The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
207
AN INCANTATION.
SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT.
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go;
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope
Drew from fancy—or from soap;
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent
From its frothy element!
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go.
Mix the lather, Johnny W*lks,
Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks ;
Mix the lather—who can be
Fitter for such task than thee,
Great M. P. for Sudsbury!
Now the frothy charm is ripe,
Puffing Peter , bring thy pipe,—
Thou, whom ancient Coventry
Once so dearly lov'd, that she
Knew not which to her was sweeter,
Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter;—
Puff the bubbles high in air,
Puff thy best to keep them there.
Lots of bubbles, as we go;
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope
Drew from fancy—or from soap;
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent
From its frothy element!
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go.
Mix the lather, Johnny W*lks,
Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks ;
Mix the lather—who can be
Fitter for such task than thee,
Great M. P. for Sudsbury!
208
Puffing Peter , bring thy pipe,—
Thou, whom ancient Coventry
Once so dearly lov'd, that she
Knew not which to her was sweeter,
Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter;—
Puff the bubbles high in air,
Puff thy best to keep them there.
Bravo, bravo, Peter M—re!
Now the rainbow humbugs soar,
Glittering all with golden hues,
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;—
Some, reflecting mines that lie
Under Chili's glowing sky,
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep
Cloister'd in the southern deep;
Others, as if lent a ray
From the streaming Milky Way,
Glistening o'er with curds and whey
From the cows of Alderney.
Now's the moment—who shall first
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst?
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run,
Br---gd---n, T---ynh---m, P*lm---t*n;—
John W*lks junior runs beside ye!
Take the good the knaves provide ye!
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands,
Where the Shareman , Br---gd---n, stands,
Gaping for the froth to fall
Down his gullet—lye and all.
See!—
But, hark, my time is out—
Now, like some great water-spout,
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder,
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder!
[Here the stage darkens—a discordant crash is heard from the orchestra—the broken bubbles descend in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the heads of the Dramatis Personæ, and the scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters—all in the suds.]
Now the rainbow humbugs soar,
Glittering all with golden hues,
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;—
Some, reflecting mines that lie
Under Chili's glowing sky,
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep
Cloister'd in the southern deep;
Others, as if lent a ray
From the streaming Milky Way,
Glistening o'er with curds and whey
From the cows of Alderney.
209
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst?
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run,
Br---gd---n, T---ynh---m, P*lm---t*n;—
John W*lks junior runs beside ye!
Take the good the knaves provide ye!
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands,
Where the Shareman , Br---gd---n, stands,
Gaping for the froth to fall
Down his gullet—lye and all.
See!—
But, hark, my time is out—
Now, like some great water-spout,
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder,
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder!
Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when he wrote
“Sir Edward Sutton,
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton.”
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton.”
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |