 | Wood and stone |  |
WOOD AND STONE,
OR A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A WOODEN DUKE AND A STONE LION .
No wonder, My Lord, one Lion may when so many Asses do.
Midsummer Night's Dream.
LION.
Od's blood an' ounds and thunder, Sir!
What! sleeps Your Grace supine,
Deaf to this democratic stir
Under your nose and mine?
In B---ntf---d wag'd my roaring kin
Internecinum bellum,
They could not make so d---n'd a din :
Arise, Lord Duke, and quell 'em!
Be pacified,....Thou 'rt grown so hot
Of late, my trusty Lion,
If thou couldst eat, I should have thought
Thou hadst been fed on Kian .
LION.
If I could eat, though ill I brook
My hard lot, 't would be harder
Than 'tis, unless, puissant Duke,
You kept a better larder.
DUKE.
Ah touch not on (for mutton's dear)
That tender point in future!....
As for this Contest in our shire,
Know, Lion, I stand neuter.
LION.
Neuter!....In Westminster for shame
Let not the tale be told,
When Middlesex was in a flame
H---h P---y's blood ran cold!
Whose valour none outstripp'd,
A neutral P---y holds no place:
Zounds! 'tis a Non-descript!
DUKE.
My great great grandfathers, 'tis true,
Were champions brave and doughty;
But that's no precedent for H**h,
Hipp'd, phlegmatic and gouty;
Though to my Sov'reign's grace I owe
My garter and commission ,
A sneaking kindness still you know
I've shown for Opposition.
LION.
Then sneak no longer, but speak out!
Defy th'imperial power;
To storm lead on yon factious rout
The Bastile and the Tower:
Loose Convicts from the halter,
And urge them to pull down the State,
The Sov'reign and the Altar!
Or quell, or lead Sedition's horde
To plunder, slay and forage;
But let not future times record
P---y a Chip in porridge.
DUKE.
Lion, I've heard my Grandame cry,
‘In roasting eggs there's reason,’
And no great appetite have I
For anarchy and treason:
For though those Statesmen sore I curse
Powder and Income taxes
Who laid upon us, somewhat worse
Impeachment and the Ax is.
A middle course I'll drive:
'Tis one thing, Lion, to abet,
Another to connive.
Some say ‘'twixt two stools falls the dish,’....
But let me ask 'em wherein
They'll blame a Duke who neither fish
Nor flesh is, nor red herring?
LION.
Of P---y, sprung from Mainfred's stock,
Bear'st thou the name and form, man?....
Art thou a chip of that old block
That fought with Will the Norman?
Is thine the blood of Charlemagne,
Plantagenet and Brabant?
Of John o' Gaunt, and Hotspur slain
In battle?....Never blab on 't!
Play'd Alg---n a neutral game,
In sev'nteen hundred eighty,
Who quench'd with blood Sedition's flame?
Why, what d' ye think he 'll say t'ye!....
With tail stretch'd horizontal,
That ought to lash my rugged hide
For rage?....Oh, fie upon't all!
DUKE.
Thou must.....With Hotspur then have done!
Comparisons are odious!
LION.
Let me equip your Grace with one
That's somewhat more commodious.
The Shire run mad....th'unop'ning gate
Mock'd by thy Lion Crest.....
Thy Lion Counsellor (hard fate!)
Deem'd but a Bore at best!....
The Shire....disclaim the rule on't;
Thy Gate, (true symbol of thyself)
G--- ye! clap a Mule on 't!....
As some apology for the profane licence which characterizes the Lion's indignation, we may remark that, where the subject is such a one as would make a parson swear, it is not to be expected but that a Lion should play his part ‘con furóre:’ and if Swearing (like other bad habits) be catching, from the proximity of his situation it is possible this Noble Animal may have selected (to give energy to his sentiments) some choice oratorical Blossoms from that Emporium of Chaste Eloquence, Br---tf---d Hustings.
Garganum mugire putes nemus aut mare Tuscum. Hor. Ep. l. ii. Ep. 1. But all comparison must inevitably fail of doing justice to the Iö Pæans announcing Sir Fr*nc*s B---tt's Br*ntf**d triumph, unless it be Master F. Rabelais' Chorus of sixty legions of Devils when their tails were chopp'd off.
Was our Lion's hypothesis to be realized, (local circumstances considered) he might indeed feel himself in an awkward predicament, when counselled by his brother Lion's unseasonable monitor in the Æneid.
Suadet enim vesana Fames........
Æn. lib. ix.
The Bastile the House of Correction for the County, so called, in the language of Sedition, by the
------ numeris....Lege solutis.
The curious reader who wishes to become an adept in the art of returning Tax-imposers a Rowland for their Oliver, is referred to pages 100, et sequent. of the Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, 4to.
‘Crop, crop, my merry men all!‘No Guinea for your heads I'll pay
‘Tho' Church and State should fall.’
The Duke's brother, and Commander of the N---d Militia, whose loyal and spirited exertions effectually quelled the Riots, and put a stop to the Conflagrations, of the year 1780, by the destruction of the Seditious Incendiaries.
As this is an age of wonders, who knows what may be expected from him ere long, when Ducal apathy shall have produced the same effect upon our Lion as the opposite disposition of Pygmalion produced on his sculptured Dulcinea; and (instead of the horizontal streamer now pointing, like a road-direction-post, from his nether extremity)
Lucan, lib. i.
‘The Chimnies blaze, the tables groan no more.’
T. Warton's ‘Newmarket.’
Lest this expression may be thought obscure, the Lion desires leave to elucidate its import by Negative illustration: it being easier to show the ends for which his Grace's Gate is not, than those for which it is, adapted. The Gate of this Ducal Mansion is not given to open for the same purposes as the Gate commemorated in the Ballad of the Queen's Old Courtier
‘Who kept an Old House at a bountiful rate,‘And an Old Porter to relieve the Poor at his Gate.’
The Lion further engages, on consideration of one farthing premium, to insure us in passing This Gate from all risque of incurring the Anathema fulminated in enormous capitals over the Castle Gate of a Maternal Ancestor of Lord Lucan's:
“CURSED BE THEY WHO PASS THE GATE OF THIS CASTLE WITHOUT PARTAKING ITS HOSPITALITY!”
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