The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
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.—
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.
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.
On something at these stalls and shops,
That does to quote, and gives one's Book
A classical and knowing look.—
172
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
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,
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!
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
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.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |