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

My Lord, th' Instructions, brought to-day,
“I shall in all my best obey.”
Your Lordship talks and writes so sensibly!
And—whatsoe'er some wags may say—
Oh! not at all incomprehensibly.
I feel th' inquiries in your letter
About my health and French most flattering;
Thank ye, my French, though somewhat better,
Is, on the whole, but weak and smattering:—
Nothing, of course, that can compare
With his who made the Congress stare
(A certain Lord we need not name),
Who ev'n in French, would have his trope,
And talk of “batir un systême
“Sur l'équilibre de l'Europe!”

166

Sweet metaphor!—and then th' Epistle,
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle,—
That tender letter to “Mon Prince ,”
Which show'd alike thy French and sense;—
Oh no, my Lord—there's none can do
Or say un-English things like you;
And, if the schemes that fill thy breast
Could but a vent congenial seek,
And use the tongue that suits them best,
What charming Turkish would'st thou speak!
But as for me, a Frenchless grub,
At Congress never born to stammer,
Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub
Fall'n Monarchs, out of Chambaud's grammar—
Bless you, you do not, cannot know
How far a little French will go;
For all one's stock, one need but draw
On some half-dozen words like these—

167

Comme ça—par-là—là-bas—ah ha!
They'll take you all through France with ease.

The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, however, I believe, originally in English,) in which his Lordship, professing to see “no moral or political objection” to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate King as “not only the most devoted, but the most favoured of Bonaparte's vassals.”

Your Lordship's praises of the scraps
I sent you from my Journal lately,
(Enveloping a few lac'd caps
For Lady C.), delight me greatly.
Her flattering speech—“What pretty things
“One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages!”
Is praise which (as some poet sings)
Would pay one for the toils of ages.
Thus flatter'd, I presume to send
A few more extracts by a friend;
And I should hope they'll be no less
Approv'd of than my last MS.—
The former ones, I fear, were creas'd,
As Biddy round the caps would pin them;
But these will come to hand, at least
Unrumpled, for there's—nothing in them.

168

Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed to Lord C.

Aug. 10.

Went to the Mad-house—saw the man ,
Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend
Of Discord here full riot ran,
He, like the rest, was guillotin'd;—
But that when, under Boney's reign,
(A more discreet, though quite as strong one,)
The heads were all restor'd again,
He, in the scramble, got a wrong one.
Accordingly, he still cries out
This strange head fits him most unpleasantly;
And always runs, poor dev'l, about,
Inquiring for his own incessantly!

While to his case a tear I dropt,
And saunter'd home, thought I—ye Gods!

169

How many heads might thus be swopp'd,
And, after all, not make much odds!
For instance, there's V---s---tt---t's head—
(“Tam carum ” it may well be said)
If by some curious chance it came
To settle on Bill Soames's shoulders,
Th' effect would turn out much the same
On all respectable cash-holders:
Except that while, in its new socket,
The head was planning schemes to win
A zig-zag way into one's pocket,
The hands would plunge directly in.

Good Viscount S---dm---h, too, instead
Of his own grave, respected head,
Might wear (for aught I see that bars)
Old Lady Wilhelmina Frump's—
So while the hand sign'd Circulars,
The head might lisp out “What is trumps?”—
The R*g---t's brains could we transfer
To some robust man-milliner,

170

The shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon
Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on;
And, vice versâ, take the pains
To give the P---ce the shopman's brains,
One only change from thence would flow,
Ribbons would not be wasted so.

'Twas thus I ponder'd on, my Lord;
And, ev'n at night, when laid in bed,
I found myself, before I snor'd,
Thus chopping, swopping head for head.
At length I thought, fantastic elf!
How such a change would suit myself.
'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one,
With various pericraniums saddled,
At last I tried your Lordship's on,
And then I grew completely addled—
Forgot all other heads, od rot 'em!
And slept, and dreamt that I was—Bottom.

This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicêtre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that, when the heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some other person's instead of his own.

Tam cari capitis.— Horat.

A celebrated pickpocket.

Aug. 21.

Walk'd out with daughter Bid—was shown
The House of Commons, and the Throne,

171

Whose velvet cushion's just the same
Napoleon sat on—what a shame!
Oh, can we wonder, best of speechers,
When Louis seated thus we see,
That France's “fundamental features”
Are much the same they us'd to be?
However,—God preserve the Throne,
And cushion too—and keep them free
From accidents, which have been known
To happen ev'n to Royalty!

The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, universal; “exitium misêre apibus,” like the angry nymphs in Virgil:— but may not new swarms arise out of the victims of Legitimacy yet?

I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident, which is well known to have happened to poor L---s le D---s---é, some years since, at one of the R*g---t's Fêtes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

Aug. 28.

Read, at a stall (for oft one pops
On something at these stalls and shops,
That does to quote, and gives one's Book
A classical and knowing look.—

172

Indeed I've found, in Latin, lately,
A course of stalls improves me greatly)—
'Twas thus I read, that, in the East,
A monarch's fat's a serious matter;
And once in every year, at least,
He's weigh'd—to see if he gets fatter :
Then, if a pound or two he be
Increas'd, there's quite a jubilee!
Suppose, my Lord—and far from me
To treat such things with levity—
But just suppose the R*g---t's weight
Were made thus an affair of state;
And, ev'ry sessions, at the close,—
'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is
Heavy and dull enough, God knows—
We were to try how heavy he is.

173

Much would it glad all hearts to hear
That, while the Nation's Revenue
Loses so many pounds a year,
The P---e, God bless him! gains a few.

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices,
I see the Easterns weigh their Kings;—
But, for the R*g---t, my advice is,
We should throw in much heavier things:
For instance ---'s quarto volumes,
Which, though not spices, serve to wrap them;
Dominie St*dd---t's Daily columns,
“Prodigious!”—in, of course, we'd clap them—
Letters, that C*rtw---t's pen indites,
In which, with logical confusion,
The Major like a Minor writes,
And never comes to a Conclusion:—
Lord S---m---rs' pamphlet—or his head—
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead!)
Along with which we in may whip, sly,
The Speeches of Sir John C*x H---pp---sly;
That Baronet of many words,
Who loves so, in the House of Lords,

174

To whisper Bishops—and so nigh
Unto their wigs in whisp'ring goes,
That you may always know him by
A patch of powder on his nose!—
If this wo'n't do, we in must cram
The “Reasons” of Lord B*ck---gh*m;
(A Book his Lordship means to write,
Entitled “Reasons for my Ratting:”)
Or, should these prove too small and light,
His r---p's a host—we'll bundle that in!
And, still should all these masses fail
To stir the R*g---t's ponderous scale,
Why then, my Lord, in heaven's name,
Pitch in, without reserve or stint,
The whole of R*gl---y's beauteous Dame—
If that wo'n't raise him, devil's in it!

“The third day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care.” —F. Bernier's Voyage to Surat, &c.

“I remember,” says Bernier, “that all the Omrahs expressed great joy that the King weighed two pounds more now than the year preceding.”—Another author tells us that “Fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, throughout India, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven. An enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince a joulter head is invaluable.” —Oriental Field Sports.

Major Cartwright.

Aug. 31.

Consulted Murphy's Tacitus
About those famous spies at Rome ,

175

Whom certain Whigs—to make a fuss—
Describe as much resembling us ,
Informing gentlemen, at home.
But, bless the fools, they can't be serious,
To say Lord S---dm---th's like Tiberius!
What! he, the Peer, that injures no man,
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman!—
'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to
All sorts of spies—so doth the Peer, too.
'Tis true my Lord's Elect tell fibs,
And deal in perj'ry—ditto Tib's.
'Tis true, the Tyrant screen'd and hid
His rogues from justice — ditto Sid.

176

'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib
At moral speeches—ditto Tib.
'Tis true, the feats the Tyrant did
Were in his dotage—ditto Sid.

So far, I own, the parallel
'Twixt Tib and Sid goes vastly well;
But there are points in Tib that strike
My humble mind as much more like
Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him,
Of th' India Board—that soul of whim!
Like him, Tiberius lov'd his joke ,
On matters, too, where few can bear one;
E.g. a man, cut up, or broke
Upon the wheel—a devilish fair one!
Your common fractures, wounds, and fits,
Are nothing to such wholesale wits;
But, let the suff'rer gasp for life,
The joke is then worth any money;

177

And, if he writhe beneath a knife,—
Oh dear, that's something quite too funny.
In this respect, my Lord, you see
The Roman wag and ours agree:
Now as to your resemblance—mum—
This parallel we need not follow ;
Though 'tis, in Ireland, said by some
Your Lordship beats Tiberius hollow;
Whips, chains—but these are things too serious
For me to mention or discuss;
Whene'er your Lordship acts Tiberius,
Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitus!

The name of the first worthy who set up the trade of informer at Rome (to whom our Olivers and Castleses ought to erect a statue) was Romanus Hispo;—“qui formam vitæ iniit, quam postea celebrem miseriæ temporum et audaciæ hominum fecerunt.” —Tacit. Annal. i. 74.

They certainly possessed the same art of instigating their victims, which the Report of the Secret Committee attributes to Lord Sidmouth's agents:—“socius (says Tacitus of one of them) libidinum et necessitatum, quo pluribus indiciis inligaret.”

“Neque tamen id Sereno noxæ fuit, quem odium publicum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut quis districtior accusator velut sacrosanctus erat.”—Annal. lib. iv. 36.—Or, as it is translated by Mr. Fudge's friend, Murphy:—“This daring accuser had the curses of the people, and the protection of the Emperor. Informers, in proportion as they rose in guilt, became sacred characters.”

Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches the epithet “constitutional.” Mr. Fudge might have added to his parallel, that Tiberius was a good private character:—“egregium vitâ famâque quoad privatus.”

“Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus.”

There is one point of resemblance between Tiberius and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might have mentioned —“suspensa semper et obscura verba.”

Sept. 2.

Was thinking, had Lord S---dm---th got
Any good decent sort of Plot
Against the winter-time—if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated;
All done up, and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,
Down from C---tl---gh to Castles,—
Unless we can kick up a riot,
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!

178

What's to be done?—Spa-Fields was clever;
But even that brought gibes and mockings
Upon our heads—so, mem.—must never
Keep ammunition in old stockings;
For fear some wag should in his curst head
Take it to say our force was worsted.
Mem. too—when Sid an army raises,
It must not be “incog.” like Bayes's:
Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,
Should say, with Jacobinic grin,
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons ,
A Wellington's great soul within!
Nor must an old Apothecary
Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,
With (what these wags would call, so merry,)
Physical force and phial-ence!
No—no—our Plot, my Lord, must be
Next time contriv'd more skilfully.
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing
So troublesomely sharp and knowing,

179

So wise—in short, so Jacobin—
'Tis monstrous hard to take him in.

Short boots, so called.

Sept. 6.

Heard of the fate of our Ambassador
In China, and was sorely nettled;
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'er
Till all this matter's fairly settled;
And here's the mode occurs to me:—
As none of our Nobility,
Though for their own most gracious King
(They would kiss hands, or—any thing),
Can be persuaded to go through
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou;
And as these Mandarins wo'n't bend,
Without some mumming exhibition,
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send
Grimaldi to them on a mission:
As Legate, Joe could play his part,
And if, in diplomatic art,
The “volto sciolto” 's meritorious,
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious!

180

A title for him's easily made;
And, by-the-by, one Christmas time,
If I remember right, he play'd
Lord Morley in some pantomime ;—
As Earl of M*rl*y then gazette him.
If t'other Earl of M*rl*y'll let him.
(And why should not the world be blest
With two such stars, for East and West?)
Then, when before the Yellow Screen
He's brought—and, sure, the very essence
Of etiquette would be that scene
Of Joe in the Celestial Presence!—
He thus should say:—“Duke Ho and Soo,
“I'll play what tricks you please for you,
“If you'll, in turn, but do for me
“A few small tricks you now shall see.
“If I consult your Emperor's liking,
“At least you'll do the same for my King.”

181

He then should give them nine such grins,
As would astound ev'n Mandarins;
And throw such somersets before
The picture of King George (God bless him!)
As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er,
Would, by Confucius, much distress him!

I start this merely as a hint,
But think you'll find some wisdom in't;
And, should you follow up the job,
My son, my Lord (you know poor Bob),
Would in the suite be glad to go
And help his Excellency, Joe;—
At least, like noble Amh*rst's son,
The lad will do to practise on.

The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chesterfield.

Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was not Grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this part of “Lord Morley” in the pantomime,—so much to the horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The expostulatory letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H*rr*s, upon this vulgar profanation of his spick-and-span new title, will, I trust, some time or other, be given to the world.

See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy.