Think, only think, girls, how glorious the prize is;
Up with the musket and follow the drum!
Equal in bustle men—down with the Mussulmen;
Bound o'er the rock, o'er the precipice clamber.
O! how delightful to get some great frightful
Bewhisker'd Grand Turk for a valet de chambre!
March, march, etc.
Maids, widows, wives, “unequivocals,” come!
Think, only think, girls, how glorious the prize is;
Up with the musket and follow the drum!
Equal in bustle men—down with the Mussulmen;
Bound o'er the rock, o'er the precipice clamber.
O! how delightful to get some great frightful
Bewhisker'd Grand Turk for a valet de chambre!
March, march, etc.
Then, little darlings, O, think when you're arming,
While each lovely bosom is swelling with pride;
The helm how becoming, the white plume how charming,
How charming the dear little sword by your side!
Teach these he-creatures, in spite of soft features
You have spirit enough soon to set them to rights;
Handle your daggers well, talk loud and swagger well,
Just like Miss Love or Miss Graddon in tights.
March, march, etc.
While each lovely bosom is swelling with pride;
The helm how becoming, the white plume how charming,
How charming the dear little sword by your side!
Teach these he-creatures, in spite of soft features
You have spirit enough soon to set them to rights;
Handle your daggers well, talk loud and swagger well,
Just like Miss Love or Miss Graddon in tights.
March, march, etc.
59
And O, when at length your campaigning all over,
The Ottomites crush'd and enfranchis'd the Greeks,
Ye fly to the arms of some fond faithful lover,
And covered with glory get rid of the breeks.
The fame of Ordamis, or whatever her name is,
Shall live with your own still recorded in story,
While fathers cry “D—me, sons, think on the Amazons,
They were the girls for gallanting and glory!”
The Ottomites crush'd and enfranchis'd the Greeks,
Ye fly to the arms of some fond faithful lover,
And covered with glory get rid of the breeks.
The fame of Ordamis, or whatever her name is,
Shall live with your own still recorded in story,
While fathers cry “D—me, sons, think on the Amazons,
They were the girls for gallanting and glory!”
March, march, then march away, pretty ones,
See where the road to distinction's before ye;
March, march, merry, foolish, or witty ones,
Follow the lass that will lead you to glory.
See where the road to distinction's before ye;
March, march, merry, foolish, or witty ones,
Follow the lass that will lead you to glory.
60
A London Eclogue.
(Scene—A Saloon in Uxbridge House—Time, Noon—A breakfast-table set out—Cafe au lait, red herrings, Scotch marmalade, rizzer'd haddocks, anchovy toast, devil'd kidneys, best gunpowder, muffins buttered on both sides, etc.—Lord Anglesey discovered, solus, on a sofa, in a horizontal position, with his mouth full of muffin, reading the Intelligence;—his lordship's Sunday leg (a Cork one) stands near the fire on the opposite side of the room—A groom of the chambers announces “Mr. O'Connell.”—Enter Dan, hat in hand, bowing and scraping,)Dan.
Lord Anglesey, Lord Anglesey!—Good day, my lord, good day!
I've just looked in, becase I've got a word or two to say;
Jack Lawless told me yesterday, 'tis now beyond a doubt,
That you're made Lord-Lieutenant, and to-morrow you set out!
Lord A.
Dan O'Connell, Dan O'Connell! ragged Jack has told you true;
I'm off by steam for Dublin, and so, I suppose, are you:
I'm off by steam for Dublin, Dan, and you'll be there ere long,
And, Daniel, we'll be friends, my boy—but keep a civil tongue!
61
Why, that's the thing, Lord Anglesey, I come to speak of now;
I'm going over, and I mane to make a precious row!
I'll make a precious row, my lord, and rason good you see,
Becase they've made ould Doherty a Judge instead of me.
I mane to “agitate” the “Gem” as soon as I lave here,
And all the “Pisints” from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear;
I'll lave off whiskey, lave off wine, I'll lave off tay likewise,
And take to milk-and-wather, just to bother the Excise!
I'll have a run upon the banks—
Lord A.
Now gently, Mister Dan;
If you come here to bully me, you quite mistake your man—
Dan.
Oh! no, my Lord, you misconsave the maning of my call—
Lord A.
Then why bare-headed do you come?—or why d'ye come at all?
Dan.
Ah! asy now, Lord Anglesey, I'll tell yourself that thing;
You ax'd me once to dine—maybe you'll do that same next spring;
62
I hope you won't consave that it's meant personal to you!
Lord A.
Oh! that's it, Daniel, is it?—Now, attend to what I say— (sippeth coffee)
I mean to put rebellion down, assume what shape it may— (more muffin)
If I'm obliged to hang you, Dan, my duty I must do;
But I beg you won't consider it as personal to you!
The “Great Agitator” is greatly agitated—puts his hand nervously to his stock—turns white, then red, then whitey-brown—hems—coughs— sneezes—hesitates whether to be impudent, or brush—Spies the Sunday leg across the room.)
The Liberator
(aside).
(Ah! sure he can't get at me; so I'll give him just a taste)
(aloud)
—Is that the way ye'd sarve me, then, ye big unnat'ral baste!
Ye're a Saxon—and a Welshman—and a Liar, to the fore!
Ye are, ye big desaver, ye— His Excellency pulleth up his work-a-day leg, a wooden one, from beneath the cushion, and hurleth it, totis viribus, at Dan's head.)
Oh, murther! where's the door?
63
His Excellency
(from above).
John! Thomas! William! Harry! Peter!
Honest Jack
(from below).
Ah! now, what's the fun?
The Lord Lieutenant
(supra).
Kick those confounded rascals—
Dan
(in mid air).
Run! ye Devil's Darling, run!
(Tally ho! a fine burst—Hark forward! Dan dashes down the Burlington Arcade—Jack doubles, up Cork Street—the pack divides—“go it!”—Jack tumbles over an old applewoman, drops his new hat, which he had brought away from the Cider Cellar, by mistake, instead of his own old one; hounds at fault—Jack slips through Saville Passage—Stole away! Dan is run to earth by William, Harry, and Peter, at Truefit, the barber's; Lord Uxbridge comes up, and whips off the dogs.)
(Grand Hunting Chorus.)
Hark! how Vigo Lane, resounding,
Echoes to O'Connell's cry!
Hark! how all the streets surrounding
To his trembling voice reply! etc., etc.
(A recheat is winded, and the Curtain drops.)
64
The Mad Dog!!!
Mad Dog!—Mad Dog!—
A horrid Mad Dog
Is running about the town,
And all take flight
To the left and the right
Wherever his nose is shown;
For he barks, and he howls, and he snaps, and he yelps,
At the Dogs, and the Bitches, and all the little Whelps.
A horrid Mad Dog
Is running about the town,
And all take flight
To the left and the right
Wherever his nose is shown;
For he barks, and he howls, and he snaps, and he yelps,
At the Dogs, and the Bitches, and all the little Whelps.
Still he keeps roaming,
Grinning, and foaming,
And Folks know not what to do,
For he runs as he goes,
And his eyes and his nose,
All are running too!
His eyes 'tis said,
Are “set in his head,”
Which makes them the more to quail;
I own to me
More fearful 'twould be
If his eyes were set in his tail!
Grinning, and foaming,
And Folks know not what to do,
For he runs as he goes,
And his eyes and his nose,
All are running too!
His eyes 'tis said,
Are “set in his head,”
65
I own to me
More fearful 'twould be
If his eyes were set in his tail!
This fierce mad dog, this horrid mad dog,
Hath set both country and town agog;
Some think 'tis the very Dog Star himself,
With his own heat grown delirious;
Sam Rogers says “No,
It can never be so,
As he grins he can't be Sirius.”
Everybody dreads abroad to stir
All out of fear of this terrible cur.
Hath set both country and town agog;
Some think 'tis the very Dog Star himself,
With his own heat grown delirious;
Sam Rogers says “No,
It can never be so,
As he grins he can't be Sirius.”
Everybody dreads abroad to stir
All out of fear of this terrible cur.
For he hath nibbled a power of folks,
Lords and Squires of high degree;
The Rich and the Proud,
And the Vulgar crowd,
Lowly Peasant, or high born Dame,
Whoever he bites 'tis all the same,
All are gone mad as mad may be!
Lords and Squires of high degree;
The Rich and the Proud,
And the Vulgar crowd,
Lowly Peasant, or high born Dame,
Whoever he bites 'tis all the same,
All are gone mad as mad may be!
He hath bitten a Parliament man,
One Mister --- ---,
'Twas sad to see
The poor M.P.
When he began to rave;
At once, 'tis said,
All memory fled,
He knew no more what he had done than the dead,
Lost all recollection
About his election,
And his Leicester friends didled in high perfection;
They'd bills by the score,
But stoutly he swore
He'd see them all d—d ere he paid any more.
Down to Hastings the Doctors agree
Mister — must go and be dipt in the sea.
One Mister --- ---,
66
The poor M.P.
When he began to rave;
At once, 'tis said,
All memory fled,
He knew no more what he had done than the dead,
Lost all recollection
About his election,
And his Leicester friends didled in high perfection;
They'd bills by the score,
But stoutly he swore
He'd see them all d—d ere he paid any more.
Down to Hastings the Doctors agree
Mister — must go and be dipt in the sea.
This dog hath bitten the Queen of Song,
Alack that it so should be!
“Like sweet bells jangled out of tune”
Is now all her melody.
She hath stooped from her airy height
Where she soared a peerless bird,
With kestrel kites and crows obscene
For evermore to herd.
Alack! that one so fair and so bright,
Whom haply we deem'd a thing of light,
Should sink to a gulf so dark and so low;
Alack, alack! that it should be so!
He hath bitten a huge Tom Cat
Of the genuine Yorkshire breed;
Alack for “Pussy!” alack! alack!
How he cocks up his tail, how he sets up his back,
He hath gone very mad indeed.—
In his amorous rage
He hath pounced on a cage,
And borne off the Linnet
That sang within it;
Oh ne'er was such caterwauling heard
As when “Pussy” ran off with that favourite bird.
Alack that it so should be!
“Like sweet bells jangled out of tune”
Is now all her melody.
She hath stooped from her airy height
Where she soared a peerless bird,
With kestrel kites and crows obscene
For evermore to herd.
Alack! that one so fair and so bright,
Whom haply we deem'd a thing of light,
Should sink to a gulf so dark and so low;
Alack, alack! that it should be so!
67
Of the genuine Yorkshire breed;
Alack for “Pussy!” alack! alack!
How he cocks up his tail, how he sets up his back,
He hath gone very mad indeed.—
In his amorous rage
He hath pounced on a cage,
And borne off the Linnet
That sang within it;
Oh ne'er was such caterwauling heard
As when “Pussy” ran off with that favourite bird.
Run, neighbours, run—make no delay,
The Dog is snapping at all in his way;
He hath laid hold
Of a warrior bold
Who served for glory and not for gold.
The Colonel hath doffed his sabre and plume,
He hath gone into the little Green-room,
He lectureth there
The frail and the fair;
Good Lord! how the Thespian heroines stare
To hear their Giovanni
Who wooed so many,
And never was constant a week to any,
With air demure and sanctified look,
Talking away like a printed book!
Some smil'd, some winked, and said with a grin,
“'Tis a new farce,—‘The Devil rebuking sin.’”
The Dog is snapping at all in his way;
He hath laid hold
Of a warrior bold
Who served for glory and not for gold.
The Colonel hath doffed his sabre and plume,
He hath gone into the little Green-room,
He lectureth there
The frail and the fair;
Good Lord! how the Thespian heroines stare
68
Who wooed so many,
And never was constant a week to any,
With air demure and sanctified look,
Talking away like a printed book!
Some smil'd, some winked, and said with a grin,
“'Tis a new farce,—‘The Devil rebuking sin.’”
This Dog hath bitten—Oh woe is me!—
A Market Gardener of high degree;
Imperial Peas
No longer please,
An Imperial Crown he burneth to seize!
Early Cucumbers, Windsor Beans,
Cabbages, Cauliflowers, Brocoli, Greens,
Gherkins to pickle, Apples to munch,
Radishes fine, five farthings a bunch,
Carrots red, and Turnips white,
Parsnips yellow no more delight,
He spurneth lettuces, onions, and leeks,
He would be Sovereign Prince of the Greeks;
No more in a row,
A goodly show,
His Highness's carts to market go!
Yet still I heard Sam Rogers hint,
He hath no distaste to celery or mint;
A different whim
Now seizeth him,
And Greece for his part may sink or may swim,
For they cry that he
Would Regent be,
And rule fair England from sea to sea;
Oh! never was mortal man so mad,—
Alack! alack, for the Gardener-lad!
A Market Gardener of high degree;
Imperial Peas
No longer please,
An Imperial Crown he burneth to seize!
Early Cucumbers, Windsor Beans,
Cabbages, Cauliflowers, Brocoli, Greens,
Gherkins to pickle, Apples to munch,
Radishes fine, five farthings a bunch,
Carrots red, and Turnips white,
Parsnips yellow no more delight,
He spurneth lettuces, onions, and leeks,
He would be Sovereign Prince of the Greeks;
No more in a row,
A goodly show,
His Highness's carts to market go!
69
He hath no distaste to celery or mint;
A different whim
Now seizeth him,
And Greece for his part may sink or may swim,
For they cry that he
Would Regent be,
And rule fair England from sea to sea;
Oh! never was mortal man so mad,—
Alack! alack, for the Gardener-lad!
Oh horrible! horrible! worse and worse!
This Dog is an absolute national curse.
That a cur should so presume!
To the Parliament House he hath forced his way,
No Serjeant-at-arms may keep him at bay,
Poor Robert Quarme
Flies in alarm,
Rickman and Ley
Are as frighten'd as he,
He hath bitten great Henry Brougham!
'Twould quite amaze ye
To see how crazy
This great man grew in his three-tailed jasey.
“Fools,” and “Knaves,”
And “Rogues,” and “Slaves,”
“Smatterers,” “Chatterers,”
“Sycophant Flatterers—”
Good Lord! what names to the right and left
The “puir bodie” threw when of sense bereft;
Till up jumped Peel,
And to cool his zeal
Tipt him a mild “persuader,”
Beneath his frown
At once sunk down
The poor demented upbraider.
At once, and why we may well divine,
He ceased to bark and began to whine,
Since that dose full well I trow
He hath not uttered one little “Bow wow.”
This Dog is an absolute national curse.
That a cur should so presume!
To the Parliament House he hath forced his way,
No Serjeant-at-arms may keep him at bay,
Poor Robert Quarme
Flies in alarm,
Rickman and Ley
Are as frighten'd as he,
He hath bitten great Henry Brougham!
'Twould quite amaze ye
To see how crazy
This great man grew in his three-tailed jasey.
“Fools,” and “Knaves,”
And “Rogues,” and “Slaves,”
70
“Sycophant Flatterers—”
Good Lord! what names to the right and left
The “puir bodie” threw when of sense bereft;
Till up jumped Peel,
And to cool his zeal
Tipt him a mild “persuader,”
Beneath his frown
At once sunk down
The poor demented upbraider.
At once, and why we may well divine,
He ceased to bark and began to whine,
Since that dose full well I trow
He hath not uttered one little “Bow wow.”
Rejoice, Rejoice,
With heart and with voice,
None now will be bitten except by choice,
For Alderman Wood,
“So Wise, and so Good,”
Hath brought in a bill to crush the whole brood.
You may now lay hold of a mad-dog's tail,
And pull him backwards into a jail,
And the Lord May'r, no doubt,
Will never let him out
Unless he “produce satisfactory bail!”
Rejoice, Rejoice,
With heart and with voice,
All the little Girls and all the little Boys!
Let all of us shout, and sing, and say
Huzza for Alderman Wood! Huzza!
With heart and with voice,
None now will be bitten except by choice,
For Alderman Wood,
“So Wise, and so Good,”
Hath brought in a bill to crush the whole brood.
You may now lay hold of a mad-dog's tail,
And pull him backwards into a jail,
And the Lord May'r, no doubt,
Will never let him out
Unless he “produce satisfactory bail!”
71
With heart and with voice,
All the little Girls and all the little Boys!
Let all of us shout, and sing, and say
Huzza for Alderman Wood! Huzza!
The fruit and vegetables from Claremont were, it was said, duly consigned to a salesman of Covent Garden Market.
79
Swing.
Scene.—Exterior of Guildhall on the 9th of November—Constables, City Marshals, Watchmen, Fishfags, etc., bivouacking in front—Sir Claudius Hunter is seen through the doorway wringing his hands, and tearing the curling papers out of his hair.
Swing! Swing!
'Tis a terrible thing
To get an epistle from Captain Swing!
Sir Claud has got one,
Now he's off like a gun,
“My Lord May'r! My Lord May'r, we're for ever undone!
Here's a Plot! Here's a Plot!
My Lord May'r, I declare
The Devil knows what,
And the Devil knows where!
You run to the Duke, while I run to the King,
And show him my note from that terrible Swing!”
'Tis a terrible thing
To get an epistle from Captain Swing!
80
Now he's off like a gun,
“My Lord May'r! My Lord May'r, we're for ever undone!
Here's a Plot! Here's a Plot!
My Lord May'r, I declare
The Devil knows what,
And the Devil knows where!
You run to the Duke, while I run to the King,
And show him my note from that terrible Swing!”
See he mounts his white horse,
And adown Charing Cross,
Ye Gods! how he goes,
With his knees to his nose,
His heels turning inwards, and outwards his toes!
“Sir Robert, come down,
They'll set fire to the town,
And burn my Lord May'r in his gold chain and gown
Tell the King, tell the King
To be sure not to bring
The Duke to Guildhall—he'll be swallow'd by Swing!”
And adown Charing Cross,
Ye Gods! how he goes,
With his knees to his nose,
His heels turning inwards, and outwards his toes!
“Sir Robert, come down,
They'll set fire to the town,
And burn my Lord May'r in his gold chain and gown
Tell the King, tell the King
To be sure not to bring
The Duke to Guildhall—he'll be swallow'd by Swing!”
Up jumps Sir Charles Flower,
“Fetch the Guards from the Tower,
Or that Swing all the ‘wittles’ will come and ‘dewour,’
The ‘Wen'son’ and ‘Weal,’
And the wild-ducks and teal,
How he'll gobble the turtle as though 'twas cow-heel.
Lack-a-daisy! Dear me!
My Lord Key! My Lord Key!
Who has seen my Lord May'r? where the d—l can he be?
Beat the drums, blow the horns, and make all the bells ring,
Here's a letter just come from that terrible Swing!”
“Fetch the Guards from the Tower,
81
The ‘Wen'son’ and ‘Weal,’
And the wild-ducks and teal,
How he'll gobble the turtle as though 'twas cow-heel.
Lack-a-daisy! Dear me!
My Lord Key! My Lord Key!
Who has seen my Lord May'r? where the d—l can he be?
Beat the drums, blow the horns, and make all the bells ring,
Here's a letter just come from that terrible Swing!”
Up jumps Mr. Hobler,
The Aldermen's cobbler,
Who mends each decision
In need of revision,
“Let me read, let me read!
Ay, here's treason indeed!
Oh! what shall we do? Oh! how shall we proceed?
The Aldermen's cobbler,
Who mends each decision
In need of revision,
“Let me read, let me read!
Ay, here's treason indeed!
Oh! what shall we do? Oh! how shall we proceed?
“Fall in! Fall in!
Short and Tall, Fat and Thin,
We must all of us arm, so we'd better begin;
Fall in, Prestissimo!
Bravo! Bravissimo!
That's right, and now I'll be your Generalissimo!
Here's Alderman Wood,
‘So Wise and so Good,’
As stout a soldier as ever stood;
Here's gallant Farebrother,
Just such another,
With ex-Lord Mayor Crowder,
None ever looked prouder;
You may see by his head that he'll never spare powder;
And here comes a man full of valour and pith,
Magnanimous Joshua Jonathan Smith!
Short and Tall, Fat and Thin,
We must all of us arm, so we'd better begin;
Fall in, Prestissimo!
Bravo! Bravissimo!
That's right, and now I'll be your Generalissimo!
82
‘So Wise and so Good,’
As stout a soldier as ever stood;
Here's gallant Farebrother,
Just such another,
With ex-Lord Mayor Crowder,
None ever looked prouder;
You may see by his head that he'll never spare powder;
And here comes a man full of valour and pith,
Magnanimous Joshua Jonathan Smith!
“Fall in three deep!
Don't be playing bo-peep
Behind there—d'ye hear—
You M.P.'s in the rear?
Lord Waithman and Thompson, what is it you fear?
Mr. Deputy Oldham,
Do, pray, go and scold 'em,
And make 'em come here to the front, as I told 'em,
Sir Peter, you're a Knight,
And must know how to fight;
Sir John Perring's the left, so you look to the right;
And lead on that bevy
Of troops, light and heavy,
With your black-handled sword that you wore at the Levée.
“Here's Wenables, Alderman Lucas, and Flower;
Atkins lives out of town—he'll be here in an hour;
Why, aye, here's a body-guard fit for a King,
We'll tickle your toby, be sure, Mr. Swing!”
Don't be playing bo-peep
Behind there—d'ye hear—
You M.P.'s in the rear?
Lord Waithman and Thompson, what is it you fear?
Mr. Deputy Oldham,
Do, pray, go and scold 'em,
And make 'em come here to the front, as I told 'em,
Sir Peter, you're a Knight,
And must know how to fight;
Sir John Perring's the left, so you look to the right;
And lead on that bevy
Of troops, light and heavy,
With your black-handled sword that you wore at the Levée.
83
Atkins lives out of town—he'll be here in an hour;
Why, aye, here's a body-guard fit for a King,
We'll tickle your toby, be sure, Mr. Swing!”
Here he comes, here's Sir Claud; how he rides and he bawls;
How he gallops through Fleet Street, and round by St. Paul's;
Now he roars might and main,
“You may go home again;
Cease your fifing and drumming,
The King ain't a-coming!”
So all the consarn, you perceive, ends a hum in.
Alack for the Nation!
Our grand preparation
Must all be “deferred for another occasion.”
How he gallops through Fleet Street, and round by St. Paul's;
Now he roars might and main,
“You may go home again;
Cease your fifing and drumming,
The King ain't a-coming!”
So all the consarn, you perceive, ends a hum in.
Alack for the Nation!
Our grand preparation
Must all be “deferred for another occasion.”
But the meat,
Who's to eat
All we've dressed for the treat?
What becomes of the scaffolding rais'd in the street?
And where's the five shillings I've paid for my seat?
Do, Ex-Sheriff Kelly,
Just hand one a jelly;
Sir Charles, as you're picking
The bones of that chicken,
Pray send me the gizzard, a leg, or a wing;
'Tis a shame, so it is, and a scandalous thing,
To be balked of one's “wittles” in this way by Swing!
(The Bivouack breaks up in confusion—a rush towards the tables—
general scramble—Sir Charles Flower has his fork at his mouth
when a jog of the elbow pops it into his eye—Sir Claudius rides off
on his white horse with a haunch of venison under his arm, and a
hot lobster in each of his holsters—The Lord Mayor is tumbled into
a tureen, and smothered—Mr. Figgins falls into a fricandeau, the
Recorder into a fit, and Alderman Atkins into the fire—The Grand
Glass Star comes down with a crash—Magog is overturned on the
heads of the Common Council—The Livery mount and dance a
Mazourka on the high table—Crish—Crash—Dash—Smash.—The
Curtain falls, amidst general uproar and confusion, as in the
devilry scene of Der Freischutz.]Who's to eat
All we've dressed for the treat?
What becomes of the scaffolding rais'd in the street?
And where's the five shillings I've paid for my seat?
Do, Ex-Sheriff Kelly,
Just hand one a jelly;
84
The bones of that chicken,
Pray send me the gizzard, a leg, or a wing;
'Tis a shame, so it is, and a scandalous thing,
To be balked of one's “wittles” in this way by Swing!
85
The Oath.
“An oath! an oath! I have an oath in heaven!”
“Blood on this hand!”—aye, not the generous stream
Which shed, or spent, alike we glorious deem!
“Blood on this hand!”—aye, that ensanguined stain
Which damn'd to endless pangs the first-born Cain!
Thou talk of valour! thou of honour's path!
Kicked into courage, cudgell'd by —!
Thou talk of oaths, to thee an idle song,
Thou “everything by turns, and nothing long!”
Thou scorn of those that use thee for their ends!
Thou tool of those thou darest not call “thy friends!”
Thou, who canst calmly brook, and pass it by,
The sneer scarce hid, the half-averted eye!
Thou talk of honour! Shame to man, to earth,
Shame to that generous land that gave thee birth!
Hence! in some desert hide that hateful name,
The good abhor thee, and the bad disclaim!
86
The Distrest Laddie,
A New Song to an Old Tune, as lately Sung at St. Stephen's Chapel by the Right Hon. Lord Althorp, Primo Buffo, etc., etc., in the New Farce of “The Budget.”
Oh! where, and Oh! where is my tax on transfers gone?
Oh! where, etc.
'Tis gone to pot at once, for the monied people frown,
And it's Oh! in my heart, they won't give me half-a-crown.
Oh! where, etc.
'Tis gone to pot at once, for the monied people frown,
And it's Oh! in my heart, they won't give me half-a-crown.
Suppose, and suppose that I lay it on the land!
Suppose, and suppose, etc.
There's Knatchbull swears that if I do, my Ministry shan't stand,
And it's Oh! in my heart, I can't lay it on the land!
Suppose, and suppose, etc.
There's Knatchbull swears that if I do, my Ministry shan't stand,
And it's Oh! in my heart, I can't lay it on the land!
Oh! where, and Oh! where is my tax on sea-borne coals?
Oh! where, etc.
The City people like it, but—will they take off their tolls?
(Chorus of Citizens.)
Oh! where, etc.
The City people like it, but—will they take off their tolls?
“It's Oh! in our hearts, if we do, then bless our souls!”
87
Suppose, and suppose I take off the tax on glass!
Suppose, etc.
Hunt says 'twill do some little good, but Hume says I'm an ass,
And it's Oh! in my heart, it's just like that Scotchman's saace!
Suppose, etc.
Hunt says 'twill do some little good, but Hume says I'm an ass,
And it's Oh! in my heart, it's just like that Scotchman's saace!
Suppose, and suppose that I lay it on again!
Suppose, etc.
Why, then my grand professions will have all been made in vain!
And it's Oh! in my heart, how it puzzles my poor brain!
Suppose, etc.
Why, then my grand professions will have all been made in vain!
And it's Oh! in my heart, how it puzzles my poor brain!
The Hat;
OR, THE MARCH OF INTELLECT.
In Anna's days the Moral Wight
Might say, “Whatever is, is right;”
In these our times the Poet's song
Must be, “Whatever is, is wrong.”
Old, Young, Grave, Gay, throughout the nation
The cry is still for alteration:
Change all our aim, and only jealous
To prove ourselves much wiser fellows
Than all who yet have gone before us,
“Change!” is the universal chorus.
There's a tradition—shall I tell't?—
That Sam, who first invented felt,
And form'd that glorious thing, a Hat,
Wove all the brim on't hanging flat,
And this at once secured his claim
To his soul's dearest wish, a Name:
He died, and left his Hat so rare,
All round and flapp'd, to John his heir.
Might say, “Whatever is, is right;”
In these our times the Poet's song
Must be, “Whatever is, is wrong.”
Old, Young, Grave, Gay, throughout the nation
The cry is still for alteration:
88
To prove ourselves much wiser fellows
Than all who yet have gone before us,
“Change!” is the universal chorus.
There's a tradition—shall I tell't?—
That Sam, who first invented felt,
And form'd that glorious thing, a Hat,
Wove all the brim on't hanging flat,
And this at once secured his claim
To his soul's dearest wish, a Name:
He died, and left his Hat so rare,
All round and flapp'd, to John his heir.
Now, John, a man both nice and wise,
Thought the brim dangling in his eyes
Plagued him, and baulked both bite and sup,
So with a pin cock'd one side up;
The neighbouring gossips stand and chat,
“What an improvement in the Hat!”
John died, and left his Hat so rare
Thus cockt up to Fitz-John his heir.
Thought the brim dangling in his eyes
Plagued him, and baulked both bite and sup,
So with a pin cock'd one side up;
The neighbouring gossips stand and chat,
“What an improvement in the Hat!”
John died, and left his Hat so rare
Thus cockt up to Fitz-John his heir.
Fitz, though he view'd it with delight,
Thought there was something not quite right,
And in a trice, sagacious he,
Instead of one side, cocks up three;
His genius all with rapture own
“Such talent ne'er before was known!
Fitz-John shall be renown'd in story,
A shining light—his Country's Glory!”
He went abroad, and gave his Hat,
Three-corner'd, to his cousin Pat.
Thought there was something not quite right,
And in a trice, sagacious he,
Instead of one side, cocks up three;
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“Such talent ne'er before was known!
Fitz-John shall be renown'd in story,
A shining light—his Country's Glory!”
He went abroad, and gave his Hat,
Three-corner'd, to his cousin Pat.
Patrick admires his new chapeau,
Yet thinks it not quite comme il faut;
“The colour's bad—now for some knack
To change it. Zounds! I'll dye it black!”
“Oh, happy thought!” the people roar,
Who all saw farther than before;
“White hats? Pooh! nonsense! look at that,
Black—black's the colour for a Hat!”
Pat left, upon his dying bed,
His black Hat to his nephew Ned.
Yet thinks it not quite comme il faut;
“The colour's bad—now for some knack
To change it. Zounds! I'll dye it black!”
“Oh, happy thought!” the people roar,
Who all saw farther than before;
“White hats? Pooh! nonsense! look at that,
Black—black's the colour for a Hat!”
Pat left, upon his dying bed,
His black Hat to his nephew Ned.
Edward exclaims, “Smart, I declare,
A little, though, the worse for wear.
Here in the crown 'tis brown and tann'd;
I shall clap on a silken band.”
No sooner seen, the applauding crew
Shout with delight, “The Hat's grown new!
What mortal underneath the sun
Can do more than this sage has done?”
Ned died, and left his Hat thus neater
Unto his cousin-german Peter.
A little, though, the worse for wear.
Here in the crown 'tis brown and tann'd;
I shall clap on a silken band.”
No sooner seen, the applauding crew
Shout with delight, “The Hat's grown new!
90
Can do more than this sage has done?”
Ned died, and left his Hat thus neater
Unto his cousin-german Peter.
Peter was pleased, but in the place
Of silk put on a broad gold lace;
A cockade on one side he bore,
And on one side the Hat he wore.
The people see, with joy they shout,
“'Tis wisdom's highest pitch, no doubt.
Him genius fires, and judgment rules;
Compared to him the wise are fools.”
Peter bequeathed his Hat, when sick,
Belaced, cockaded, unto Dick.
Of silk put on a broad gold lace;
A cockade on one side he bore,
And on one side the Hat he wore.
The people see, with joy they shout,
“'Tis wisdom's highest pitch, no doubt.
Him genius fires, and judgment rules;
Compared to him the wise are fools.”
Peter bequeathed his Hat, when sick,
Belaced, cockaded, unto Dick.
Spare we to tell how Dick, the dandy,
At Operas thought it mighty handy
To squeeze the unlucky Hat together,
How George tried loop, and William feather
Suffice it, that with all this rout,
The Hat in time was quite worn out;
And when, bedockt and clipped, at last
The Hat had all these changes past,
'Twixt nephews, uncles, aunts, and nieces,
The poor old Hat got torn in pieces;
While, to the love of change still wedded,
Its last possessor went bare-headed!
At Operas thought it mighty handy
To squeeze the unlucky Hat together,
How George tried loop, and William feather
Suffice it, that with all this rout,
The Hat in time was quite worn out;
And when, bedockt and clipped, at last
The Hat had all these changes past,
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The poor old Hat got torn in pieces;
While, to the love of change still wedded,
Its last possessor went bare-headed!
The fable has a moral, and, no doubt,
You all have nous enough to find it out.
You all have nous enough to find it out.
The Old Woman's Cat.
The old woman sat in her rush-bottom'd chair,
And she snorted and sniff'd with her nose in the air;
“Dear me! dear me!
What's this?” quoth she;
“Here's a very bad smell; why, what can it be?
I'll wager a hat
It's that horrid Tom cat
Has been on the rug, or the carpet, or mat;
All this has been
From his being shut in.
Betty, go run for Carpenter Gore,
Make him cut a great hole by the sill of the door,
And the cat will get out and annoy us no more.”
And she snorted and sniff'd with her nose in the air;
“Dear me! dear me!
What's this?” quoth she;
“Here's a very bad smell; why, what can it be?
I'll wager a hat
It's that horrid Tom cat
Has been on the rug, or the carpet, or mat;
All this has been
From his being shut in.
Betty, go run for Carpenter Gore,
Make him cut a great hole by the sill of the door,
And the cat will get out and annoy us no more.”
92
Straight at the little old woman's command
Came Carpenter Gore with his saw in his hand,
And he saw'd and he chisel'd, and close by the floor
He cut a great hole by the sill of the door;
And the little old woman began for to snore,
For now, without doubt,
As the cat could get out,
She conceived he would “never do so any more.”
But when she awoke
She was ready to choke;
Oh dear! how she wheez'd
And snuff'd and sneez'd,
For the smell was a hundred times worse than before.
Came Carpenter Gore with his saw in his hand,
And he saw'd and he chisel'd, and close by the floor
He cut a great hole by the sill of the door;
And the little old woman began for to snore,
For now, without doubt,
As the cat could get out,
She conceived he would “never do so any more.”
But when she awoke
She was ready to choke;
Oh dear! how she wheez'd
And snuff'd and sneez'd,
For the smell was a hundred times worse than before.
The old woman bann'd and the old woman swore,
And she vented her spite upon Carpenter Gore.
But Carpenter Gore cared little for that,
He put up his saw, and he put on his hat,
And to Betty he said with a grin:
“A hole, no doubt,
That let's one cat out
Will let half a score cats in!!”
And she vented her spite upon Carpenter Gore.
But Carpenter Gore cared little for that,
He put up his saw, and he put on his hat,
And to Betty he said with a grin:
“A hole, no doubt,
That let's one cat out
Will let half a score cats in!!”
MORAL.
Little old women, wherever ye be,Gentle or simple, come listen to me—
93
And bawl for Reform,
And great alterations begin,
Lest in going about,
To rout one grievance out,
You let half a score come in.
Lord Waithman's Lament.
—“Omnium
Versatum urna!”—
Horace.
Versatum urna!”—
Horace.
'Tis sweet to remember
The years that are past,
If the sun of to-day
Shine as bright as the last;
But if black clouds envelope
And darken our doom,
That the day once was brighter
But adds to the gloom!
The years that are past,
If the sun of to-day
Shine as bright as the last;
But if black clouds envelope
And darken our doom,
That the day once was brighter
But adds to the gloom!
Lord Waithman sits lonely,
His back-shop within,
With his knees to his elbows,
His thumbs to his chin;
For, ah! fickle Fortune
Kicks over “his Urn,”
And he “grieves for the days
Which will never return.”
(Lord W. loquitur.)His back-shop within,
With his knees to his elbows,
His thumbs to his chin;
94
Kicks over “his Urn,”
And he “grieves for the days
Which will never return.”
“And was it for this
That I headed the mob,
Riding proud in the van
At Queen Cary's ‘black Job?’
That aloft on the foot-way
My steed I bestrode,
When the heavy dragoons
Shov'd me out of the road?
“And was it for this
That Lord Kenyon I brav'd?
And in full Common Council
So ranted and raved?
That now, when at length
My reward I would draw,
And I ask for their voices,
Their answer is ‘Shaw!’
That Lord Kenyon I brav'd?
And in full Common Council
So ranted and raved?
That now, when at length
My reward I would draw,
And I ask for their voices,
Their answer is ‘Shaw!’
“Oh! shame to thee, Oldham!
Oh! shame to thee, Slade!
Oh! shame to thee, Thorpe!
Ye the cause have betray'd:
But on thee, faithless Joseph,
Be tenfold the shame!—
Sure Falsehood's a Scotchman,
And Hume is his name!
Oh! shame to thee, Slade!
Oh! shame to thee, Thorpe!
Ye the cause have betray'd:
95
Be tenfold the shame!—
Sure Falsehood's a Scotchman,
And Hume is his name!
“To lose such a prize
Would drive any man mad;
Such a snug seat for life!
Oh! by Jove, it's too bad!
My blood's in a fever,
My brain's in a whirl,
Oh! what can assuage it?”
To him, Mr. W. Waithman, armed with a foaming tankard.)Would drive any man mad;
Such a snug seat for life!
Oh! by Jove, it's too bad!
My blood's in a fever,
My brain's in a whirl,
Oh! what can assuage it?”
(The Filial Consoler.)
“Six pen'orth of purl!
“Come, drink, daddy, drink,
Don't sit looking so bilious;
Nor excite our alarms
For our Paterfamilias,
Take a sup while it's hot!
It's chalked up to our score
At 102,
Read's Saloop shop, next door!
“Drink!—Care kill'd a cat!”
Don't sit looking so bilious;
Nor excite our alarms
For our Paterfamilias,
Take a sup while it's hot!
It's chalked up to our score
At 102,
Read's Saloop shop, next door!
96
“Oh! hang it, don't bother,
Don't talk about cats!
You're as bad as your brother!
He said some disaster
Would happen, he knew,
When our Tortoise-shell Tom
Behaved ill in my shoe.
“He said 'twas a sign—
But, ah me! wretched sinner!
What to do!—where to go?—
Who'll now give me a dinner?
Oh! z—ds, I'll go mad!
I will! here's to begin—
Look here, Mister Bill,
Will this do for a grin?
(His voice rises an octave.)But, ah me! wretched sinner!
What to do!—where to go?—
Who'll now give me a dinner?
Oh! z—ds, I'll go mad!
I will! here's to begin—
Look here, Mister Bill,
Will this do for a grin?
“I'll vote for a ballot,
With nought but black balls!
I'll swallow Guildhall,
And the Bank—and St. Paul's!
I'll join Dan O'Connell!
I'll shoot Robert Peel!
I'll feed the Lord Mayor
For a month on cow-heel!
With nought but black balls!
I'll swallow Guildhall,
And the Bank—and St. Paul's!
I'll join Dan O'Connell!
I'll shoot Robert Peel!
I'll feed the Lord Mayor
For a month on cow-heel!
97
“I'll murder Will Cobbett,—
Set fire to the town;
I'll smother that Shaw
In his Chamberlain's gown!
Such deeds I will do!
—What they are I don't know—
Oh!—I'm off in hysterics!—
Oh dear!—Oh!—oh!!—oh!!!”
(Miss W. sings within.)Set fire to the town;
I'll smother that Shaw
In his Chamberlain's gown!
Such deeds I will do!
—What they are I don't know—
Oh!—I'm off in hysterics!—
Oh dear!—Oh!—oh!!—oh!!!”
“Come, arouse thee! arouse thee!
My jolly old boy!
Take a swig, and to Guildhall away!
Relax thatfrown,
Put on your gown,
With the fur and the gold chain so gay.
My jolly old boy!
Take a swig, and to Guildhall away!
Relax thatfrown,
Put on your gown,
With the fur and the gold chain so gay.
“Are not you?—are not you?
Oh! a silly old boy;
To lie sprawling and kicking this way?
When you know Lord Key
Sports a luncheon at three,
And Flower will for nobody stay!
Then arouse thee, etc.
Oh! a silly old boy;
To lie sprawling and kicking this way?
When you know Lord Key
Sports a luncheon at three,
And Flower will for nobody stay!
Then arouse thee, etc.
98
“Then at night—then at night—
What a merry old boy
You'll be in the ball-room so gay—
You and Ma must ride
In the coach, side by side,
And I, Jack, and Bill, in the Shay!
Then arouse thee!” etc.
What a merry old boy
You'll be in the ball-room so gay—
You and Ma must ride
In the coach, side by side,
And I, Jack, and Bill, in the Shay!
Then arouse thee!” etc.
(His Lordship looks at his watch—only ten minutes to three—Music plays an agitato movement.—His Lordship is supported to his carriage by two sympathizing shopmen in tears.—Little boy whistles “Go to the Devil and Shake Yourself,” as the carriage drives off.)
A New Song to an Old Tune.
BEING A FULL, TRUE, AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF A CERTAIN “TIGHT LITTLE ADMINISTRATION” THAT WAS LOST IN A FOG OFF THE COAST OF BRIGHTON, ON FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1834, AND HAS NEVER BEEN HEARD OF SINCE.
Dandy Melborne one day
Said to sage Gaffer Grey,
“We must now hold a grand consul-tation;
Since Spencer's ‘gone dead,’
We shall want a new head
To conduct the affairs of the nation;
For now he's got this elevation,
Althorp can't keep his old situ-ation,
And where's the three-decker
Can take the Exchequer,
In our tight little Adminis-tration?
Said to sage Gaffer Grey,
“We must now hold a grand consul-tation;
99
We shall want a new head
To conduct the affairs of the nation;
For now he's got this elevation,
Althorp can't keep his old situ-ation,
And where's the three-decker
Can take the Exchequer,
In our tight little Adminis-tration?
“As for Durham, you know,
He's been down to Glasgow,
And made an infernal o-ration,
Calling all or us ‘fools,’
And ‘rogues’ and ‘Brougham's tools’
(To that Peer's no small morti-fication);
And since that great Illumin-ation
Of the Law, meets such vituper-ation
From your son-in-law; he
As your Lordship must see,
Can't be one of our Adminis-tration.
He's been down to Glasgow,
And made an infernal o-ration,
Calling all or us ‘fools,’
And ‘rogues’ and ‘Brougham's tools’
(To that Peer's no small morti-fication);
And since that great Illumin-ation
Of the Law, meets such vituper-ation
From your son-in-law; he
As your Lordship must see,
Can't be one of our Adminis-tration.
Edward Littleton, too,
Would, I fear, never do,
Though we might, as to mere calcu-lation,
Send for Bowring from France,
To teach him finance,
And subtraction, and multipli-cation;
But you know what a sad pertur-bation
He occasioned our Associ-ation
By that business with Dan,
Which demolished the man
As a part of our Adminis-tration.
Would, I fear, never do,
Though we might, as to mere calcu-lation,
Send for Bowring from France,
To teach him finance,
And subtraction, and multipli-cation;
100
He occasioned our Associ-ation
By that business with Dan,
Which demolished the man
As a part of our Adminis-tration.
“There's that Scotch Abercromby
May, it's fancied by some, be
Possess'd of a qualifi-cation;
His return, to be sure,
Is pretty secure,
And that's no small consider-ation;
For since in her old corpor-ation
We've produced such transmogrifi-cation,
With his tongue in his cheek, he
May blarney Auld Reekie,
And humbug her whole popu-lation.
May, it's fancied by some, be
Possess'd of a qualifi-cation;
His return, to be sure,
Is pretty secure,
And that's no small consider-ation;
For since in her old corpor-ation
We've produced such transmogrifi-cation,
With his tongue in his cheek, he
May blarney Auld Reekie,
And humbug her whole popu-lation.
“But then, there's Ned Ellice,
You know, would be jealous,
That rose-bud of civili-zation;
Though the Tories defame him
And grossly nick-name him,
Which causes him great tribu-lation—
Yet why should it give him vex-ation!
Ursa Major's a prime constel-lation,
And who dares declare
Him the only ‘Great Bear’
To be found in our Adminis-tration?
You know, would be jealous,
That rose-bud of civili-zation;
Though the Tories defame him
And grossly nick-name him,
Which causes him great tribu-lation—
Yet why should it give him vex-ation!
Ursa Major's a prime constel-lation,
101
Him the only ‘Great Bear’
To be found in our Adminis-tration?
“As to little John Russell,
Who's in such a bustle
To put us to farther ‘pur-gation,’
With his ‘Ballot’ and nonsense,
We cannot, in conscience,
Consent to such gross inno-vation.
We must all view with great constern-ation,
A seat of but three years' dur-ation;
The King and the Church
We can leave in the lurch,
But we can't leave our Adminis-tration.
Who's in such a bustle
To put us to farther ‘pur-gation,’
With his ‘Ballot’ and nonsense,
We cannot, in conscience,
Consent to such gross inno-vation.
We must all view with great constern-ation,
A seat of but three years' dur-ation;
The King and the Church
We can leave in the lurch,
But we can't leave our Adminis-tration.
“Stay! by Jingo, I've caught
What you'll own's a bright thought,
Unless I've lost all pene-tration—
I'll be off in a trice,
And take with me Spring Rice,
To propose for the King's appro-bation!
When once I've made this presen-tation,
There's an end to our whole bother-ation;
And no longer sticks
In this ‘tarnation fix’
Our rickety Adminis-tration.”
What you'll own's a bright thought,
Unless I've lost all pene-tration—
I'll be off in a trice,
And take with me Spring Rice,
To propose for the King's appro-bation!
When once I've made this presen-tation,
There's an end to our whole bother-ation;
And no longer sticks
In this ‘tarnation fix’
Our rickety Adminis-tration.”
102
Jumping into a chaise
('Twas an old hack of Grey's),
Melly dropped here this grave conver-sation,
And bade the postillion
Drive towards “the Pavilion”
Without further procrasti-nation:
But conceive our poor friend's desper-ation,
When, in answer to this appli-cation,
Turning coolly about,
Said the Sov'reign “You're out!
And I'll form a new Adminis-tration!”
('Twas an old hack of Grey's),
Melly dropped here this grave conver-sation,
And bade the postillion
Drive towards “the Pavilion”
Without further procrasti-nation:
But conceive our poor friend's desper-ation,
When, in answer to this appli-cation,
Turning coolly about,
Said the Sov'reign “You're out!
And I'll form a new Adminis-tration!”
Alas! and alack!
When his Lordship got back,
Only fancy the cold perspir-ation
The Whigs were all in,
When they heard where he'd been,
And his journey's abrupt termi-nation.
Holland House, at the first intim-ation,
Became one scene of sad lamen-tation!
A succession of fits
Turn'd poor Palmerston's wits,
And produced mental halluci-nation.
When his Lordship got back,
Only fancy the cold perspir-ation
The Whigs were all in,
When they heard where he'd been,
And his journey's abrupt termi-nation.
Holland House, at the first intim-ation,
Became one scene of sad lamen-tation!
A succession of fits
Turn'd poor Palmerston's wits,
And produced mental halluci-nation.
Then in Great Stanhope-street
The confusion was great
In a certain superb habi-tation,
Where, seated at tea,
O'er a dish of Bohea,
Brougham was quaffing his “usual po-tation.”
(For you know his indignant ne-gation,
When accused once of jollific-ation)—
Down went saucer and cup,
Which Le Marchant picked up,
Not to hear his Lord mutter “d—n-ation!”
The confusion was great
In a certain superb habi-tation,
103
O'er a dish of Bohea,
Brougham was quaffing his “usual po-tation.”
(For you know his indignant ne-gation,
When accused once of jollific-ation)—
Down went saucer and cup,
Which Le Marchant picked up,
Not to hear his Lord mutter “d—n-ation!”
But this greatest of men
Soon caught hold of a pen,
And, after slight delibe-ration,
No longer he tosses
His flexile proboscis
About, in so much exci-tation;
But, scribbling with great ani-mation,
He sends off a communi-cation:
“Dearest Lyndhurst,” says he,
“Can't you find room for me
When constructing your Adminis-tration?
Soon caught hold of a pen,
And, after slight delibe-ration,
No longer he tosses
His flexile proboscis
About, in so much exci-tation;
But, scribbling with great ani-mation,
He sends off a communi-cation:
“Dearest Lyndhurst,” says he,
“Can't you find room for me
When constructing your Adminis-tration?
“Though the ‘Times’ says I'm mad,
And each rascally Rad
Abuses my tergiver-sation—
Though those humbugs, the Whigs,
Swear that my ‘Thimble-rigs’
Were the cause of all their vacill-ation;
The whole story's a base fabri-cation
To damage my great reputa-tion;
So now, to be brief,
Only make me Lord Chief,
And I'll serve without remuner-ation!”
And each rascally Rad
Abuses my tergiver-sation—
Though those humbugs, the Whigs,
Swear that my ‘Thimble-rigs’
Were the cause of all their vacill-ation;
104
To damage my great reputa-tion;
So now, to be brief,
Only make me Lord Chief,
And I'll serve without remuner-ation!”
When he found 'twas “no go,”
And that Lyndhurst and Co.
Were deaf to all solicit-ation,
As 'twas useless with Lyndy
To kick up a shindy,
He resolved upon peregrin-ation;
Not waiting for much prepa-ration,
He bolted with precipi-tation
A sad loss I ween,
To Charles Knight's Magazine,
And to Stinkomalee edu-cation!
And that Lyndhurst and Co.
Were deaf to all solicit-ation,
As 'twas useless with Lyndy
To kick up a shindy,
He resolved upon peregrin-ation;
Not waiting for much prepa-ration,
He bolted with precipi-tation
A sad loss I ween,
To Charles Knight's Magazine,
And to Stinkomalee edu-cation!
So now that the Noodles,
The Doodles, and Foodles
Of the Radico-Whig combination
Are off, and the Realm
Has sound men at the helm,
Let us give them full co-operation!
Superior to intimi-dation,
May they free us from mere mob-dictation.
Till her Altar and Throne
Grateful England shall own,
Preserv'd by Peel's Adminis-tration!
The Doodles, and Foodles
Of the Radico-Whig combination
Are off, and the Realm
Has sound men at the helm,
Let us give them full co-operation!
Superior to intimi-dation,
May they free us from mere mob-dictation.
105
Grateful England shall own,
Preserv'd by Peel's Adminis-tration!
The Irish Fisherman.
I sat by the side of a murmuring brook,
As sad as sad mote be;
In my hand were a rod and a line and a hook,
And a newspaper on my knee.
As sad as sad mote be;
In my hand were a rod and a line and a hook,
And a newspaper on my knee.
Of Carlow the sad and sorrowful tale
I conn'd with curious eye,
When a sunlight beam displayed in the stream
A speckled trout sailing by.
I conn'd with curious eye,
When a sunlight beam displayed in the stream
A speckled trout sailing by.
But I laid down the rod, and I said to the fish,
How all the world would grin,
If in trying, small trout, to pull you out,
You should happen to pull me in!
How all the world would grin,
If in trying, small trout, to pull you out,
You should happen to pull me in!
| The Ingoldsby Lyrics | |