The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

Last week, dear N*ch*l, making merry
At dinner with our Secretary,
When all were drunk, or pretty near
(The time for doing business here),
Says he to me, “Sweet Bully Bottom!
“These Papist dogs—hiccup—'od rot 'em!—
“Deserve to be bespatter'd—hiccup—
“With all the dirt ev'n you can pick up.
“But, as the Pr---ce (here's to him—fill—
“Hip, hip, hurra!)—is trying still

114

“To humbug them with kind professions,
“And, as you deal in strong expressions—
“Rogue”—“traitor”—hiccup—and all that—
“You must be muzzled, Doctor Pat!—
“You must indeed—hiccup—that's flat.”—

Yes—“muzzled” was the word, Sir John—
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er
With slaver of the times of yore! —
Was it for this that back I went
As far as Lateran and Trent,
To prove that they, who damn'd us then,
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again?—
The silent victim still to sit
Of Gr---tt---n's fire and C*nn---g's wit,
To hear ev'n noisy M---th---w gabble on,
Nor mention once the W---e of Babylon!
Oh! 'tis too much—who now will be
The Nightman of No-Popery?

115

What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop,
Such learned filth will ever fish up?
If there among our ranks be one
To take my place, 'tis thou, Sir John;
Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd Right Hon.
Like me too, art a Lawyer Civil
That wishes Papists at the devil.

To whom then but to thee, my friend,
Should Patrick his Port-folio send?
Take it—'tis thine—his learn'd Port-folio,
With all its theologic olio
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman—
Of Doctrines, now believ'd by no man—
Of Councils, held for men's salvation,
Yet always ending in damnation—
(Which shows that, since the world's creation,
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming,
Have always had a taste for damning,)

116

And many more such pious scraps,
To prove (what we've long prov'd, perhaps,)
That, mad as Christians us'd to be
About the Thirteenth Century,
There still are Christians to be had
In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad!

Farewell—I send with this, dear N*ch*l,
A rod or two I've had in pickle
Wherewith to trim old Gr---tt---n's jacket.—
The rest shall go by Monday's packet.

P. D.

117

Among the Enclosures in the foregoing Letter was the following “Unanswerable Argument against the Papists.“

[OMITTED] We're told the ancient Roman nation
Made use of spittle in lustration ;
(Vide Lactantium ap. Gallæum—
i.e. you need not read but see 'em;)
Now, Irish Papists, fact surprising,
Make use of spittle in baptizing;
Which proves them all, O'Finns, O'Fagans,
Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pagans.
This fact's enough;—let no one tell us
To free such sad, salivous fellows.—
No, no—the man, baptiz'd with spittle,
Hath no truth in him—not a tittle!

This letter, which contained some very heavy enclosures, seems to have been sent to London by a private hand, and then put into the Twopenny Post-Office, to save trouble. See the Appendix.

In sending this sheet to the Press, however, I learn that the “muzzle” has been taken off, and the Right Hon. Doctor again let loose!

A bad name for poetry; but D---gen---n is still worse.— As Prudentius says upon a very different subject—

Torquetur Apollo
Nomine percussus.

------ Lustralibus antè salivis
Expiat.

Pers. sat. 2.

I have taken the trouble of examining the Doctor's reference here, and find him, for once, correct. The following are the words of his indignant referee Gallæus—“Asserere non veremur sacrum baptismum a Papistis profanari, et sputi usum in peccatorum expiatione a Paganis non a Christianis manâsse.”