ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES.
BY SIR TH*M*S L---THBR---E.
“Legiferæ Cereri Phœboque.”
Virgil.
Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know,
(Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,)
Adorn'd with somniferous poppies, to show
Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Goddess.
Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee,
An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches,
Great Queen of Mark-lane (if the thing doesn't bore thee),
Thou'lt read o'er the last of his—never-last speeches.
Ah! Ceres, thou know't not the slander and scorn
Now heap'd upon England's 'Squirearchy, so boasted;
Improving on Hunt,
'tis no longer the Corn,
'Tis the growers of Corn that are now, alas! roasted.
In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us—
Reviewers, economists—fellows, no doubt,
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus,
And Gods of high fashion know little about.
There's B*nth*m, whose English is all his own making,—
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking
(What he, himself, calls) his “post-prandial vibration.”
There are two Mr. M*lls, too, whom those that love reading
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever;—
And, whereas M*ll Senior makes war on good breeding,
M*ll Junior makes war on all breeding whatever!
In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages;—
With which of these classes we, landlords, have sided
Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few pages.
For therein I've prov'd, to my own satisfaction,
And that of all 'Squires I've the honour of meeting,
That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detraction
To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating.
On the contrary, such the “chaste notions
” of food
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart,
They would scorn any law, be it ever so good,
That would make thee, dear Goddess, less dear than thou art!
And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day,
When the Land and the Silk
shall, in fond combination,
(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play
,)
Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and Starvation!
Long life to the Minister!—no matter who,
Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he
Keeps the ports shut—and the people's mouths, too—
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity.
And, as for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn
To hate the whole crew who would take our rents from us,
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn,
That last, honest Uni-Corn
would be Sir Th*m*s!
