 | Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems |  |
17
OUTLINE THE SECOND.
“A certain convocation of politick worms.”
Hamlet.
Hamlet.
Here Politics run vastly high, (indeed where do they not,)
And Politics are dangerous, they make the temper hot;
They play the deuce with men, and call their prejudices forth;
And make them see with jaundic'd eyes, and undervalue worth.
And Politics are dangerous, they make the temper hot;
They play the deuce with men, and call their prejudices forth;
And make them see with jaundic'd eyes, and undervalue worth.
There's a certain old Review, adorn'd with yellow, and with blue,
The people seem'd to make it quite their oracle, when new;
But it prophecied on politics, assuming second sight,
When It said things would all go wrong, alas! things all went right.
And its literary prophecies were unsuccessful too;
The Bards it hated, triumph'd o'er the yellow and the blue!
The mighty We first fix'd upon a work,—no matter what;
We car'd not if the subject was political or not;
Mrs. Rundall upon Cookery, or Allison on Taste,
Or Byron upon Pegasus, upon the page was plac'd;
And then began an article about the coming storm,
And injuries, and Bonaparte, and radical reform;
In fact, the book review'd, was like a wooden peg alone,
On which the sage reviewer hitch'd an essay of his own.
The people seem'd to make it quite their oracle, when new;
But it prophecied on politics, assuming second sight,
When It said things would all go wrong, alas! things all went right.
And its literary prophecies were unsuccessful too;
The Bards it hated, triumph'd o'er the yellow and the blue!
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We car'd not if the subject was political or not;
Mrs. Rundall upon Cookery, or Allison on Taste,
Or Byron upon Pegasus, upon the page was plac'd;
And then began an article about the coming storm,
And injuries, and Bonaparte, and radical reform;
In fact, the book review'd, was like a wooden peg alone,
On which the sage reviewer hitch'd an essay of his own.
It really is astonishing to hear the Whigs profuse
In complaints respecting injuries, and personal abuse!
The Whigs who for so long a time were very hard indeed,
Upon all the Tory gentlefolks who differ'd from their creed;
But when against themselves we turn their weapons, they exclaim,
“What! read John Bull! or Blackwood's Magazine! oh fye, for shame.”
In complaints respecting injuries, and personal abuse!
The Whigs who for so long a time were very hard indeed,
Upon all the Tory gentlefolks who differ'd from their creed;
But when against themselves we turn their weapons, they exclaim,
“What! read John Bull! or Blackwood's Magazine! oh fye, for shame.”
The night it was tempestuous, and very hard it blew,
And those who stirr'd within the street, were probably wet through;
When Mr. Donald Whiglington was sitting at his ease,
With his feet upon the fender, and his elbows on his knees;
His wife was sitting near to him, and whilst her husband doz'd,
Her red morocco reticule she silently unclos'd;
And taking thence a newspaper, its pages wide she spread;
She mov'd the sofa, snuff'd the candles, blew her nose, and read.
And those who stirr'd within the street, were probably wet through;
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With his feet upon the fender, and his elbows on his knees;
His wife was sitting near to him, and whilst her husband doz'd,
Her red morocco reticule she silently unclos'd;
And taking thence a newspaper, its pages wide she spread;
She mov'd the sofa, snuff'd the candles, blew her nose, and read.
Awhile she read it prudently, and quietly she sat,
And smil'd upon this paragraph, and simper'd upon that;
But soon she read another page, and ere she could proceed,
She laugh'd aloud, and leaning back—cry'd, “very good, indeed.”
The exclamation rous'd her spouse, who started at the sound,
And half awake, and half asleep, look'd vacantly around;
And said, “my love, what have you there? my dear, what can it be
“Which makes you laugh this dreary night? my darling, give it me.”
He took it—saw it—dropt it—and he cry'd, with anger full,
“Oh wicked Mrs. Whiglington, how came you by John Bull?”
“John Bull is so notorious, to name it is a sin,
“(And from my soul I execrate all those who take it in;)
“To see it on my tea-table now covers me with shame,
“(Confound you Mrs. Whiglington you're very much to blame.)
“Its pages are so scandalous! and scandal I abhor;
“I cannot think what all our filthy neighbours read it for:
“There's Mr. Whinn, who takes it in 's a nasty dirty beast,
“And Mr. Shore, who lives next door, is mad, to say the least;
“Its female readers all are vile, their characters are loose,
“(I hate its pages—for I hate all scandalous abuse.)
“Its violence is hateful, its expressions are too strong,
“It violently states that we are radically wrong;
“My dear it is too violent; (and violence I dread,)”—
And saying so, he threw the silver teapot at her head.
“Its coarseness is detestable! I think of it with shame!
“Oh! hang you, Mrs. Whiglington, you're very much to blame.”
And smil'd upon this paragraph, and simper'd upon that;
But soon she read another page, and ere she could proceed,
She laugh'd aloud, and leaning back—cry'd, “very good, indeed.”
The exclamation rous'd her spouse, who started at the sound,
And half awake, and half asleep, look'd vacantly around;
And said, “my love, what have you there? my dear, what can it be
“Which makes you laugh this dreary night? my darling, give it me.”
He took it—saw it—dropt it—and he cry'd, with anger full,
“Oh wicked Mrs. Whiglington, how came you by John Bull?”
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“(And from my soul I execrate all those who take it in;)
“To see it on my tea-table now covers me with shame,
“(Confound you Mrs. Whiglington you're very much to blame.)
“Its pages are so scandalous! and scandal I abhor;
“I cannot think what all our filthy neighbours read it for:
“There's Mr. Whinn, who takes it in 's a nasty dirty beast,
“And Mr. Shore, who lives next door, is mad, to say the least;
“Its female readers all are vile, their characters are loose,
“(I hate its pages—for I hate all scandalous abuse.)
“Its violence is hateful, its expressions are too strong,
“It violently states that we are radically wrong;
“My dear it is too violent; (and violence I dread,)”—
And saying so, he threw the silver teapot at her head.
“Its coarseness is detestable! I think of it with shame!
“Oh! hang you, Mrs. Whiglington, you're very much to blame.”
To bed he went in anger, and to bed she went and cried;
And when just warm, a mighty form stept up to his bedside;
In vain he slunk beneath the clothes, and turn'd away his head,
The form was ever visible, and hover'd o'er the bed.
It call'd upon poor Whiglington, and gave his nose a pull,
And said “Be bold, for now behold, the spirit of John Bull;
“But though a spirit, think not that my energy is lost,
“I always have been spirited, I am not yet a ghost.
“How dare you say my pages are calumnious, and coarse?
“Because my pen his potent, and the Whigs have felt its force:
“How dare you say Johannes Bull vents slander in his rhymes,
“You daily read the slanders of the Chronicle and Times:
“You take them in, you know you do, though probably indeed,
“You're one among the many who ne'er pay for what they read,
“Who first take in the newspaper, and more discreetly still,
“They next take in the editor, and never pay his bill!
And when just warm, a mighty form stept up to his bedside;
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The form was ever visible, and hover'd o'er the bed.
It call'd upon poor Whiglington, and gave his nose a pull,
And said “Be bold, for now behold, the spirit of John Bull;
“But though a spirit, think not that my energy is lost,
“I always have been spirited, I am not yet a ghost.
“How dare you say my pages are calumnious, and coarse?
“Because my pen his potent, and the Whigs have felt its force:
“How dare you say Johannes Bull vents slander in his rhymes,
“You daily read the slanders of the Chronicle and Times:
“You take them in, you know you do, though probably indeed,
“You're one among the many who ne'er pay for what they read,
“Who first take in the newspaper, and more discreetly still,
“They next take in the editor, and never pay his bill!
“Shall I be call'd calumnious—when Perry's page ran o'er,
“With the Post Bag, and Fudge Family of Mr. Thomas M—re,
“Whose humour is not good humour, yet for it we must lose,
“All the beauty, and the brightness, and the feeling of his muse?
“Whose taste, it seems can make him throw aside his laurel crown,
“To wear the Tom Fool's jacket, of Tom Little, or Tom Brown,
“And when the Morning Chronicle became a tasteless cup,
“His fermentations were thrown in to make the Perry up.
“With the Post Bag, and Fudge Family of Mr. Thomas M—re,
“Whose humour is not good humour, yet for it we must lose,
“All the beauty, and the brightness, and the feeling of his muse?
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“To wear the Tom Fool's jacket, of Tom Little, or Tom Brown,
“And when the Morning Chronicle became a tasteless cup,
“His fermentations were thrown in to make the Perry up.
“How boldly and how long they hurl'd their arrows at the King,
“It galls them now to see their dastard weapons left no sting;
“How oft at female virtue was their slander thrown in vain!
“And now they strive to fix on me the ignominious stain!
“I hurl aside the calumny, and boldly I assert,
“By me the name of innocence has never yet been hurt:
“When guilt assum'd a gilded form, and dar'd to face the day,
“When folly follow'd in her train, I tore the veil away;
“One party made a rough attack, and ev'ry Bully knows,
“A Lamb cannot resist a wolf; blows must be met by blows.
“It galls them now to see their dastard weapons left no sting;
“How oft at female virtue was their slander thrown in vain!
“And now they strive to fix on me the ignominious stain!
“I hurl aside the calumny, and boldly I assert,
“By me the name of innocence has never yet been hurt:
“When guilt assum'd a gilded form, and dar'd to face the day,
“When folly follow'd in her train, I tore the veil away;
“One party made a rough attack, and ev'ry Bully knows,
“A Lamb cannot resist a wolf; blows must be met by blows.
“Now Whiglington, I leave thee to the terrors in thy breast,
“My Printer's devils shall remain to scare away thy rest;
“Know this, if any Radicals have been upon the rack,
“If any Whigs have trembled,—I commenc'd not the attack.
“Immortal and untainted are the pages which I print,
“And ages hence my leaves will bear the true autumnal tint;
“My motives will bear scrutiny when party passions cool,
“For God, the King, and People—is the motto of John Bull.”
“My Printer's devils shall remain to scare away thy rest;
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“If any Whigs have trembled,—I commenc'd not the attack.
“Immortal and untainted are the pages which I print,
“And ages hence my leaves will bear the true autumnal tint;
“My motives will bear scrutiny when party passions cool,
“For God, the King, and People—is the motto of John Bull.”
And now the vision vanish'd—while poor Whiglington awoke,
(This—unlike other vapour-devils—vanish'd not in smoke;)
He rose up a fair Penitent, and saw the form depart,
And vow'd the words of Bull would be engrav'd upon his heart:
Engrav'd upon his heart, and death should blot it out alone,—
(Engrav'd in Lithographic style—some hearts you know are stone.)
(This—unlike other vapour-devils—vanish'd not in smoke;)
He rose up a fair Penitent, and saw the form depart,
And vow'd the words of Bull would be engrav'd upon his heart:
Engrav'd upon his heart, and death should blot it out alone,—
(Engrav'd in Lithographic style—some hearts you know are stone.)
Next morning Mr. Whiglington begg'd pardon of his wife,
And told her he had now resolv'd on leading a new life;
“Alas! the tide is turn'd,” he cry'd, “there's nothing to be got
“By those who curse the Government,—so I will curse it not;
“John Bull (my worthy visitor) has done his work so well,
“Our weekly papers are become so weak they will not sell;
“My pet review is drifting too, from fortune's fav'ring gale,
“No wonder it drifts down the stream—for it has lost its sale;
“The Champion faints,—and even the Examiner is willing
“To examine us for seven pence, instead of for a shilling!
And told her he had now resolv'd on leading a new life;
“Alas! the tide is turn'd,” he cry'd, “there's nothing to be got
“By those who curse the Government,—so I will curse it not;
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“Our weekly papers are become so weak they will not sell;
“My pet review is drifting too, from fortune's fav'ring gale,
“No wonder it drifts down the stream—for it has lost its sale;
“The Champion faints,—and even the Examiner is willing
“To examine us for seven pence, instead of for a shilling!
“'Tis useless to abuse the King, we cannot now distress him,
“Where'er he goes the people flock around him and cry, ‘God bless him!’
“In England they delight in him, for loyalty's in vogue,
“And even in Hibernia they bless him in a brogue;
“And should he come to Scotland, wife, the best thing we can do,
“Is to ‘Tak a right good wylie wacht’—and cry, ‘God bless him’ too.”
“Where'er he goes the people flock around him and cry, ‘God bless him!’
“In England they delight in him, for loyalty's in vogue,
“And even in Hibernia they bless him in a brogue;
“And should he come to Scotland, wife, the best thing we can do,
“Is to ‘Tak a right good wylie wacht’—and cry, ‘God bless him’ too.”
| Outlines of Edinburgh, and Other Poems | |