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

“And now,” quoth the goddess, in accents jocose,
“Having got good materials, I'll brew such a dose
“Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall say,
“They've not known its equal for many a long day.”
Here she wink'd to her subaltern imps to be steady,
And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails and stood ready.

“So, now for the' ingredients:—first, hand me that bishop;”
Whereon, a whole bevy of imps run to fish up,
From out a large reservoir, wherein they pen 'em,
The blackest of all its black dabblers in venom;
And wrapping him up (lest the virus should ooze,
And one “drop of the' immortal ” Right Rev. they might lose)
In the sheets of his own speeches, charges, reviews,

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Pop him into the caldron, while loudly a burst
From the by-standers welcomes ingredient the first!

“Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor,” mutter'd the dame—
“He who's call'd after Harry the Older, by name.”
“The Ex-Chancellor!” echoed her imps, the whole crew of 'em—
“Why talk of one Ex, when your Mischief has two of 'em?”
“True, true,” said the hag, looking arch at her elves,
“And a double-Ex dose they compose, in themselves.”
This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly,
Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly.
So, in went the pair, and (what none thought surprising)
Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising;
While not a grim phiz in that realm but was lighted
With joy to see spirits so twin-like united—
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather,
In one mess of venom thus spitted together.

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Here a flashy imp rose—some connexion, no doubt,
Of the young lord in question—and, scowling about,
“Hop'd his fiery friend, St---nl---y, would not be left out;
“As no schoolboy unwhipp'd, the whole world must agree,
“Lov'd mischief, pure mischief, more dearly than he.”

But, no—the wise hag wouldn't hear of the whipster;
Not merely because, as a shrew, he eclips'd her,
And nature had giv'n him, to keep him still young,
Much tongue in his head and no head in his tongue;
But because she well knew that, for change ever ready,
He'd not ev'n to mischief keep properly steady;
That soon ev'n the wrong side would cease to delight,
And, for want of a change, he must swerve to the right;
While, on each, so at random his missiles he threw,
That the side he attack'd was most safe, of the two.—
This ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf,
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself.

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“And now,” quoth the hag, as her caldron she ey'd,
And the tidbits so friendlily rankling inside,
“There wants but some seasoning;—so, come, ere I stew 'em,
“By way of a relish, we'll throw in ‘+John Tuam.’
“In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish
“Like your meddling High Priest, to add zest to the dish.”
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand Lama—
Which great event ends the First Act of the Drama.

“To lose no drop of the immortal man.”

The present Bishop of Ex---t---r.