 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
A PAGE FROM THE DEVIL'S DIARY.
[PART I.]
I was up with the lark, from my pillow of fire
And voluptuous visions of torment,
Though I go to bed late, and I never perspire,—
If it's summer I scarcely feel warm in't.
And I found a Great Personage at his cigar,
As I slyly peeped in at the window;
And the door of his heart he just stopped to unbar,
While he said to me kindly, “come in, do!”
And voluptuous visions of torment,
Though I go to bed late, and I never perspire,—
If it's summer I scarcely feel warm in't.
And I found a Great Personage at his cigar,
As I slyly peeped in at the window;
And the door of his heart he just stopped to unbar,
While he said to me kindly, “come in, do!”
Then our talk was of oxen and horses and farms,
Of pet kittens and rosebuds and races;
To his catholic mind all these topics had charms,
And especially beautiful faces.
He objected to women whose breasts were of stone,
And to Chinamen's ladies like Foo Sing;
But complained that the rest would not let him alone.
And that so there was really no choosing.
Of pet kittens and rosebuds and races;
To his catholic mind all these topics had charms,
And especially beautiful faces.
He objected to women whose breasts were of stone,
And to Chinamen's ladies like Foo Sing;
But complained that the rest would not let him alone.
And that so there was really no choosing.
And I left him deflowering a maiden cheroot,
Lost in wonder at what dear Lord Charlie meant;
For I wished my Home Rulers' lost powers to recruit,
And the best of my pupils in Parliament.
While the taste of the Toddy had freshened me up,
And I always feel livelier, when I see
How my subjects delight in the kiss and the cup,
In the wives of their neighbours and Hennessy.
Lost in wonder at what dear Lord Charlie meant;
For I wished my Home Rulers' lost powers to recruit,
And the best of my pupils in Parliament.
500
And I always feel livelier, when I see
How my subjects delight in the kiss and the cup,
In the wives of their neighbours and Hennessy.
To the Commons I came and found Gladstone not gone,
In his happiest vein, I am blest if I
Did not leave him still speaking last night, and yet on
He went, ready to quibble and mystify.
They may call me the Father of lies, and I am,
And for lovers of truth I have nò mercy;
But the half-lie's my favourite weapon to damn
Souls, and nothing can beat his diplomacy.
In his happiest vein, I am blest if I
Did not leave him still speaking last night, and yet on
He went, ready to quibble and mystify.
They may call me the Father of lies, and I am,
And for lovers of truth I have nò mercy;
But the half-lie's my favourite weapon to damn
Souls, and nothing can beat his diplomacy.
If dishonoured a little is my poor old Bill,
And an article scarcely negotiable,
As a statesman long dead, though unburied, yet still
I have found him obliging and sociable.
I have lofty opinions of him, and his mind
Cannot fail in its flight to impress you, it
Is so free from all conscience, and veers like the wind,
And is subtler than that of a Jesuit.
And an article scarcely negotiable,
As a statesman long dead, though unburied, yet still
I have found him obliging and sociable.
I have lofty opinions of him, and his mind
Cannot fail in its flight to impress you, it
Is so free from all conscience, and veers like the wind,
And is subtler than that of a Jesuit.
Then I whispered to Dillon, who looked dark as hell,
And as if he had spent a night in it;
For his tongue is as good as a funeral bell,
And it tolls a new death every minute.
So he rose to explain that a crime has its charm,
And that all the great heroes were o' my side;
That evictions alone are the cause for alarm,
And mere “murther” is venial homicide.
And as if he had spent a night in it;
For his tongue is as good as a funeral bell,
And it tolls a new death every minute.
So he rose to explain that a crime has its charm,
And that all the great heroes were o' my side;
That evictions alone are the cause for alarm,
And mere “murther” is venial homicide.
“Stop evictions,” he promised, “and I will stop crimes,
And the rents must of course be just nominal;
There will then be no stabs, at inopportune times,
In the back or in regions abdominal.
The proprietors are the assassins, you know,
And our boys are not Teutons for toy-cutting;
For the Kelt is but good at the blarney and blow,
And is driven to force and to Boycotting.”
And the rents must of course be just nominal;
There will then be no stabs, at inopportune times,
In the back or in regions abdominal.
The proprietors are the assassins, you know,
And our boys are not Teutons for toy-cutting;
For the Kelt is but good at the blarney and blow,
And is driven to force and to Boycotting.”
But then Sexton jumped up, with his face of som milk,
And his maxims I ardently furthered;
Undertaker-like, he, looking daggers at Dilke,
Rose to bury what Dillon had murthered.
“Mind, in killing the landlord, it is not the man
That they shoot at, but only the principle;
Which was rotten and curst, ever since it began;
And the truth must be always in vincible.”
And his maxims I ardently furthered;
Undertaker-like, he, looking daggers at Dilke,
Rose to bury what Dillon had murthered.
“Mind, in killing the landlord, it is not the man
That they shoot at, but only the principle;
Which was rotten and curst, ever since it began;
And the truth must be always in vincible.”
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No one ever was half so malign as he looked,
And I fondly stick close to my favourite,
As he scowled with his body all writhing and crooked,
While he hissed, “Now you Saxons must pay for it.”
He prcceeded, “Too long to the yoke have we bowed,
And been playing the victim and fainéant.”
Then he muttered a curse, as if weaving a shroud,
That was heard in my realm subterranean.
And I fondly stick close to my favourite,
As he scowled with his body all writhing and crooked,
While he hissed, “Now you Saxons must pay for it.”
He prcceeded, “Too long to the yoke have we bowed,
And been playing the victim and fainéant.”
Then he muttered a curse, as if weaving a shroud,
That was heard in my realm subterranean.
And then swaggering Healy, swashbuckler and all,
(Though he paused to adjust his affections,
Which were ruffled a little) arose at my call,
And gave some of his choicer selections.
Ah, if only such boys could take Erin in hand,
With sweet Parnell to play the harmonium;
It would truly be Freedom's most glorious land,
And a pattern for my Pandemonium.
(Though he paused to adjust his affections,
Which were ruffled a little) arose at my call,
And gave some of his choicer selections.
Ah, if only such boys could take Erin in hand,
With sweet Parnell to play the harmonium;
It would truly be Freedom's most glorious land,
And a pattern for my Pandemonium.
I was egging on others to licence in speech,
Which would bear fruit of outrage agrarian;
When the pestilent Speaker came down upon each,
As if servants like Thomas and Mary Anne.
Though the boys were all mad and the Speaker got slanged
With abuse it is needless to mention,
It is fitting that as they were born to be hanged,
They should taste of the joys of suspension.
Which would bear fruit of outrage agrarian;
When the pestilent Speaker came down upon each,
As if servants like Thomas and Mary Anne.
Though the boys were all mad and the Speaker got slanged
With abuse it is needless to mention,
It is fitting that as they were born to be hanged,
They should taste of the joys of suspension.
So I left them all snapping and snarling like hounds
That are baulked of their prey and barred from it;
That go fighting for offal, with sinister sounds,
Which they worry and mumble and vomit.
They have tasted the lash and yet smart with the pain,
And from blows they imagine keep swerving;
And with eyes that are bloodshot expect it again,
While they know they will get their deserving.
That are baulked of their prey and barred from it;
That go fighting for offal, with sinister sounds,
Which they worry and mumble and vomit.
They have tasted the lash and yet smart with the pain,
And from blows they imagine keep swerving;
And with eyes that are bloodshot expect it again,
While they know they will get their deserving.
Then I went to a breakfast laid out by a lord,
In the bosom of languid Belgravia;
But the manners were all that his friends could afford,
And the morals were not of Moravia,
For the ladies were easy of virtue, and gave
Their sweet souls to the claims of Society;
Though a Bishop was there, at their chastity's grave,
With some Scriptural saws for propriety.
In the bosom of languid Belgravia;
But the manners were all that his friends could afford,
And the morals were not of Moravia,
For the ladies were easy of virtue, and gave
Their sweet souls to the claims of Society;
Though a Bishop was there, at their chastity's grave,
With some Scriptural saws for propriety.
Then I picked up a duchess, to drive in the Park,
Who has turned from dear saint to dear sinner;
She met somebody there, I will merely remark,
And just told him to drop in at dinner.
Though the carriages shone with proud beauty and might,
Yet the hearts were my private monopolies,
And were on the Broad Road that is level and bright,
And goes down to my fiery metropolis.
Who has turned from dear saint to dear sinner;
She met somebody there, I will merely remark,
And just told him to drop in at dinner.
502
Yet the hearts were my private monopolies,
And were on the Broad Road that is level and bright,
And goes down to my fiery metropolis.
I was next at a party where gathered the fair
And the frail, in a garden like Eden;
I suggested elopement which pleased an odd pair,
And the pastures forbidden to feed on.
And I said “Down below it could not be more fine
While the course of Society such is!”
But I did not forget my engagement to dine,
And the evening alone with the duchess.
And the frail, in a garden like Eden;
I suggested elopement which pleased an odd pair,
And the pastures forbidden to feed on.
And I said “Down below it could not be more fine
While the course of Society such is!”
But I did not forget my engagement to dine,
And the evening alone with the duchess.
On the whole I was pleased with the progress of all
The disciples who give me adherence;
Human nature is still what it was at the Fall,
Though it wears a more decent appearance.
I returned to my kingdom to find that some fool
(He was Irish and gray with hypocrisy)
Had persuaded his fellows to beg for Home Rule,—
So I gave them the hell of Democracy.
The disciples who give me adherence;
Human nature is still what it was at the Fall,
Though it wears a more decent appearance.
I returned to my kingdom to find that some fool
(He was Irish and gray with hypocrisy)
Had persuaded his fellows to beg for Home Rule,—
So I gave them the hell of Democracy.
PART II.
“All is well,” said the Devil, as gaily he rose
From the smoke of his fiery pillow,
“Man is now (what he used to be) led by the nose
And fair woman as weak as a willow;
Things are mending a bit, and the Socialist craze
Is preparing the way for a better,
That will wrap this dead land in a h-ll of a blaze,
When I choose to slip Anarchy's fetter;
I must here take a peep, in my pastoral rounds,
At this sheepfold of cards and seduction,
And relax a few more of the bulwarks and bounds,
That some fanaties keep from destruction.
From the smoke of his fiery pillow,
“Man is now (what he used to be) led by the nose
And fair woman as weak as a willow;
Things are mending a bit, and the Socialist craze
Is preparing the way for a better,
That will wrap this dead land in a h-ll of a blaze,
When I choose to slip Anarchy's fetter;
I must here take a peep, in my pastoral rounds,
At this sheepfold of cards and seduction,
And relax a few more of the bulwarks and bounds,
That some fanaties keep from destruction.
“In a clerical suit and got up like the deuce,
With a very long face and big “choker,”
I may pass as a Canon, if I am profuse
In my coat and come out as a joker;
With a sigh at command for the comely and frail,
And a sprinkling of texts from the Bible
Carried under my arm, and a whitewashing pail
For the swells, and for paupers a libel;
So here goes, I will pose, in this mummery drest,
Bought of Vanheems and Wheeler, as parson,
And no duke would refuse to receive me as guest,
Though I advocate outrage and arson.
With a very long face and big “choker,”
I may pass as a Canon, if I am profuse
In my coat and come out as a joker;
With a sigh at command for the comely and frail,
And a sprinkling of texts from the Bible
Carried under my arm, and a whitewashing pail
For the swells, and for paupers a libel;
So here goes, I will pose, in this mummery drest,
Bought of Vanheems and Wheeler, as parson,
And no duke would refuse to receive me as guest,
Though I advocate outrage and arson.
503
“I see Somebody, ever a darling of mine,
Still a student of figures and faces,
In his paradise open to women and wine,
And sweet legs with the prettiest paces;
He will always be welcome, in spite of Papas
Who object to his amorous talent,
If he offers his friends the best soups and cigars,
And continues so youthful and gallant;
He shall have a warm place of esteem ere the close,
In my journal of richer variety
Than the scandalous chronicles favoured, and those
Which sneak up the backstairs of Society.
Still a student of figures and faces,
In his paradise open to women and wine,
And sweet legs with the prettiest paces;
He will always be welcome, in spite of Papas
Who object to his amorous talent,
If he offers his friends the best soups and cigars,
And continues so youthful and gallant;
He shall have a warm place of esteem ere the close,
In my journal of richer variety
Than the scandalous chronicles favoured, and those
Which sneak up the backstairs of Society.
“Ah, the Church is yet helping me on as of old,
With its hypocrite pomps and professors,
So attached to the faith of the fathers, and gold
Pouring in from good solvent transgressors;
For they scramble or squirm, and they grovel or fight,
For the pick of the loaves and the fishes,
For the rinsings of millionaires' plates, and delight
To lick noblemen's dirtiest dishes;
Doctor Tinder my firebrand, has kindled a flame,
And a music-hall made of his Minster,
Fluent Charlatan, playing unconscious my game,
Just to scare any fool or old spinster.
With its hypocrite pomps and professors,
So attached to the faith of the fathers, and gold
Pouring in from good solvent transgressors;
For they scramble or squirm, and they grovel or fight,
For the pick of the loaves and the fishes,
For the rinsings of millionaires' plates, and delight
To lick noblemen's dirtiest dishes;
Doctor Tinder my firebrand, has kindled a flame,
And a music-hall made of his Minster,
Fluent Charlatan, playing unconscious my game,
Just to scare any fool or old spinster.
And the State is fast drifting along to its doom,
Without helmsman or compass or rudder,
While the Rats that would bolt in the gathering gloom,
With their spoil, as they gloat on it shudder;
And the rulers demented by me, shuffle on
To the shame I assign them for napping,
But to wake with the worm when their empire is gone,
And when nothing remains but the trapping;
The sick Government, hopeless of finding a port,
After firing away with blank cartridge,
Now is idly its impotence hiding in sport,
And is faithful at least to the partridge.
Without helmsman or compass or rudder,
While the Rats that would bolt in the gathering gloom,
With their spoil, as they gloat on it shudder;
And the rulers demented by me, shuffle on
To the shame I assign them for napping,
But to wake with the worm when their empire is gone,
And when nothing remains but the trapping;
The sick Government, hopeless of finding a port,
After firing away with blank cartridge,
Now is idly its impotence hiding in sport,
And is faithful at least to the partridge.
But in Ireland the brimstone goes sweetliest up,
Where my cauldron of evil is hotting,
And I really to-night must find leisure to sup
With my pupils, and coach them in plotting;
Then they weary of Balfour, and he is so tough
That weak stomachs to tackle him question,—
They have grilled him, have roasted and fried him, enough
To impair the most hardy digestion;
I shall give them a change, something savoury, strong,
Such as Conybeare's skin or his diet,
A new grievance or lie showing England all wrong—
Wholesale murther alone can give quiet.
Where my cauldron of evil is hotting,
And I really to-night must find leisure to sup
With my pupils, and coach them in plotting;
Then they weary of Balfour, and he is so tough
That weak stomachs to tackle him question,—
They have grilled him, have roasted and fried him, enough
To impair the most hardy digestion;
I shall give them a change, something savoury, strong,
Such as Conybeare's skin or his diet,
A new grievance or lie showing England all wrong—
Wholesale murther alone can give quiet.
504
“As to money, Finance in its devious ruts,
Of my methods is proving the master,
While it drags my spent tools by the shabbiest cuts
To the end that they merit—disaster;
Mammon reigns, my vice-roy, and the death-bell he tolls
For the dupes that respond to his passion,
In the gambling that gives me so many d---d souls,
Now that swindling is fairly the fashion;
I am proud to record—for I prompted the Ring
By a tip which at Paris was spoken—
That I nearly pulled off an infernal good thing,
With the great Bank of England half-broken.
Of my methods is proving the master,
While it drags my spent tools by the shabbiest cuts
To the end that they merit—disaster;
Mammon reigns, my vice-roy, and the death-bell he tolls
For the dupes that respond to his passion,
In the gambling that gives me so many d---d souls,
Now that swindling is fairly the fashion;
I am proud to record—for I prompted the Ring
By a tip which at Paris was spoken—
That I nearly pulled off an infernal good thing,
With the great Bank of England half-broken.
“My grand agent, Jack Frost, who must do as I like,
From lost labour his capital borrows,
Driving out all his victims to starve on the strike,
While he fiddles a tune on their sorrows;
Oh, for stirring up messes he bears off the wreath,
As a devilish downright hot poker,
And if Proteus gets cold, I will use him beneath
For my own special patent head stoker;
May he prosper, in each operation that blocks
London business by any bad stages,
Till he anchors at last in the “dock,” or the Docks
Where I pay the most liberal wages.
From lost labour his capital borrows,
Driving out all his victims to starve on the strike,
While he fiddles a tune on their sorrows;
Oh, for stirring up messes he bears off the wreath,
As a devilish downright hot poker,
And if Proteus gets cold, I will use him beneath
For my own special patent head stoker;
May he prosper, in each operation that blocks
London business by any bad stages,
Till he anchors at last in the “dock,” or the Docks
Where I pay the most liberal wages.
“But a woman for choice—mind, I mention no names—
If you fancy a tale full of pepper,—
For the rapidest goer, if masculine, frames
Never quite like a gentle high-stepper;
I confide in her still, through her beauty and charms
Backing up her own ardent opinions,
With the magical touch of her dainty white arms
And red lips, to extend my dominions;
Yes, a thoroughbred Peeress, when once she plumps in
For the fun, does not stick at a copper,
Yields herself soul and body entirely to sin,
And soon learns all the nouns most improper.
If you fancy a tale full of pepper,—
For the rapidest goer, if masculine, frames
Never quite like a gentle high-stepper;
I confide in her still, through her beauty and charms
Backing up her own ardent opinions,
With the magical touch of her dainty white arms
And red lips, to extend my dominions;
Yes, a thoroughbred Peeress, when once she plumps in
For the fun, does not stick at a copper,
Yields herself soul and body entirely to sin,
And soon learns all the nouns most improper.
“Now perhaps I had better retire to my rest,
Though a figure of speech, for a season,
And I hope my disciples (like Frost) will be—blest,
For their little amusements in treason;
But I first must affix my particular brand
On a Lord, whose amours are all shady,—
I have got a delicious elopement on hand,
And should whisper a word to my Lady;
Ere I hie to my brimstone retreat, in the place
For which I need not make an apology,
Though no Science its seat has been able to trace,
Guaranteed by the soundest Theology,
Though a figure of speech, for a season,
And I hope my disciples (like Frost) will be—blest,
For their little amusements in treason;
But I first must affix my particular brand
On a Lord, whose amours are all shady,—
I have got a delicious elopement on hand,
And should whisper a word to my Lady;
Ere I hie to my brimstone retreat, in the place
For which I need not make an apology,
Though no Science its seat has been able to trace,
Guaranteed by the soundest Theology,
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |