The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Bottled ale” (if a popular phrase I may quote)
“Will smile in your face, while 'tis cutting your throat.”—
And Irony's trim, I presume, you'll agree,
Is as like bottled ale, as a pea's like a pea.
For it means you most harm, when it speaks you most kind;
All affection before, and all mischief behind.

When you use a blunt razor, 'tis twenty to one,
That you scarce touch your chin, till you see the blood run:
But a razor, that's keen, plays so smoothly it's part,
You perceive not the cut, 'till convinc'd by the smart;
And in matters of speech, as the learned alledge,
So keen, and so smooth, should be Irony's edge.

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When a painter, with judgment his colours has laid,
Shade heightens the light, and light deepens the shade:
And as contrasts in picture, so contrasts in wit,
Will mutual advantage impart, and admit;
Thus in Irony's case, with reciprocal power,
Sour makes sweetness more sweet; sweet makes sourness more sour.

Your strolling cake-merchant will oftentimes put
In his basket a viand, yclep'd a game-nut;
Which seeming to promise a gingerbread treat,
By it's tempting appearance invites you to eat;
But the moment your teeth touch the treacherous frame,
Sets, with pepper's strong caustic, your mouth in a flame:
Such a game-nut in language is Irony's smile,
It's insinuating air, and it's soft soothing style;
While it's real effects, when the whole you discern,
Is like pepper to bite, like a caustic to burn.

In the marshes and moor-lands, the sportsmen employ
A renegade duck, which they call a decoy;

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Who in tone so alluring repeats his “quack, quack,”
That his brethren flock round him, duck over duck's back;
Nor perceive, 'till too far for retreating they get,
That they're thrusting their heads within sweep of a net:
So like to this treason is Irony's tale,
You can hardly say, which has the turn of the scale;
Both the very same game on credulity play;
Both are artful to please; and both please, to betray!

A bear, when an hive, in his rambles, he meets,
Sticks, without fear or wit, his rude nose in the sweets;
But finds bees can be angry, as bears can be stout;
And sneaks off, with an hundred sharp stings in his snout:—
Remember this bear; and when Irony brings
Her honied address, be aware of her stings.

But perhaps all this while 'twill be laid to my charge,
That on Irony's worst part alone, I enlarge:
'Twill be said, that on truth's side it often has stood,
And by contrasted falsehood, made virtue's cause good;

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That a fiction may strike, where no proof would succeed;—
—I acknowledge the fact;—but lament for the need:
For sure, Irony's aid might be laid on the shelf,
Could Truth always be heard, when it speaks for itself.