The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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DOCTOR FAUSTUS'S PANEGYRIC. |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
286
DOCTOR FAUSTUS'S PANEGYRIC.
Hail, Lord of boluses anointed;
Of cholic'd guts, and bones disjointed;
Vicegerent here, by death appointed,
To work his slaves,
Penning each mittimus so pointed,
To glut the graves.
Of cholic'd guts, and bones disjointed;
Vicegerent here, by death appointed,
To work his slaves,
Penning each mittimus so pointed,
To glut the graves.
So skilful, if the patient's water,
B' applied to your nostrils seven months a'ter,
You'll ferret ev'ry son and daughter,
'Till they're at ease,
Nimrod, that huntest after slaughter,
Like fox for geese!
B' applied to your nostrils seven months a'ter,
You'll ferret ev'ry son and daughter,
'Till they're at ease,
Nimrod, that huntest after slaughter,
Like fox for geese!
Is the young squire as door-nail dead,
You clap a blister to his head,
Add clyster till his bum be red;
Ill-fated booby,
For fear of waking him, light tread,
And close the lobby.
You clap a blister to his head,
Add clyster till his bum be red;
Ill-fated booby,
For fear of waking him, light tread,
And close the lobby.
287
With gallipots his bedstead pillar,
Sprinkle him with powders like a miller,
Then sagely say, supreme mankiller,
He's in a sleep,
Good faith he's so, for the tomb-teller,
And snoring deep!
Sprinkle him with powders like a miller,
Then sagely say, supreme mankiller,
He's in a sleep,
Good faith he's so, for the tomb-teller,
And snoring deep!
Such learned words thy skill compose,
The devil incarnate they would pose,
And puzzle your master under the rose,
To con their meaning;
St. Dunstan, thou couldst tweak his nose,
And send him grinning.
The devil incarnate they would pose,
And puzzle your master under the rose,
To con their meaning;
St. Dunstan, thou couldst tweak his nose,
And send him grinning.
Greek, Latin, twined with Hebrew roots,
Are beating up with Scotch recruits,
Pressing each mystic word that suits,
Thy mutter'd knowledge,
Thou couldst fill Aristotle's boots,
And kick the college.
Are beating up with Scotch recruits,
Pressing each mystic word that suits,
Thy mutter'd knowledge,
Thou couldst fill Aristotle's boots,
And kick the college.
Whene'er I ken thy pestle pounding,
Methinks I hear a death knell sounding,
Some one is taking the cold ground in
A nap quietus,
While thou art polysyllables rounding,
Like Epictetus.
Methinks I hear a death knell sounding,
Some one is taking the cold ground in
A nap quietus,
While thou art polysyllables rounding,
Like Epictetus.
288
By the Lord, an thou goest on so gaily,
The Hades will be peopled daily;
“Shake not at me thy wig so mealy,
I did it not,”
I only hint, your subjects really,
Are gone to pot.
The Hades will be peopled daily;
“Shake not at me thy wig so mealy,
I did it not,”
I only hint, your subjects really,
Are gone to pot.
Perchance, you'd take it in your noddle,
To send me some stout opium bottle,
Or cram cursed slipslops down my throttle,
In lieu of answer;
Do, and I'll dress your bull's pout-twattle,
Till you may dance, Sir.
To send me some stout opium bottle,
Or cram cursed slipslops down my throttle,
In lieu of answer;
Do, and I'll dress your bull's pout-twattle,
Till you may dance, Sir.
I'll pour thy physic down thy gullet,
Pamper thee up with pills, like pullet,
Slash thee with potions, like a mullet,
Or engine spouting,
Thy sprite carnivorous, I'll lull it,
Recesses all, routing.
Pamper thee up with pills, like pullet,
Slash thee with potions, like a mullet,
Or engine spouting,
Thy sprite carnivorous, I'll lull it,
Recesses all, routing.
Thou dirty leech, I wou'd'nt, I tell ye,
E'en let you tap Pegasus' belly,
Or glyster him, obstreperous fellow,
Or pick his corns;
I'gad, good slop, you'd better rally,
And gild your horns.
E'en let you tap Pegasus' belly,
Or glyster him, obstreperous fellow,
Or pick his corns;
I'gad, good slop, you'd better rally,
And gild your horns.
289
So mind your farrier trade, nor meddle
With christians, like bear and fiddle,
Or I will shew thy jargon riddle,
Of hum, and haw;
Plunge thee, dull miscreant, in the puddle,
And stop thy maw.
With christians, like bear and fiddle,
Or I will shew thy jargon riddle,
Of hum, and haw;
Plunge thee, dull miscreant, in the puddle,
And stop thy maw.
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