 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAY:
Being the natural history of a fast and fashionable young woman of the day.
1.—HER MANNERS.
Of woman all have perfect knowledge,
With whom to be is bliss;
She is the toast of camp and college;
But who, I ask, is this?
With whom to be is bliss;
She is the toast of camp and college;
But who, I ask, is this?
What shall we say of her, who catches
Her colour from bad taste?
That odious thing of pins and patches,
Impertinence and paste?
Her colour from bad taste?
That odious thing of pins and patches,
Impertinence and paste?
Her life is false and lean and little,
By turns she hates and hems;
And scatters promises as brittle,
As are her bastard gems.
By turns she hates and hems;
And scatters promises as brittle,
As are her bastard gems.
Her scattered wits, by dint of clubbing,
Have formed a plan of life;—
The charms, that all come off with rubbing,
With hues and hopes at strife.
Have formed a plan of life;—
The charms, that all come off with rubbing,
With hues and hopes at strife.
And when she deals with sober matters,
Like sentences and towns;
She knows far less of globes than hatters,
Of grammar than of gowns.
Like sentences and towns;
She knows far less of globes than hatters,
Of grammar than of gowns.
And can she tell of meers and mountains,
As much as of her wraps?
Though quite at home with sparkling fountains,
Whose names are not in maps.
As much as of her wraps?
Though quite at home with sparkling fountains,
Whose names are not in maps.
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Fresh scandal is she always scraping,
All fashions she can find;
And gives more study to the shaping
Of mantles than of mind.
All fashions she can find;
And gives more study to the shaping
Of mantles than of mind.
She thinks the end of education,
To dance and dress and ride;
And bounds her views of cultivation,
By what is just outside.
To dance and dress and ride;
And bounds her views of cultivation,
By what is just outside.
No heed she takes of fair creations,
But toilet scents and soaps;
And on her milliner's foundations,
She builds her brightest hopes.
But toilet scents and soaps;
And on her milliner's foundations,
She builds her brightest hopes.
To play on fiddle-strings and passions,
And love by étiquette;
To trick her hair in fifty fashions,
Is all her alphabet.
And love by étiquette;
To trick her hair in fifty fashions,
Is all her alphabet.
She wears a look so sad and simple,
When made a parson's pet;
Yet will at social dangers dimple,
And with a crime coquet.
When made a parson's pet;
Yet will at social dangers dimple,
And with a crime coquet.
In deadly flowers you see her flutter,
And to destruction trip;
And for white lies and bread and butter,
She has a loving lip.
And to destruction trip;
And for white lies and bread and butter,
She has a loving lip.
At times she tries a truth or sonnet,
And will with prophets preach;
Then on a beefsteak or a bonnet,
She sprinkles pearls of speech.
And will with prophets preach;
Then on a beefsteak or a bonnet,
She sprinkles pearls of speech.
For every form of every fashion,
She has a fancy face;
For this a prayer, for that a passion,
For all a dashing pace.
She has a fancy face;
For this a prayer, for that a passion,
For all a dashing pace.
Her course is stranger far than fiction,
From nothing will she fly;
The sum of every contradiction,
From hoops to heresy.
From nothing will she fly;
The sum of every contradiction,
From hoops to heresy.
From penitence she goes to pleasure,
And tears and tarts combines;
Her mind has never lack of leisure,
For dunces or divines.
And tears and tarts combines;
Her mind has never lack of leisure,
For dunces or divines.
Her plot of life she loves to dapple,
Not more with flower than weed;
From church she passes on to chape
From giving unto greed.
Not more with flower than weed;
From church she passes on to chape
From giving unto greed.
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With ever shifting aims and ages,
More furious grows her fun;
She takes all characters and stages,
And mistress is of none.
More furious grows her fun;
She takes all characters and stages,
And mistress is of none.
O have you seen her in the Gardens,
Or passed her in the Park?
For every year her folly hardens,
And vices leave their mark.
Or passed her in the Park?
For every year her folly hardens,
And vices leave their mark.
And you can scarcely miss her manners,
In any festive throng;
Her colours fly with flaunting banners,
At every dance and song.
In any festive throng;
Her colours fly with flaunting banners,
At every dance and song.
Nor does she hide them from detection,
Nor mince her meals of sin;
And is less careful of complexion,
In character than skin.
Nor mince her meals of sin;
And is less careful of complexion,
In character than skin.
She has an easy sort of bearing.
Not all in custom's codes;
And at the point of playful daring,
She carries men and modes.
Not all in custom's codes;
And at the point of playful daring,
She carries men and modes.
While in her judgments of the season,
She does not often err;
And kills with every form of reason,
A flea or character.
She does not often err;
And kills with every form of reason,
A flea or character.
She spreads with all the spice of slander,
Men's fond affairs of heart;
And handles, with a charming candour,
Adultery and Art.
Men's fond affairs of heart;
And handles, with a charming candour,
Adultery and Art.
And if her talents do not travel,
Beyond her glass and gloves,
They only riband knots unravel,
With tangled lies and loves,
Beyond her glass and gloves,
They only riband knots unravel,
With tangled lies and loves,
O who can count her aims and arrows,
The power that saps or rives;
The wounds and wiles, with which she harrows
Our unprotected lives?
The power that saps or rives;
The wounds and wiles, with which she harrows
Our unprotected lives?
She has the current love of scribbling,
And scandal wings her pen;
She likes a little toothsome nibbling,
At muffins and at men.
And scandal wings her pen;
She likes a little toothsome nibbling,
At muffins and at men.
You meet her at the Prince's party,
In each subscription list;
She knows a knack about écarté,
A trick or two at whist.
In each subscription list;
She knows a knack about écarté,
A trick or two at whist.
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Her private ways she has for beating,
And honours come at call;
And if you haply see her cheating,
Why, back her—that is all.
And honours come at call;
And if you haply see her cheating,
Why, back her—that is all.
She plays her cards in many matters,
With equal art and luck;
And if she means to squeeze you, flatters
The orange she would suck.
With equal art and luck;
And if she means to squeeze you, flatters
The orange she would suck.
And with her bleak and barren notion,
Of intellectual states,
No wonder she has small devotion,
Except for pots and plates.
She is but one of cupboard lovers,
Of intellectual states,
No wonder she has small devotion,
Except for pots and plates.
And metes your merit, by the covers
You choose on her to spend.
You choose on her to spend.
A character she takes to shred it,
And brings you quick to book;
But does not trouble for your credit,
So much as for your cook.
And brings you quick to book;
But does not trouble for your credit,
So much as for your cook.
II.—HER ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
Her brow is brass, her will is iron,—
And yet too yielding oft;
Though ribs of steel her sides environ,
Her heart is rather soft.
And yet too yielding oft;
Though ribs of steel her sides environ,
Her heart is rather soft.
Her views are mainly silk and satin,
And ill together hang;
She stores a little stock of Latin,
And not a little slang.
And ill together hang;
She stores a little stock of Latin,
And not a little slang.
She boasts a bastard French and German,
Strange phrases not a few;
And dotes, if not on dew of Hermon,
At least on “mountain dew.”
Strange phrases not a few;
And dotes, if not on dew of Hermon,
At least on “mountain dew.”
Her hunter has she every season,
Her hobby every hour;
Sweet Parnell's newest piece of treason,
And Tattersall's last flower.
Her hobby every hour;
Sweet Parnell's newest piece of treason,
And Tattersall's last flower.
She rides them both with equal vigour,
And takes her fences well;
She knows the way to cut a figure,
But not to count or spell.
And takes her fences well;
She knows the way to cut a figure,
But not to count or spell.
She laughs at sordid computations,
And leaves accounts to cooks;
And pushes not her calculations,
Beyond her betting books.
And leaves accounts to cooks;
And pushes not her calculations,
Beyond her betting books.
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Content is she, like folks bucolic,
To hedge, if not to ditch;
And keeps a corner alcoholic,
To cure of course the stitch.
To hedge, if not to ditch;
And keeps a corner alcoholic,
To cure of course the stitch.
But in the sphere of speculations,
And fortunes of a day,
Upon the brink of “backwardations,”
She is not loth to play.
And fortunes of a day,
Upon the brink of “backwardations,”
She is not loth to play.
The money mart and that of marriage,
She reads with all their rocks;
And buys or sells her horse and carriage,
As she may stand in stocks.
She reads with all their rocks;
And buys or sells her horse and carriage,
As she may stand in stocks.
In brokers' consecrated jungle,
She breathes a fearful bliss;
Nor is she wont to wince or bungle,
At consols or a kiss.
She breathes a fearful bliss;
Nor is she wont to wince or bungle,
At consols or a kiss.
The high and hidden springs of jobbing,
She loves to gauge and laud;
The bounds and base of royal robbing,
The poetry of fraud.
She loves to gauge and laud;
The bounds and base of royal robbing,
The poetry of fraud.
But most she likes her maiden pleasures,
Where man may never gaze;
Choice miracles of female treasures,
Chaste mysteries of stays.
Where man may never gaze;
Choice miracles of female treasures,
Chaste mysteries of stays.
The rise and fall of modes she guesses,
What winds from Paris blow;
The tides of dynasties and dresses,
As they are high or low.
What winds from Paris blow;
The tides of dynasties and dresses,
As they are high or low.
A score of schools her talents treated,
And made them good for nought;
A score of masters well completed,
The ruin those had wrought.
And made them good for nought;
A score of masters well completed,
The ruin those had wrought.
At home she is with seals and sables,
With things that are no use;
And then in turning coats and tables,
She is the very deuce.
With things that are no use;
And then in turning coats and tables,
She is the very deuce.
Her mind in Art is dimly grounded,
Though Science is her strength;
With frills and fancies cut and rounded,
The regulation length.
Though Science is her strength;
With frills and fancies cut and rounded,
The regulation length.
Yet all her meddling does not master,
The simplest facts of life;
The so-called polish is but plaster,
Rubbed off by real strife.
The simplest facts of life;
The so-called polish is but plaster,
Rubbed off by real strife.
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She cannot, though she learns flirtation,
Her dress or manners mend;
And such a costly education,
Has taught her but to spend.
Her dress or manners mend;
And such a costly education,
Has taught her but to spend.
‘Accomplishments’ she scarce can number,
Excepting mere good taste;
But most are only worthless lumber,
And all are money's waste.
Excepting mere good taste;
But most are only worthless lumber,
And all are money's waste.
What is the crowning of the building,
That rises to the stars?
A sportive dash of glass and gilding,
A lover vowed to Mars.
That rises to the stars?
A sportive dash of glass and gilding,
A lover vowed to Mars.
Her converse, like a flooded river,
Breaks through convention's pales;
Her memory is a bristling quiver,
Of little darts and tales.
Breaks through convention's pales;
Her memory is a bristling quiver,
Of little darts and tales.
And she has all the old assortment,
Of fashion's studied stage;
Her church and company deportment,
Her platitudes and page;
Of fashion's studied stage;
Her church and company deportment,
Her platitudes and page;
A taste for suicide and fiction,
A fair French lady's maid,
With cups of coffee and affliction,
And tradesmen's bills unpaid.
A fair French lady's maid,
With cups of coffee and affliction,
And tradesmen's bills unpaid.
She duly makes her audience tingle,
With little screams and twirls;
And she can prance and patch and jingle,
Or daub like other “girls.”
With little screams and twirls;
And she can prance and patch and jingle,
Or daub like other “girls.”
At times she plays the part of teacher,
And scatters words and scent;
And owns she is a silly creature,
The soul of sentiment.
And scatters words and scent;
And owns she is a silly creature,
The soul of sentiment.
When radiant with the rosy blossom,
That blooms for every dance;
She sprinkles in her partner's bosom,
The dews of warm romance.
That blooms for every dance;
She sprinkles in her partner's bosom,
The dews of warm romance.
And when champagne has made her bolder,
And faster fly the hours;
She babbles freely on his shoulder,
Of poetry and bowers.
And faster fly the hours;
She babbles freely on his shoulder,
Of poetry and bowers.
But ere the climax of the revel,
She shatters custom's bars;
And swears decorum is the devil,
And freedom flowers and stars.
She shatters custom's bars;
And swears decorum is the devil,
And freedom flowers and stars.
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Next day she is no longer jolly,
And proves how cheap her charms;
You find her weeping off her folly,
In some sleek curate's arms.
And proves how cheap her charms;
You find her weeping off her folly,
In some sleek curate's arms.
She follows fashion's utmost rigours,
Nor is her folly sparse;
Adores a whitebait lunch and niggers,
Hymnologies and farce.
Nor is her folly sparse;
Adores a whitebait lunch and niggers,
Hymnologies and farce.
A footman she has huge and hairy,
With most seductive calves;
A caged admirer and canary,
Heart-sores and patent salves.
With most seductive calves;
A caged admirer and canary,
Heart-sores and patent salves.
For creditors, she keeps—cajoling,
For morning calls—a blush;
And trembles but at once controlling,
The tyranny of plush.
For morning calls—a blush;
And trembles but at once controlling,
The tyranny of plush.
Her thoughts of life are rather rapid,
A whirl of dukes and debts;
She stamps the Christian creed as vapid,
And sucks her cigarettes.
A whirl of dukes and debts;
She stamps the Christian creed as vapid,
And sucks her cigarettes.
Her gossip has a salt and savour,
That always are its own;
And Bacchus adds a crowning flavour,
To fancies highly flown.
That always are its own;
And Bacchus adds a crowning flavour,
To fancies highly flown.
She treasures sentiments for horses,
And port and pathos blends;
Strange bigamies and stern divorces,
Are at her fingers' ends.
And port and pathos blends;
Strange bigamies and stern divorces,
Are at her fingers' ends.
III.—HER COUNTRY AMUSEMENTS.
The season o'er she turns agrarian,
And has a mealy mood;
Grows virtuous and vegetarian,
And steals her filly's food.
And has a mealy mood;
Grows virtuous and vegetarian,
And steals her filly's food.
Her talk of oxen is and fodder,
And every mortal herb;
She grieves at snaffles growing odder,
And mystic kinds of curb.
And every mortal herb;
She grieves at snaffles growing odder,
And mystic kinds of curb.
Your rabbits she delights to capture,
To sports plebeian bends;
And feels a far more thrilling rapture,
For ferrets than for friends.
To sports plebeian bends;
And feels a far more thrilling rapture,
For ferrets than for friends.
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She has a weakness for all vermin,
Including rakes and rats;
And let the time of year determine,
Her habits as her hats.
Including rakes and rats;
And let the time of year determine,
Her habits as her hats.
In matters rural as in urban,
Her head she does not hide;
Affects an eyeglass and a turban,
And makes her groom her guide.
Her head she does not hide;
Affects an eyeglass and a turban,
And makes her groom her guide.
His choice opinions will she utter,
Upon her male allies;
She likes with little quips, to flutter
The bosoms she denies.
Upon her male allies;
She likes with little quips, to flutter
The bosoms she denies.
Discounting friends she does not falter,
And spite her memory jogs;
Sends single victims to the altar,
And puppies to the dogs.
And spite her memory jogs;
Sends single victims to the altar,
And puppies to the dogs.
Their private blots she gently handles,
And fondly treads on corns;
They almost bless the public scandals,
And hardly feel the thorns.
And fondly treads on corns;
They almost bless the public scandals,
And hardly feel the thorns.
O'er buried sins she softly dances,
And fingers social sores;
And sheds the halo of romances,
Wherever virtue snores.
And fingers social sores;
And sheds the halo of romances,
Wherever virtue snores.
Her life, with all its selfish fashions,
Has philanthropic thrills;
And teems with venomous compassions,
And courtesy that kills.
Has philanthropic thrills;
And teems with venomous compassions,
And courtesy that kills.
So delicately served is malice,
With such a dainty screen;
You taste no poison in the chalice,
Of sugar plums and spleen.
With such a dainty screen;
You taste no poison in the chalice,
Of sugar plums and spleen.
You meet her gracious buffets blindly
And one you would not miss;
And take her tender kick, as kindly
As though it were a kiss.
And one you would not miss;
And take her tender kick, as kindly
As though it were a kiss.
The dagger she so well can dandle,
You must admire her art;
And count the diamonds on its handle,
When it is at the heart.
You must admire her art;
And count the diamonds on its handle,
When it is at the heart.
She bows you to the door with unction,
And strokes you down the stairs;
And turns you out with sweet compunetion,
That all the wrong repairs.
And strokes you down the stairs;
And turns you out with sweet compunetion,
That all the wrong repairs.
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You see a mist of drooping lashes,
And locks that fondly flow,
With crimson flowers and starry flashes—
And there your senses go.
And locks that fondly flow,
With crimson flowers and starry flashes—
And there your senses go.
And then with such acute affection,
She gives the parting stab;
You quite forget your own direction,
And overpay the cab.
She gives the parting stab;
You quite forget your own direction,
And overpay the cab.
To vulgar scoffs she scorns to pander,
Or crippled anger's crutch;
And spurns the common tools of slander,
That leave a smell or smutch.
Or crippled anger's crutch;
And spurns the common tools of slander,
That leave a smell or smutch.
She lightly casts her defamation,
With low and loving tones;
You dream she builds your reputation,
When she is throwing stones.
With low and loving tones;
You dream she builds your reputation,
When she is throwing stones.
To proper names she does not stickle,
To give improper play;
And tries with artful touch, to tickle
A character away.
To give improper play;
And tries with artful touch, to tickle
A character away.
Of peccadilloes will she rattle,
And why should truth be mute?
What if with laughter and with tattle,
She kills a good repute?
And why should truth be mute?
What if with laughter and with tattle,
She kills a good repute?
She knows how idols are unsainted,
How well can silence lie;
And when they laud a life untainted,
She slays it with a sigh.
How well can silence lie;
And when they laud a life untainted,
She slays it with a sigh.
A host she has of sad surprises,
And epigrams succinct;
With misty maxims moralizes,
O'er innocence extinct.
And epigrams succinct;
With misty maxims moralizes,
O'er innocence extinct.
Her talk is never wholly trivial,
To gratify a grudge;
She blends with levity convivial,
The sentence of the judge.
To gratify a grudge;
She blends with levity convivial,
The sentence of the judge.
Philosophy with dim distortions,
Makes social pleasures meet;
And mingles, in the same proportions,
Her claret and conceit.
Makes social pleasures meet;
And mingles, in the same proportions,
Her claret and conceit.
The friendly toasts her talents double,
And fuel give to fire;
She sees in every bursting bubble,
Some purity expire.
And fuel give to fire;
She sees in every bursting bubble,
Some purity expire.
447
But while she cuts such graceful capers,
In every giddy walk;
We hear the rustle of the papers
Through all her tight-rope talk.
In every giddy walk;
We hear the rustle of the papers
Through all her tight-rope talk.
We smell, behind the latest essence,
The vinous breath of Clubs;
And find her news a mere liquescence,
Of toilet dreams and tubs.
The vinous breath of Clubs;
And find her news a mere liquescence,
Of toilet dreams and tubs.
With pretty tints that never tire us,
The men she paints and decks;
But bottles all the choicer virus,
For her devoted sex.
The men she paints and decks;
But bottles all the choicer virus,
For her devoted sex.
Fair fame she takes from some poor sister,
And smirches with a smile;
Or breathes her blessing like a blister,
That drops but to defile.
And smirches with a smile;
Or breathes her blessing like a blister,
That drops but to defile.
She has her fling at unwashed preachers,
Whose missiles are of mire;
And hurls contempts at humid teachers,
Who piety perspire.
Whose missiles are of mire;
And hurls contempts at humid teachers,
Who piety perspire.
And next indulging in varieties,
She lets her fancy flit;
And scans the scatter-brained Societies,
Who spend more words than wit.
She lets her fancy flit;
And scans the scatter-brained Societies,
Who spend more words than wit.
She reckons up what radiant blessings,
With stump-orations march;
Glad tidings of the new assessings,
Of ignorance and Arch.
With stump-orations march;
Glad tidings of the new assessings,
Of ignorance and Arch.
The rate she knows of all the missions,
The price of every sin;
The cost of freedom and physicians,
Of justice and of gin.
The price of every sin;
The cost of freedom and physicians,
Of justice and of gin.
Tobacco, opium, beads, and Bibles,
She is au fait of each;
The vulgar voice that culture libels,
Where spread our flowers of speech.
She is au fait of each;
The vulgar voice that culture libels,
Where spread our flowers of speech.
The reign of brotherhood and mammon,
And love's extorting hold;
The civilizing guns and gammon,
The godliness of gold,
And love's extorting hold;
The civilizing guns and gammon,
The godliness of gold,
448
Commercial gospels of salvation,
That savage souls impress;
The glorious British revelation,
Of rum and righteousness.
That savage souls impress;
The glorious British revelation,
Of rum and righteousness.
Our present pride and sweet fruition,
The manly modern creed,
Good news of progress and perdition—
“Believe, or else be d---d.”
The manly modern creed,
Good news of progress and perdition—
“Believe, or else be d---d.”
She counts the luscious loaves and fishes,
That fill the converts' packs;
And says so many pounds and dishes,
Will whitewash any black.
That fill the converts' packs;
And says so many pounds and dishes,
Will whitewash any black.
But, ah! the Moloch of advancement,
Exacts more victims still;
And for religion's own enhancement,
Brings in its bloody bill.
Exacts more victims still;
And for religion's own enhancement,
Brings in its bloody bill.
And so she points to branching knowledge,
That raises, as it raves,
The dregs of cloister and of college,
Upon its rolling waves.
That raises, as it raves,
The dregs of cloister and of college,
Upon its rolling waves.
And then she turns to praise a pony,
Or cavil at a coat;
Hears one has cut his greatest crony,
Another cut his throat.
Or cavil at a coat;
Hears one has cut his greatest crony,
Another cut his throat.
And this to baffle warm attentions,
Has sailed to lands more free,
From policies of interventions—
He always was at sea.
Has sailed to lands more free,
From policies of interventions—
He always was at sea.
And that, before he well could borrow
So pressing an amount,
The partner of his joy and sorrow
Had left—say, on account.
So pressing an amount,
The partner of his joy and sorrow
Had left—say, on account.
And she, the more to aid solution,
But not from loving less,
Had given by way of contribution,
Her credit and—caress.
But not from loving less,
Had given by way of contribution,
Her credit and—caress.
And he who swilled with swine and hunters,
And scorned connubial bliss,
Has found how cheap are steeds and grunters,
How costly is a kiss.
And scorned connubial bliss,
Has found how cheap are steeds and grunters,
How costly is a kiss.
And now he fills domestic dramas,
Who never played a part;
And mourns the change from silken charmers,
To accusation's dart.
Who never played a part;
And mourns the change from silken charmers,
To accusation's dart.
449
Instead of sweet voluptuous tresses,
He feels his cause's flaw;
And wakes, from fond and soft caresses
In iron arms of law.
He feels his cause's flaw;
And wakes, from fond and soft caresses
In iron arms of law.
He darkly broods on outraged duties,
The dirty court and case;
And leaves the warmth of pliant beauties,
For judgment's cold embrace.
The dirty court and case;
And leaves the warmth of pliant beauties,
For judgment's cold embrace.
These are our heroine's common trifles,
A round that never fails;
The morning with reviews and rifles,
The evening with fresh tales.
A round that never fails;
The morning with reviews and rifles,
The evening with fresh tales.
An estimation now she murthers,
That stood the storm and tide;
And now with friendly kindness furthers
Some social suicide.
That stood the storm and tide;
And now with friendly kindness furthers
Some social suicide.
She loves the byeways close and shady,
Where snaky rumour crawls;
And on a tripping lord or lady,
With tenfold relish falls.
Where snaky rumour crawls;
And on a tripping lord or lady,
With tenfold relish falls.
And when she needs new recreation,
Or tires of daily shams;
She finds a fertile inspiration,
In morning calls and drams.
Or tires of daily shams;
She finds a fertile inspiration,
In morning calls and drams.
But then her mind has no connexions,
With vulgar views that pass;
Her brightest thoughts and best reflexions,
Are in her looking-glass.
With vulgar views that pass;
Her brightest thoughts and best reflexions,
Are in her looking-glass.
But o'er her person most she muses,
And at her toilet purrs;
Yet sometimes by mistake confuses,
Another's spoons and hers.
And at her toilet purrs;
Yet sometimes by mistake confuses,
Another's spoons and hers.
Abstraction though of useless particles,
Her principles to reach,
Ends in abstracting alien articles,
Besides the parts of speech.
Her principles to reach,
Ends in abstracting alien articles,
Besides the parts of speech.
Her nerves at need are strong as iron,
When impulse holds its sway;
And then she goes to bed with Byron,
And gives Don Juan play.
When impulse holds its sway;
And then she goes to bed with Byron,
And gives Don Juan play.
We will not rashly raise the curtain,
Or shed a curious gleam;
Because we are a bit uncertain,
If there is but the dream.
Or shed a curious gleam;
Because we are a bit uncertain,
If there is but the dream.
450
And then there is the sacred mystery,
That seals such maiden nights;
Why ope that sacred page of history,
On shadowy robes and rites?
That seals such maiden nights;
Why ope that sacred page of history,
On shadowy robes and rites?
Though haply all the darkness covers,
Might be her dainty wraps;
Some locks of hair—but not a lover's,
No lips but—silver taps.
Might be her dainty wraps;
Some locks of hair—but not a lover's,
No lips but—silver taps.
Then comes the day of various duties,
With rosy-fingered dawn;
That paints her cheeks with charming beauties,
And blushes not withdrawn.
With rosy-fingered dawn;
That paints her cheeks with charming beauties,
And blushes not withdrawn.
And forth she goes on missions glorious,
To conquer fairer fields;
And ever vapouring and victorious,
New arms and objects wields.
To conquer fairer fields;
And ever vapouring and victorious,
New arms and objects wields.
To guide her she has magic crystals,
And balms for every scar;
Nor slights a powder-box and pistols,
To keep her foes afar.
And balms for every scar;
Nor slights a powder-box and pistols,
To keep her foes afar.
Her bedroom is her strong position,
With warlike weapons set;
And when she wants fresh ammunition,
She makes a raid or debt.
With warlike weapons set;
And when she wants fresh ammunition,
She makes a raid or debt.
The guns she points have heavy metal,
And there are shells to mount;
She knows the very shot to settle
Each onset and account.
And there are shells to mount;
She knows the very shot to settle
Each onset and account.
Her boudoir teems with locks and letters,
With fractured fans and arms;
And here anew she forges fetters,
Or mends old chains and charms.
With fractured fans and arms;
And here anew she forges fetters,
Or mends old chains and charms.
And here she notes insidious schisms,
Or at reunion tugs;
And hoards her strong cements and chrisms,
For broken hearts and jugs.
Or at reunion tugs;
And hoards her strong cements and chrisms,
For broken hearts and jugs.
And she has chambers fenced and furnished,
Held under bar and ban;
And some with engines bright and burnished,
That mirror stars and—man.
Held under bar and ban;
And some with engines bright and burnished,
That mirror stars and—man.
And now the deadly lust of lucre,
She deems her tradesmen's doom;
And makes a pulpit or proseucha,
Of her reception-room.
She deems her tradesmen's doom;
And makes a pulpit or proseucha,
Of her reception-room.
451
And then in salons fresh and varnished,
She sees her worldly guests;
Or in a sanctum grimly garnished,
A prude or prelate rests.
She sees her worldly guests;
Or in a sanctum grimly garnished,
A prude or prelate rests.
She studies art for balls and dinners,
At least her person paints;
And now she is a saint with sinners,
A sinner now with saints.
At least her person paints;
And now she is a saint with sinners,
A sinner now with saints.
And parlour wisdom lurks in whisky,
To move offending spots;
And sends her forth more fair and frisky,
To other brands and blots.
To move offending spots;
And sends her forth more fair and frisky,
To other brands and blots.
But then she is so blithe and nimble,
She soon repairs a stain;
And armed with thunderbolt and thimble,
Hies to the wars again.
She soon repairs a stain;
And armed with thunderbolt and thimble,
Hies to the wars again.
She plays at cards and kindred pleasures,
While neighbours are in flames;
And sings among the tears she treasures,
The ruins of good names.
While neighbours are in flames;
And sings among the tears she treasures,
The ruins of good names.
Such are her daily small diversions,
Backbiting's generous boon;
Though varied sometimes by excursions,
In science and the moon.
Backbiting's generous boon;
Though varied sometimes by excursions,
In science and the moon.
A little gardening now she favours,
Or mouths of model farms;
And now a surgeon is, and savours
Of broken legs and arms.
Or mouths of model farms;
And now a surgeon is, and savours
Of broken legs and arms.
To-day she spends her hours in spinning,
Calumnious yarns, of course;
To-morrow she grows sick of sinning,
And plays at brief remorse.
Calumnious yarns, of course;
To-morrow she grows sick of sinning,
And plays at brief remorse.
Then fits of delicacy stop her,
And chords of candour strike;
She finds the Bible quite improper,
And truth unladylike.
And chords of candour strike;
She finds the Bible quite improper,
And truth unladylike.
But now she calls for chaste elision,
And coy and maiden deans;
To practise holy circumcision
On nude and naughty scenes.
And coy and maiden deans;
To practise holy circumcision
On nude and naughty scenes.
Confession next when too auricular,
She visits with her hate;
And waxing more and more particular,
Thinks love indelicate.
She visits with her hate;
And waxing more and more particular,
Thinks love indelicate.
452
And stern compunctions as to stockings,
With carnal promptings fight;
Misgivings as to midnight flockings,
In search of doubtful light.
With carnal promptings fight;
Misgivings as to midnight flockings,
In search of doubtful light.
A virgin scruple as to dancings,
Her modest bosom thrills;
And calls from captains' prurient prancings,
To cousins and quadrilles.
Her modest bosom thrills;
And calls from captains' prurient prancings,
To cousins and quadrilles.
And then she takes to courses serious,
To making caps for friends;
And is most awful and mysterious,
About her kindly ends.
To making caps for friends;
And is most awful and mysterious,
About her kindly ends.
And next she has a bout of knitting,
New coats for scandal cold;
And is fastidious, as to fitting
Each little fib and fold.
New coats for scandal cold;
And is fastidious, as to fitting
Each little fib and fold.
IV.—HER RADICAL DEVELOPMENT.
As liberal is she as any,
And yet delights to dole;
And just to gain a point or penny,
Will lose her pound or soul.
And yet delights to dole;
And just to gain a point or penny,
Will lose her pound or soul.
She has her platforms of progression
With various views and jams;
And with a glorious indiscretion,
She rails at shifts and shams.
With various views and jams;
And with a glorious indiscretion,
She rails at shifts and shams.
O have you heard her in the rostrum,
Declaim with bitter scorn;
And scream a new and simple nostrum,
For every fleshly thorn?
Declaim with bitter scorn;
And scream a new and simple nostrum,
For every fleshly thorn?
She has her ready furnished corners,
For all who suffer ills;
And for minorities and mourners,
Fresh parliaments and pills.
For all who suffer ills;
And for minorities and mourners,
Fresh parliaments and pills.
Her dream is of a common level,
When wrongs will lose their stings;
And man will hurry to the devil,
His cobwebs and his kings.
When wrongs will lose their stings;
And man will hurry to the devil,
His cobwebs and his kings.
And in the darkness quite Egyptian.
That dawning climes would clog;
The suffrage is her sure prescription,
To set the world agog.
That dawning climes would clog;
The suffrage is her sure prescription,
To set the world agog.
453
The franchise and the men who love it,
Her pitying spirit spans;
And as an ægis holds above it,
Her petticoats and plans.
Her pitying spirit spans;
And as an ægis holds above it,
Her petticoats and plans.
In vain she swears to eat no supper,
Till each has bread and votes;
Till every damsel has her Tupper,
And all the cadgers coats.
Till each has bread and votes;
Till every damsel has her Tupper,
And all the cadgers coats.
She finds her crumbs of contributions,
Have less support than sound;
And breaks her fast and resolutions,
As every night comes round.
Have less support than sound;
And breaks her fast and resolutions,
As every night comes round.
Cheap are her maxims for the masses,
That after fictions pant;
Red rags, that madden brutes and asses,
Of communes and of cant.
That after fictions pant;
Red rags, that madden brutes and asses,
Of communes and of cant.
Nor does she fail to fling her babble,
At sacerdotal greed;
Nor do her fingers fear to dabble,
In any dirty deed.
At sacerdotal greed;
Nor do her fingers fear to dabble,
In any dirty deed.
She preaches pruning of pollutions,
And cutting to the quick;
And yet, with all her revolutions,
Faints at a needle's prick.
And cutting to the quick;
And yet, with all her revolutions,
Faints at a needle's prick.
The caste distinctions we would cherish,
She harries with her hate;
And bids that poor abstraction perish,
Which stupid men call State.
She harries with her hate;
And bids that poor abstraction perish,
Which stupid men call State.
Through others' fate she freely ranges,
With stern mutation's stress;
But she will never suffer changes,
Unless of duns and dress.
With stern mutation's stress;
But she will never suffer changes,
Unless of duns and dress.
While pounds and views she vainly squanders,
And taunts high powers with pelf;
From bald prescription though she wanders,
When does she leave herself?
And taunts high powers with pelf;
From bald prescription though she wanders,
When does she leave herself?
She gives good reformation lunches,
Where talk is fast and loose;
And dines with democratic crunches,
On guillotine and goose.
Where talk is fast and loose;
And dines with democratic crunches,
On guillotine and goose.
But first and last of all the courses,
And served with every meat,
Well spiced with sporting slang of horses,
Is her sweet sauce conceit.
And served with every meat,
Well spiced with sporting slang of horses,
Is her sweet sauce conceit.
454
Her Comte is always in her pocket,
And strange confusion stirs;
She shoots republics like a rocket,
Mid deans and dowagers.
And strange confusion stirs;
She shoots republics like a rocket,
Mid deans and dowagers.
For paupers she has ready rations
Cheap pity and police;
She pensions all her poor relations,
So much advice apiece.
Cheap pity and police;
She pensions all her poor relations,
So much advice apiece.
What are connexions, does she clamour,
But parasites who grudge?
Espousing with indifferent grammar,
Fraternity and fudge.
But parasites who grudge?
Espousing with indifferent grammar,
Fraternity and fudge.
She points to thankfulness, that savours
Of mercenary need;
The lively sense of future favours,
Of gratitude and greed.
Of mercenary need;
The lively sense of future favours,
Of gratitude and greed.
Away she would with mere accretions,
That mar the general good:
And argues for the true cohesions,
Of common brotherhood.
That mar the general good:
And argues for the true cohesions,
Of common brotherhood.
Why have such wretched ties dividing,
That nobler instincts ban?
She opens wide her arms confiding,
To universal man.
That nobler instincts ban?
She opens wide her arms confiding,
To universal man.
What if she be a bit deluded
By agitation strikes?
The individual is excluded,
Their race is what she likes.
By agitation strikes?
The individual is excluded,
Their race is what she likes.
Of course the rule will sometimes vary,
To take exceptions on;
When she delights in John and Mary,
Especially in John.
To take exceptions on;
When she delights in John and Mary,
Especially in John.
And waxing deaf to dull orations,
That youthful yearnings flout;
She turns her back on cold negations,
If shutting “brothers” out.
That youthful yearnings flout;
She turns her back on cold negations,
If shutting “brothers” out.
Convention bars her large affinities,
With base restraints on wives;
Or dooms to virtues and virginities,
Poor women's barren lives.
With base restraints on wives;
Or dooms to virtues and virginities,
Poor women's barren lives.
But yet her words belie her actions,
Which often come out right;
Her soul is but a seat, where factions
Of wrong and reason fight.
Which often come out right;
Her soul is but a seat, where factions
Of wrong and reason fight.
455
And so sensations draw her hither,
While self-respect pulls back;
She sees her flowers and fancies wither,
Her heart and china crack.
While self-respect pulls back;
She sees her flowers and fancies wither,
Her heart and china crack.
And when to-day has lost its glamour,
She ranges through the years;
And hails the time when kings and grammar,
Will strike no foolish fears.
She ranges through the years;
And hails the time when kings and grammar,
Will strike no foolish fears.
Beyond the billows of the present,
She sees a brighter port;
When even Parnells will be pleasant,
And bishops cease to snort.
She sees a brighter port;
When even Parnells will be pleasant,
And bishops cease to snort.
Then statesmen will be true and tender,
Nor dogs and lawyers bite;
Then claimants be refined and slender,
And bloody Fenians white.
Nor dogs and lawyers bite;
Then claimants be refined and slender,
And bloody Fenians white.
No courts divorces will adjudicate,
No churches dare to damn;
The Jesuit will lie down with Newdegate,
And lion graze with lamb.
No churches dare to damn;
The Jesuit will lie down with Newdegate,
And lion graze with lamb.
On every side she sheds her graces,
And plays with secret springs;
She likes to pull at puppets' traces,
At heart and bonnet strings.
And plays with secret springs;
She likes to pull at puppets' traces,
At heart and bonnet strings.
Vast is her vision of the nations,
When woman claims her due;
And to the rapturous revelations,
Her rouge-pots give a hue.
When woman claims her due;
And to the rapturous revelations,
Her rouge-pots give a hue.
But still her heaven is Hyde Park Corner,
With powder, peers, and lace;
The country then, though none would mourn her,
She thinks the—other place.
With powder, peers, and lace;
The country then, though none would mourn her,
She thinks the—other place.
She lets her crotchets do for reason,
And worships prigs and pugs;
And dearly loves to talk of treason,
Of Bradlaughs and of b*gs.
And worships prigs and pugs;
And dearly loves to talk of treason,
Of Bradlaughs and of b*gs.
Her bouts she has of party ruffling,
And apes the Premier's pose;
And sees the end of Tory shuffling,
No farther than her nose.
And apes the Premier's pose;
And sees the end of Tory shuffling,
No farther than her nose.
Time-servers she receives with rating,
And scurvy trimming scorns;
And whets her knife, for amputating
Conservatives and corns.
And scurvy trimming scorns;
And whets her knife, for amputating
Conservatives and corns.
456
Mere placemen she consigns to limbo,
Or makes them meals for mobs;
And with indignant arms akimbo,
Denounces Jews and jobs.
Or makes them meals for mobs;
And with indignant arms akimbo,
Denounces Jews and jobs.
She leaves the knaves who twist and tumble,
And truckle every hour;
And bids them live and stink and stumble,
In perjury and power.
And truckle every hour;
And bids them live and stink and stumble,
In perjury and power.
For worms of greed are growing bolder,
And seek in Senates meats;
While piecemeal politicians moulder,
And rot in royal seats.
And seek in Senates meats;
While piecemeal politicians moulder,
And rot in royal seats.
In quest of revolution's powder,
In dubious soils she digs;
When sullied simply cries the louder,
For Windsor soap and Whigs.
In dubious soils she digs;
When sullied simply cries the louder,
For Windsor soap and Whigs.
She has a certain sort of knowledge,
Of all uncertain modes;
Her morals draw from camp and college,
Their sophistries and codes.
Of all uncertain modes;
Her morals draw from camp and college,
Their sophistries and codes.
But if you try to sift her tenets,
They have no rhyme or rank;
Embracing Stopford Brookes and Bennetts,
And every mountebank.
They have no rhyme or rank;
Embracing Stopford Brookes and Bennetts,
And every mountebank.
She Irving thinks a glorious fact, or
Is Capel's honoured guest;
Opining each a perfect actor,
But Capel far the best.
Is Capel's honoured guest;
Opining each a perfect actor,
But Capel far the best.
Her views have yet one common measure,
Though with a method mad;
That in our old established treasure,
Whatever is—is bad.
Though with a method mad;
That in our old established treasure,
Whatever is—is bad.
While coupling rotten thing and royal,
She favours sounder pleas;
And calls it weakness to be loyal,
To any faith but fees.
She favours sounder pleas;
And calls it weakness to be loyal,
To any faith but fees.
Opinions quite as bold as Cato's,
She offers cut and dry;
Disease in patriots and potatoes,
Does not escape her eye.
She offers cut and dry;
Disease in patriots and potatoes,
Does not escape her eye.
She scoffs at military schooling,
That calls a desert peace;
And vows decided views on ruling,
By buckshot and police.
That calls a desert peace;
And vows decided views on ruling,
By buckshot and police.
457
Sick Erin from her mate she sunders,
And soothes with landed sops;
And scatters thirty thousand thunders,
No rents, and lollipops.
And soothes with landed sops;
And scatters thirty thousand thunders,
No rents, and lollipops.
Well versed is she in all the hobbies,
That folly brings in view;
The loves of placemen and of lobbies,
Republics' rosy hue.
That folly brings in view;
The loves of placemen and of lobbies,
Republics' rosy hue.
She does not pipe without ideas,
If never quite her own;
And keeps her patent panaceas,
For every mess and moan.
If never quite her own;
And keeps her patent panaceas,
For every mess and moan.
But all, alas! are false and hollow,
And bred of bile and pelf;
And though she calls on us to follow,
She does not move herself.
And bred of bile and pelf;
And though she calls on us to follow,
She does not move herself.
They smell of midnight fumes and tallow,
Of bottled spite and Bass;
And prove as vain as they are shallow,
Gilt gingerbread and gas.
Of bottled spite and Bass;
And prove as vain as they are shallow,
Gilt gingerbread and gas.
Her constitution is for cloisters,
Her paradise the pen;
Her measures not for states but oysters,
Or more for monks than men.
Her paradise the pen;
Her measures not for states but oysters,
Or more for monks than men.
We see the stage and study taper,
And catch the well-known reek,
Of ink and print and foolscap paper—
Of Gladstone and his Greek.
And catch the well-known reek,
Of ink and print and foolscap paper—
Of Gladstone and his Greek.
The plans she has precise and handy,
For draining fens and bogs;
Elicits use and sugar candy,
From sewers and demagogues.
For draining fens and bogs;
Elicits use and sugar candy,
From sewers and demagogues.
Sweet perfumes even from duns and dahlias,
She knows the art to press;
And draws from splendid fibs and failures,
True essence of success.
She knows the art to press;
And draws from splendid fibs and failures,
True essence of success.
Her mind is wide, her wit is ready,
And ripe for port or pun;
And if a trifle over-heady—
Why, that is half the fun.
And ripe for port or pun;
And if a trifle over-heady—
Why, that is half the fun.
Her hands are ever quick to fiddle,
With human coats and chords;
She likes to finger every riddle,
And buttonholes her lords.
With human coats and chords;
She likes to finger every riddle,
And buttonholes her lords.
458
She has a lust for twilight mazes,
Unexpurgated books;
A stomach for strange fruits and phrases,
And cakes not known to cooks.
Unexpurgated books;
A stomach for strange fruits and phrases,
And cakes not known to cooks.
She styles Establishments corroded,
And even insipid love;
Theologies but dreams exploded,
That want a downward shove.
And even insipid love;
Theologies but dreams exploded,
That want a downward shove.
The claims she pleads of poor aspirants,
And cries that truth has flown;
That privilege is but for tyrants,
Excepting just her own.
And cries that truth has flown;
That privilege is but for tyrants,
Excepting just her own.
She rails at feudal rags and fetters,
That blight where freedom blooms;
And hails the day, when so-called betters
Will wait upon their grooms.
That blight where freedom blooms;
And hails the day, when so-called betters
Will wait upon their grooms.
A cheery word she has for Odger,
And pats him on the back;
And deems the devil and Sir Roger,
Are not so very black.
And pats him on the back;
And deems the devil and Sir Roger,
Are not so very black.
She keeps a whiskered Count and carriage,
A bishop and two pugs;
Holds Malthus better far than marriage,
And babies worse than b*gs.
A bishop and two pugs;
Holds Malthus better far than marriage,
And babies worse than b*gs.
She takes no trouble for the morrow,
Unless the beer goes sour;
Her platitudes and wardrobe borrow,
The rubbish of the hour.
Unless the beer goes sour;
Her platitudes and wardrobe borrow,
The rubbish of the hour.
What least she knows the most she honours,
Herself serenely piques
On spurious princes and Madonnas,
And yesterday's antiques.
Herself serenely piques
On spurious princes and Madonnas,
And yesterday's antiques.
All barbarous modes and bearded strangers,
Are foibles still she owns;
She revels long in bloody dangers,
And travels paved with bones.
Are foibles still she owns;
She revels long in bloody dangers,
And travels paved with bones.
From France she draws her dancing lesson,
Italians tune her voice;
A gentle German tries the dress on,
That Russia gives her choice.
Italians tune her voice;
A gentle German tries the dress on,
That Russia gives her choice.
A Pole with her is quite a passion,
The shadier be his shirt;
She swears by every foreign fashion,
That raises dust or dirt.
The shadier be his shirt;
She swears by every foreign fashion,
That raises dust or dirt.
459
The chaste embraces of her garter,
An exiled patriot laves;
She finds a tonic in a Tartar,
A sedative in slaves.
An exiled patriot laves;
She finds a tonic in a Tartar,
A sedative in slaves.
And while her life is out a medley,
That rings the chimes of change;
Though this is dark and this is deadly,
She sticks to what is strange.
That rings the chimes of change;
Though this is dark and this is deadly,
She sticks to what is strange.
She covets as an educator,
The senatorial seat;
And stamps her startling imprimatur
On every cracked conceit.
The senatorial seat;
And stamps her startling imprimatur
On every cracked conceit.
And oft she argues with her fellows,
If babies should have votes;
While nameless nectar flows, and mellows
Their sweet and thirsty throats.
If babies should have votes;
While nameless nectar flows, and mellows
Their sweet and thirsty throats.
And folly's fabrics thinly shrouded
Her idle seasons knit;
Evolving systems weak and clouded,
From sorry wine and wit.
Her idle seasons knit;
Evolving systems weak and clouded,
From sorry wine and wit.
From Manchester come maxims rotten,
With goods of doubtful gear;
And propped on bales of cant and cotton,
She founds a fairer sphere.
With goods of doubtful gear;
And propped on bales of cant and cotton,
She founds a fairer sphere.
She paints a new and nobler nation,
To ploughshares turning guns;
With joys of genial “cerebration,”
Attuned by port and puns.
To ploughshares turning guns;
With joys of genial “cerebration,”
Attuned by port and puns.
Caressing all the forms of fiction,
From flower to flower she flits;
The sum of every contradiction,
She mocks and mourns by fits.
From flower to flower she flits;
The sum of every contradiction,
She mocks and mourns by fits.
She loves to push her folly further,
Than those she calls to guide;
Who while they preach good news of murther,
Yet practise suicide.
Than those she calls to guide;
Who while they preach good news of murther,
Yet practise suicide.
Sweet is the “poetry of progress,”
With all its food for flats;
Which more unnatural than an ogress,
Devours its bastard brats.
With all its food for flats;
Which more unnatural than an ogress,
Devours its bastard brats.
Dear is the dupe in nonsense seething,
His weak and floundering wits;
Mistaking only mental teething,
For inspiration's fits.
His weak and floundering wits;
Mistaking only mental teething,
For inspiration's fits.
460
When he should buy a penny rattle,
Stop singing through the nose;
And frighten with his tipsy tattle.
Old grandmothers and crows.
Stop singing through the nose;
And frighten with his tipsy tattle.
Old grandmothers and crows.
And still she seeks for fresh sensations,
New pulpits and new points;
And with strange strokes and combinations,
Her broken plans rejoints.
New pulpits and new points;
And with strange strokes and combinations,
Her broken plans rejoints.
And now a friend to copes and cassocks,
She murmurs mystic sound;
And now she turns from tea and hassocks,
To slang the saints all round.
She murmurs mystic sound;
And now she turns from tea and hassocks,
To slang the saints all round.
Hers is the superficial varnish,
That shines without a fire;
And hers the light-and grace that garnish,
Mere monuments of mire.
That shines without a fire;
And hers the light-and grace that garnish,
Mere monuments of mire.
To lie with ease, and act a story
Equivocally good;
This is the climax of her glory,
The shame of womanhood.
Equivocally good;
This is the climax of her glory,
The shame of womanhood.
And should she fail to hit the pigeon,
She does not miss the crow;
And tired of raptures and religion,
To billiards will she go.
She does not miss the crow;
And tired of raptures and religion,
To billiards will she go.
She sees in Radical physicians,
A cure for Tory gout;
And when she cannot beat traditions,
She knocks the balls about.
A cure for Tory gout;
And when she cannot beat traditions,
She knocks the balls about.
But she prefers the fence of fancies,
The play of equal wits;
And turns from tedious games and dances,
To loftier hopes and hits.
The play of equal wits;
And turns from tedious games and dances,
To loftier hopes and hits.
The latest books her judgment pillow,
The wildest theories bind;
She traverses with breeze and billow,
The tideways of the mind.
The wildest theories bind;
She traverses with breeze and billow,
The tideways of the mind.
She has her Mills and Herbert Spencers,
As pat as pat can be;
And prates of boilers and condensers,
And what it is to be.
As pat as pat can be;
And prates of boilers and condensers,
And what it is to be.
In softer moods she has illusions,
Of rustic wealth and rank;
And dear deceits, with fond confusions,
Her pretty pictures prank.
Of rustic wealth and rank;
And dear deceits, with fond confusions,
Her pretty pictures prank.
461
Sweet fancies flit in flowery mazes,
Through her fair moonlit dreams;
Her visions are of deans and daisies,
Of counts and gliding streams.
Through her fair moonlit dreams;
Her visions are of deans and daisies,
Of counts and gliding streams.
But now her frequent revelation,
Finds “ethics” in “the dust”;
And grasps her grand imagination,
A kingdom in a crust.
Finds “ethics” in “the dust”;
And grasps her grand imagination,
A kingdom in a crust.
She sees in each mad craze a credo,
And perished stars in stones;
In some poor dotard's daubs a Guido,
And poetry in bones.
And perished stars in stones;
In some poor dotard's daubs a Guido,
And poetry in bones.
Forth spring enchantments dim and docile,
Upon her magic stage;
And from a fragment or a fossil,
An elephant orage.
Upon her magic stage;
And from a fragment or a fossil,
An elephant orage.
Just give her elbow-room and anvil,
And see the realms that rise;
From compromise she makes a Granville,
And Walpoles out of sighs.
And see the realms that rise;
From compromise she makes a Granville,
And Walpoles out of sighs.
And failing limping Whig and layman,
She has not far to haste;
From indiscretion comes a Hayman,
A Temple from bad taste.
She has not far to haste;
From indiscretion comes a Hayman,
A Temple from bad taste.
Her strokes require no sort of planning,
Creations quickly grow;
And superstition breeds a Manning,
And littleness a Lowe.
Creations quickly grow;
And superstition breeds a Manning,
And littleness a Lowe.
While from a mist of wordy mufflings,
The king of cobblers hies;
And drifts, with shabby robes and shufflings,
In search of crowns and cries.
The king of cobblers hies;
And drifts, with shabby robes and shufflings,
In search of crowns and cries.
Vulgarity and bigot blunders,
A spitting Ayrton spawn;
And with weak jokes and weaker thunders,
Lo, trimming dressed in lawn.
A spitting Ayrton spawn;
And with weak jokes and weaker thunders,
Lo, trimming dressed in lawn.
For she has choicer bits to dish up,
And cattle fat to call;
From soap and water builds a bishop,
And from a stock a stall.
And cattle fat to call;
From soap and water builds a bishop,
And from a stock a stall.
From rills of Plato rises Jowett,
With hoary jests and locks;
And obfuscation's ponderous poet,
Comes rushing from his rocks.
With hoary jests and locks;
And obfuscation's ponderous poet,
Comes rushing from his rocks.
462
But should one doubt her fabries' crowning,
She takes in tears to bed;
Or hurls a heavy brick or Browning,
At his misguided head.
She takes in tears to bed;
Or hurls a heavy brick or Browning,
At his misguided head.
Yet all her smooth and flippant smatterings,
Are seeds but idly sown;
Her charms are cheaper than her chatterings,
And nothing is her own.
Are seeds but idly sown;
Her charms are cheaper than her chatterings,
And nothing is her own.
Then she has favourite sins and sauces,
To season hungry hours;
And never knows what real remorse is,
Save moods that surfeit sours.
To season hungry hours;
And never knows what real remorse is,
Save moods that surfeit sours.
A shrug she has for naughty graces,
A nod for jocks and grooms;
A pretty lisp for pretty faces,
A drawl for drawing-room.
A nod for jocks and grooms;
A pretty lisp for pretty faces,
A drawl for drawing-room.
But though she has her smiles by dozens,
How playful is her pout!
Which most rebellious nature cozens,
And wiles away the gout.
How playful is her pout!
Which most rebellious nature cozens,
And wiles away the gout.
You see her at a certain distance,
And praise her pleasant guise;
What is she, stript of false assistance,
But impudence and eyes?
And praise her pleasant guise;
What is she, stript of false assistance,
But impudence and eyes?
An amorous Jehu in the season,
She drives a team of loves;
And daily dons, with little reason,
New gallantries and gloves.
She drives a team of loves;
And daily dons, with little reason,
New gallantries and gloves.
The gayest is her gilded carriage,
The freshest are her steeds;
And though she be averse to marriage,
She has provoking creeds.
The freshest are her steeds;
And though she be averse to marriage,
She has provoking creeds.
Beside her, as attendant Cupid,
She seats a pretty page;
Her starry looks make suitors stupid,
And fail to ask her age.
She seats a pretty page;
Her starry looks make suitors stupid,
And fail to ask her age.
She stores her ever-conquering quiver,
With each well tested shaft;
Knows when to burn and when to shiver,
And how a lie to waft.
With each well tested shaft;
Knows when to burn and when to shiver,
And how a lie to waft.
Yes, all that's vulgar, cheap, and odious,
She gathers as her tools;
Caresses ardent, lips commodious,
And tender traps for fools.
She gathers as her tools;
Caresses ardent, lips commodious,
And tender traps for fools.
463
But soon she quits the softer science,
And turns to broader fields;
Sets all her sisters at defiance,
And manly weapons wields.
And turns to broader fields;
Sets all her sisters at defiance,
And manly weapons wields.
She takes her seat with sapient guessers,
Who wondrous questions woo;
Makes friends of problems and professors,
Herself a problem too.
Who wondrous questions woo;
Makes friends of problems and professors,
Herself a problem too.
For, lo, she trains a mind prolific,
And has her loftier hours;
When she is sad and scientific,
And flings aside her flowers.
And has her loftier hours;
When she is sad and scientific,
And flings aside her flowers.
And yet, whatever be her poses,
There's oneness in her will,
And if she plays with rags or roses,
She is a woman still.
There's oneness in her will,
And if she plays with rags or roses,
She is a woman still.
Her quibbles never raise a question,
More grave than fancy's grudge;
But half her doubts are indigestion,
And half are merely fudge.
More grave than fancy's grudge;
But half her doubts are indigestion,
And half are merely fudge.
Although she brags the march of Learning,
Will tenfold make our joys;
And forces now our bridle spurning,
Will be our children's toys.
Will tenfold make our joys;
And forces now our bridle spurning,
Will be our children's toys.
But when she drops her rôle rhapsodic,
And vivisects her dogs;
She is as musty and methodic,
As twenty catalogues.
And vivisects her dogs;
She is as musty and methodic,
As twenty catalogues.
She raves of “energy” and “function,”
And pigeonholes each power;
The holiest hopes, with no compunction,
She makes dissection's dower.
And pigeonholes each power;
The holiest hopes, with no compunction,
She makes dissection's dower.
Her views are bound in calf and vellum,
And ranged in order stand;
She murmurs of the “cerebellum,”
And of the “pineal gland.”
And ranged in order stand;
She murmurs of the “cerebellum,”
And of the “pineal gland.”
And every tissue she can ticket,
To which her faith to pin;
But keeps a transcendental wicket,
To let emotion in.
To which her faith to pin;
But keeps a transcendental wicket,
To let emotion in.
Of nerves she makes no reservation,
To stay the prying lens;
And falls in love with “innervation,”
And “ganglia”—chiefly men's.
To stay the prying lens;
And falls in love with “innervation,”
And “ganglia”—chiefly men's.
464
She shows how chymistry is blowing.
And makes the dunghill bud;
The highest tide of reason's flowing,
Its watermark of mud.
And makes the dunghill bud;
The highest tide of reason's flowing,
Its watermark of mud.
And tracing garbage up to butter,
Or art from excrements;
She sings the gospel of the gutter,
And sewage sentiments.
Or art from excrements;
She sings the gospel of the gutter,
And sewage sentiments.
Such is the circle of production,
That grinds our bones for bread;
And by a rather quaint refluxion,
Makes capital the dead.
That grinds our bones for bread;
And by a rather quaint refluxion,
Makes capital the dead.
Of progress often is her prattle,
And eke of woman's rights;
And from receipts for fattening cattle,
She draws no faint delights.
And eke of woman's rights;
And from receipts for fattening cattle,
She draws no faint delights.
She decks her speech with purple patches,
Of metaphysic clothes;
And salves her controversial scratches,
With good round classic oaths.
Of metaphysic clothes;
And salves her controversial scratches,
With good round classic oaths.
One creed she calls a shameful shackle,
And hers are by the score;
She laughs at Convocation's cackle,
And bishops made to bore.
And hers are by the score;
She laughs at Convocation's cackle,
And bishops made to bore.
Of wit in cellar or in attic,
She feels an envy strange;
Episcopalian or schismatic,
With every breath of change.
She feels an envy strange;
Episcopalian or schismatic,
With every breath of change.
For when does Genius have its lodgings,
In any middle sphere?
It creeps by grim and devious dodgings,
From pavement unto bier.
In any middle sphere?
It creeps by grim and devious dodgings,
From pavement unto bier.
Now it's advanced in views and splutter,
And Nonconformist greed;
First puffs, then scrapes its bread and butter,
For every mortal need.
And Nonconformist greed;
First puffs, then scrapes its bread and butter,
For every mortal need.
Yea, even in sleep it fain would snivel,
And dreams of dirty jobs;
And builds of lies and sties and drivel,
Its paradise of snobs.
And dreams of dirty jobs;
And builds of lies and sties and drivel,
Its paradise of snobs.
It seeks a sermon in a bottle,
And cites Eusebius next;
Or to discourse from Aristotle,
Anacreon gives the text.
And cites Eusebius next;
Or to discourse from Aristotle,
Anacreon gives the text.
465
We see it sane and singing dirges,
In surplice or in bands;
Or rushing on erotic surges,
Unto the Siren's lands.
In surplice or in bands;
Or rushing on erotic surges,
Unto the Siren's lands.
We know it drinks as deep of Bass's,
As of the waters wise;
And meet it marching after asses,
Or catch its prophecies.
As of the waters wise;
And meet it marching after asses,
Or catch its prophecies.
We find it as a hedgerow artist,
On whom no sun has shone;
Or out of elbows as a Chartist,
With occupation gone.
On whom no sun has shone;
Or out of elbows as a Chartist,
With occupation gone.
But here it wallows in the gutter,
And makes the mud its mint;
And there we hear its drunken stutter,
In pothouse or in print.
And makes the mud its mint;
And there we hear its drunken stutter,
In pothouse or in print.
And now it hoists more holy pennants,
Discarding dice and beer;
And prays till all Bohemia's tenants,
Come rushing out to hear.
Discarding dice and beer;
And prays till all Bohemia's tenants,
Come rushing out to hear.
But then it sweeps the road of party,
And sweats the Whigs and stones;
And swears, with affectation hearty,
At threadbare clouts and thrones.
And sweats the Whigs and stones;
And swears, with affectation hearty,
At threadbare clouts and thrones.
And if, when hunger makes its entry,
It kicks at Custom's fence;
'Tis fed and clothed, with other gentry,
At Government expense.
It kicks at Custom's fence;
'Tis fed and clothed, with other gentry,
At Government expense.
At times it pawns its shirt and honour,
To dine for once at ease;
Or is as bloody as a Bonner,
And murders on its knees.
To dine for once at ease;
Or is as bloody as a Bonner,
And murders on its knees.
Our mistress has a prurient yearning,
For talent lame or lewd;
And still embraces outcast learning,
Though it be sometimes nude.
For talent lame or lewd;
And still embraces outcast learning,
Though it be sometimes nude.
She has her idols, by the token
That some are silver spoons;
And likes her days and darlings broken,
Eclipse of men and moons.
That some are silver spoons;
And likes her days and darlings broken,
Eclipse of men and moons.
466
HER RELIGIOUS RELAXATIONS.
She has her lapdog and her lion,
Pet curate and pet cat;
And smells, within the walls of Sion,
A heresy or rat.
Pet curate and pet cat;
And smells, within the walls of Sion,
A heresy or rat.
No wonder deems she, doubts that enter
Are moving devilish fast;
The Devil was the first dissenter,
But who will be the last?
Are moving devilish fast;
The Devil was the first dissenter,
But who will be the last?
She knows not how the Grand Old Tory
Looks down on party strife;
And reads the lame and lying story,
Of dead religion's life.
Looks down on party strife;
And reads the lame and lying story,
Of dead religion's life.
When well she is a daring sceptic,
And steps where Huxley stands;
Devout as any when dyspeptic,
She gives the Church her hands.
And steps where Huxley stands;
Devout as any when dyspeptic,
She gives the Church her hands.
And with the Vicar then she lingers.
To cheer his single soul;
And lets him fiddle with her fingers,
Or sigh of soup and coal.
To cheer his single soul;
And lets him fiddle with her fingers,
Or sigh of soup and coal.
For there are seasons when she falters,
And finds free thought a snare;
And will replace with saints and psalters,
False friendships and false hair.
And finds free thought a snare;
And will replace with saints and psalters,
False friendships and false hair.
And should a dun or toothache weaken,
The charms of worldly chat;
She singles out in some archdeacon
Most foolishness and fat.
The charms of worldly chat;
She singles out in some archdeacon
Most foolishness and fat.
The crown and glory of conversion,
To him she briefly lends;
And tempers hope, with hate's aspersion
Of all her bosom friends.
To him she briefly lends;
And tempers hope, with hate's aspersion
Of all her bosom friends.
The saint, who must condemn transgression,
Will beauties find to bless;
And he who comes to hear confession,
May linger to caress.
Will beauties find to bless;
And he who comes to hear confession,
May linger to caress.
But then her faith is young and tender
And he must soothe her soul;
And though he censure the offender,
He also should condole.
And he must soothe her soul;
And though he censure the offender,
He also should condole.
467
Besides, she is but a beginner,
And charity has place;
And while it may not touch the sinner,
The woman will embrace.
And charity has place;
And while it may not touch the sinner,
The woman will embrace.
A littlé penance is sweet leaven,
And goes a mighty way;
To trip with such a guide to heaven
Is better than a play.
And goes a mighty way;
To trip with such a guide to heaven
Is better than a play.
The farther fetched, the more ascendant,
The burden of her part;
A Baptist now, then Independent,
She hugs the Church at heart.
The burden of her part;
A Baptist now, then Independent,
She hugs the Church at heart.
But then, like Eve, she sees the apple,
Forbidden fruits are sweet;
She takes a bite, and goes to chapel;
And tires both faith and feet.
Forbidden fruits are sweet;
She takes a bite, and goes to chapel;
And tires both faith and feet.
She sips the sweets of every fashion,
From rural deans their dew;
And deals a measure of compassion,
To Gentile dog and Jew.
From rural deans their dew;
And deals a measure of compassion,
To Gentile dog and Jew.
And fits she has of fish and starving,
Remembering all but self;
And leaves the flesh and worldly carving,
To shiver on the shelf.
Remembering all but self;
And leaves the flesh and worldly carving,
To shiver on the shelf.
Her debts she counts, and ponders payment,
And settles some that urge;
Yet, changing not her heart but raiment,
Is sensual under serge.
And settles some that urge;
Yet, changing not her heart but raiment,
Is sensual under serge.
Of sermons dull she makes selections,
And dines on broth and bills;
Takes to dry toast and genuflexions,
To penitence and pills.
And dines on broth and bills;
Takes to dry toast and genuflexions,
To penitence and pills.
She turns to candlesticks and crosses,
From gaslights and from legs;
And broods on gloves and betting losses,
Or addled hopes and eggs.
From gaslights and from legs;
And broods on gloves and betting losses,
Or addled hopes and eggs.
In search of new and grave sensations,
She broiders stools and stoles;
And broadcast heaves illuminations,
In chaste and virtuous scrolls.
She broiders stools and stoles;
And broadcast heaves illuminations,
In chaste and virtuous scrolls.
But in the atmosphere of slippers,
Her fingers love to range;
Cut ties and knots with holy clippers,
And find a rapture strange.
Her fingers love to range;
Cut ties and knots with holy clippers,
And find a rapture strange.
468
Then seeking refuge in the Rector,
She melts his breast with tears;
He claims the right to be protector,
And o'er his glasses leers.
She melts his breast with tears;
He claims the right to be protector,
And o'er his glasses leers.
Farewell she bids to lusts and larder,
And feigns their spells have ceased;
And bends her eyes with holy ardour
Upon her handsome priest.
And feigns their spells have ceased;
And bends her eyes with holy ardour
Upon her handsome priest.
His ear she charms and then confesses,
All scandals she can score;
And if he frowns at her excesses,
She tries her tender store.
All scandals she can score;
And if he frowns at her excesses,
She tries her tender store.
She mourns she was the dupe of folly,
That those who serve it robs;
And storms his virtue with the volley
Of little sighs and sobs.
That those who serve it robs;
And storms his virtue with the volley
Of little sighs and sobs.
Prepared she is to pay for error,
Sweet dishes and sweet drinks;
If he, with all his eyebrows' terror,
At some pet vices winks.
Sweet dishes and sweet drinks;
If he, with all his eyebrows' terror,
At some pet vices winks.
She bows demurely to the sentence,
And takes her pinch of pain;
Performs with relish her repentance,
And goes and—sins again.
And takes her pinch of pain;
Performs with relish her repentance,
And goes and—sins again.
HER SAD RELAPSE.
But then she gibes at priests' oppression,
And knaves who kneel for hire;
Plucks off the bloom of indiscretion,
And minces in the mire.
And knaves who kneel for hire;
Plucks off the bloom of indiscretion,
And minces in the mire.
She likes her wine in brimming glasses,
New gospels and good cheer;
And keenly condemnation passes,
On pulpits and small beer.
New gospels and good cheer;
And keenly condemnation passes,
On pulpits and small beer.
Religion she remits to table,
With grace and slops and soups;
And boasts, though more the fool of fable,
Her faith in scales and scoops.
With grace and slops and soups;
And boasts, though more the fool of fable,
Her faith in scales and scoops.
True orthodoxy lies in Science,
And not in worn-out robes;
So deems she, with her gross reliance,
On pincers and on probes.
And not in worn-out robes;
So deems she, with her gross reliance,
On pincers and on probes.
469
She bows to all the last inventions,
Strange gods of pot and pan;
And wields, with elegant intentions,
Her scalpel and her fan.
Strange gods of pot and pan;
And wields, with elegant intentions,
Her scalpel and her fan.
And now her worship shows us wonders,
That never were before;
Devotions that are worse than blunders,
And make what they adore.
That never were before;
Devotions that are worse than blunders,
And make what they adore.
A sermon draws she from a soaking,
Although the text be stale;
And staggers, from a bout of smoking,
More penitent and pale.
Although the text be stale;
And staggers, from a bout of smoking,
More penitent and pale.
But then affecting sorrow's unction,
She goes again to Church;
Confesses sins, with no compunction,
Her neighbours more to smirch.
She goes again to Church;
Confesses sins, with no compunction,
Her neighbours more to smirch.
And so she has a rank rotation,
Of crops for ever fresh;
A sad and sickening oscillation,
From fanatics to flesh.
Of crops for ever fresh;
A sad and sickening oscillation,
From fanatics to flesh.
She goes to laugh at breezy Spurgeon,
But comes away with cries;
And for a week she has the surgeon,
And daily weeps and dies.
But comes away with cries;
And for a week she has the surgeon,
And daily weeps and dies.
Convictions are abominations,
To such a fickle mind;
She acts on sudden inspirations,
Of vanity and wind.
To such a fickle mind;
She acts on sudden inspirations,
Of vanity and wind.
She knows no principle for guiding,
But that of private ease;
No hearty love, or hate abiding—
Except of fools and fleas.
But that of private ease;
No hearty love, or hate abiding—
Except of fools and fleas.
And yet she has a creed or crotchet,
She often likes to own;
A wild belief, howe'er she botch it,
In all that is unknown.
She often likes to own;
A wild belief, howe'er she botch it,
In all that is unknown.
The wonders of the future widen,
On her ecstatic gaze;
When every driveller is a Dryden,
And honoured every craze.
On her ecstatic gaze;
When every driveller is a Dryden,
And honoured every craze.
Then music will be all our morals,
And sentiments our fees;
Our babes will have their Comtes and corals,
Their Tennysons and teas.
And sentiments our fees;
Our babes will have their Comtes and corals,
Their Tennysons and teas.
470
Good things she liberally offers,
In politics and pap;
And empties out her neighbours' coffers,
In every pauper's lap,
In politics and pap;
And empties out her neighbours' coffers,
In every pauper's lap,
Of wings and wisdom is she lavish,
To all who cannot fly;
And feels an awful joy, to ravish
A virgin theory.
To all who cannot fly;
And feels an awful joy, to ravish
A virgin theory.
She has her charitable gushes,
And rags and ruffians courts;
And unto broth and blankets rushes,
When she is out of sorts.
And rags and ruffians courts;
And unto broth and blankets rushes,
When she is out of sorts.
Her outspread hand is never sparing,
Of others' goods at least;
And makes of all its pious paring,
A philantrophic feast.
Of others' goods at least;
And makes of all its pious paring,
A philantrophic feast.
Her heart is open to the pleading,
Of each improving plan;
She loves a little friendly bleeding,
When it is tried on—man.
Of each improving plan;
She loves a little friendly bleeding,
When it is tried on—man.
She tells the fop to cede his locket,
If he can give no cash;
And picks a rosebud or a pocket,
With equal ease and dash.
If he can give no cash;
And picks a rosebud or a pocket,
With equal ease and dash.
She victimizes even the miser,
And bids his guineas drop;
And leaves the simpleton a wiser,
But not a richer, crop.
And bids his guineas drop;
And leaves the simpleton a wiser,
But not a richer, crop.
And with his plumage parts the dandy,
The glutton with his fat;
She has a programme always handy,
And reasons prim and pat.
The glutton with his fat;
She has a programme always handy,
And reasons prim and pat.
And if he is not quite a statue,
What can a mortal do?
To one who throws Kamschatka at you,
And on it Timbuctoo?
What can a mortal do?
To one who throws Kamschatka at you,
And on it Timbuctoo?
But then she wearies of her notion,
Or finds some fatal leak;
And flies to dinners from devotion,
From begging to Bésique.
Or finds some fatal leak;
And flies to dinners from devotion,
From begging to Bésique.
She has an ear for lovers' trouble,
And Continental jars;
And blows a kiss or warlike bubble,
To Venus or to Mars.
And Continental jars;
And blows a kiss or warlike bubble,
To Venus or to Mars.
471
Astronomy is never slighted,
When she is one of two;
Nor does she dread to be benighted,
If Cupid holds the clue.
When she is one of two;
Nor does she dread to be benighted,
If Cupid holds the clue.
She notes the ebb and flow of nations,
And individual pests;
Compound and simple oscillations,
Of particles and breasts.
And individual pests;
Compound and simple oscillations,
Of particles and breasts.
Each doctrine of the day she dockets,
With its appropriate mark;
And fresh impertinences pockets,
That flourish in the dark.
With its appropriate mark;
And fresh impertinences pockets,
That flourish in the dark.
Our wooden walls she turns to faggots,
And blasts time-honoured stones;
Unfolds the mysteries of maggots,
And lisps of laws and bones.
And blasts time-honoured stones;
Unfolds the mysteries of maggots,
And lisps of laws and bones.
She saps with smiles the solid floorings,
On which our fathers trod;
And drifts us from the ancient moorings,
That anchor man to God.
On which our fathers trod;
And drifts us from the ancient moorings,
That anchor man to God.
And if her course be somewhat heady,
She always finds a guide;
And is for either fortune ready,
A romp or regicide.
She always finds a guide;
And is for either fortune ready,
A romp or regicide.
And then with sad and sapient presage,
She cleaves the coming storm;
And wrings from time its funeral message,
The future's final form.
She cleaves the coming storm;
And wrings from time its funeral message,
The future's final form.
But in the rising of redressers,
She partial comfort finds;
And swears by pipeclay and professors,
And milliners of minds.
She partial comfort finds;
And swears by pipeclay and professors,
And milliners of minds.
She sings of Truth's refined attrition,
That moulds the meanest lot;
The solemn march and imposition,
Of calicoes and rot;
That moulds the meanest lot;
The solemn march and imposition,
Of calicoes and rot;
The splendid vice and spurious blurtings,
Of retrograde advance;
The charms of reason and of shirtings,
Of roast beef and romance;
Of retrograde advance;
The charms of reason and of shirtings,
Of roast beef and romance;
The iron grip of Law, that throttles
The native's noble stay;
And monuments of broken bottles,
That bound imperial sway;
The native's noble stay;
And monuments of broken bottles,
That bound imperial sway;
472
The coarse machinery for schooling
Fair freedom's struggling flower;
That mark a taste for rum and ruling,
With no backbone of power;
Fair freedom's struggling flower;
That mark a taste for rum and ruling,
With no backbone of power;
The spawn of claptrap's last abortions,
That preaches peace and rape;
And evolution's grim contortions,
That grind us into shape.
That preaches peace and rape;
And evolution's grim contortions,
That grind us into shape.
Afar she scents the coming schisms,
In parliaments and powers;
Says juries are anachronisms,
And judges leaning towers.
In parliaments and powers;
Says juries are anachronisms,
And judges leaning towers.
She sees the rifts of institutions,
In every bench and board;
And of the Comtist resolutions,
She keeps a ready hoard.
In every bench and board;
And of the Comtist resolutions,
She keeps a ready hoard.
With wit from clubs and racing courses,
Her tongue is ever tart;
The things she damns she yet endorses,
And worships kings at heart.
Her tongue is ever tart;
The things she damns she yet endorses,
And worships kings at heart.
She talks of headsmen and of axes,
And goes the same to Court;
Inveighs against the grinding taxes,
And pays though funds are short.
And goes the same to Court;
Inveighs against the grinding taxes,
And pays though funds are short.
She calls oppressors food for faggots,
But thinks their cellars right;
She despots deems a meal for maggots,
And dines with them at night.
But thinks their cellars right;
She despots deems a meal for maggots,
And dines with them at night.
She vows that exile is for traitors,
And likes them rather nigh;
Terms gallows glorious educators,
And would not hurt a fly.
And likes them rather nigh;
Terms gallows glorious educators,
And would not hurt a fly.
She chants the charms of lower classes,
But owns their odour bad;
Upholds the sovereignty of masses,
And could not touch a cad.
But owns their odour bad;
Upholds the sovereignty of masses,
And could not touch a cad.
And while she breathes her fiery vaunting,
She screams should peril press;
And though she rails at waste, is flaunting
A fifty-guinea dress.
She screams should peril press;
And though she rails at waste, is flaunting
A fifty-guinea dress.
And then she weeps at wicked factions,
But picks from party store;
And mourns for rulers' gross exactions,
Yet screws her servants more.
But picks from party store;
And mourns for rulers' gross exactions,
Yet screws her servants more.
473
THE TRANSFORMATION AND ANTI-CLIMAX.
But when she turns a tearful ranter,
And wails at statesmen's guile!
'Tis not distress but the decanter,
And less belief than bile.
And wails at statesmen's guile!
'Tis not distress but the decanter,
And less belief than bile.
And should she play at crime or treason,
The only cure is this—
To catch her in a softer season,
And conquer with a kiss.
The only cure is this—
To catch her in a softer season,
And conquer with a kiss.
And if she still her logic presses,
Then praise her hair and eyes;
And answer reasons with caresses,
Or arguments with sighs.
Then praise her hair and eyes;
And answer reasons with caresses,
Or arguments with sighs.
But should she yet have grievance cases,
Then smile her cares away;
And fight her fears with more embraces,
And doubt with love allay.
Then smile her cares away;
And fight her fears with more embraces,
And doubt with love allay.
And matrimony then will smother,
Her discontented tone;
And when she is a wife and mother,
She will respect the Throne.
Her discontented tone;
And when she is a wife and mother,
She will respect the Throne.
Her nursery too will teach her grammar,
When that republic comes;
And little radicals will clamour,
For rights and sugar plums.
When that republic comes;
And little radicals will clamour,
For rights and sugar plums.
And then the ending of the story,
Will strike the well-known chord;
And leave her truckling as a Tory
To her three-bottle lord.
Will strike the well-known chord;
And leave her truckling as a Tory
To her three-bottle lord.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |