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Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn

edited by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie
Maginn, William (1793-1842)

collapse sectionI. 
Vol. I.
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[MEMOIR OF MORGAN ODOHERTY]
  
[If a lover, sweet creature, should foolishly seek]
  
[Ah, 'tis a weary night! Alas, will sleep]
  
[Oh, lady, in the laughing hours]
  
[Captain Godolphin was a very odd and stingy man]
  
[Great king of the ocean, transcendent and grand]
  
[“Confusion seize your lowsy sowl, ye nasty dirty varment]
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[Have you sailed on the breast of the deep]
  
[section]
  
Dirge.
  
[Come, push round the bottle; one glass ere we part]
  
[Let Dandies to M'Culloch go]
  
[While worldly men through stupid years]
  
[O hone, Odoherty!]
  
[When wondering ages shall have rolled away]
  
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A BALL-ROOM.
  
[There was a time when every sort of people]
  
[I rose this morning about half past nine]
 I. 
SONG I.
 II. 
SONG II.
  
THE ENGLISH SAILOR AND THE KING OF ACHEN'S DAUGHTER.
  
TO THE CHILD OF CORINNA!
  
[“The ‘Whig,’ the lover, and the poet]
  
[“Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea]
  
INCONSTANCY; A SONG TO MRS. M'WHIRTER.
  
CHANT.—BY MRS. M'WHIRTER.
  
ODOHERTY'S GARLAND.
  
THE EVE OF ST. JERRY.
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THE RIME OF THE AUNCIENT WAGGONERE.
 1. 
Part First.
 2. 
Part Second.
 3. 
Part Third.
 4. 
Part Fourth.
  
Morale.
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Maxims of ODoherty.
  
Maxim Twenty-second.
  
Maxim Seventy-first.
  
DON JUAN UNREAD.
  
The Irishman and the Lady.
  
Here Let me Dine.
  
[Oh! lovely Polly Savage]
  
THE SOMNAMBULATORY BUTCHER.—An Episode.
  
AILIE MUSHAT'S CAIRN.
  
ODE ON THE DEATH OF YAHMASSEERO, COUNCILLOR OF STATE.
  
STANZAS.
  
[The hounds in the kennel are yelling loud]
  
FRAGMENT OF A VISION.
  
THE GALIONGEE.
  
[Oh! mortal man, how varied is thy lot]
  
[Theyre wals ane Brounie offe mucle faime]
  
THE KAIL POT.
  
BILLY BLINN.
  
Inishowen.
  
How to woo!
  
There's not a Ioy that Life can give, &c.
  
'Tis in vain to complain.
  
Chanson a Boire.
  
Song of a Fallen Angel over a Bowl of Rum-Punch.
  
[“Let us drink and be merry]
  
An Hundred Years Hence.
  
A Dozen Years Hence.
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The Pewter Quart.
 1. 
Preface to the Reader, which serves also for Invocation.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
 5. 
5.
 6. 
6.
 7. 
7.
 8. 
8.
 9. 
9.
 10. 
10.
  
The Leather Bottle.
  
[Now, what do you say to the canns of wood?]
  
[Now for the pots with handles three]
  
[Now what of the flagons of silver fine?]
  
[Of tilting furniture, emblazoned shields]
  
[Now, what do you say to these glasses fine?]
  
[Now when this bottle is grown old]
  
['Tis a pitiful thing, that now-a-days, sirs]
  
[And now I will begin to declare]
  
[And therefore leave your twittle twattle]
  
[Be your liquor small, or thick as mud]
  
[No flagon, tankard, bottle, or iug]
  
[Socrates and Aristotle]
  
[Besides, my good friend, let me tell you, that fellow]
  
[Your leathèr bottle is used by no man]
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An Idyl on the Battle.
  
[section]
 1. 
Round the First.
 2. 
Round the Second.
 3. 
Round the Third.
 4. 
Round the Fourth.
 5,6. 
Rounds Fifth and Sixth.
 7. 
Round the Seventh.
 8. 
Round Eight and Last.
  
LAMENT OF A BIG BRISTOL BUTCHER.
  
A Twist-imony in Favour of Gin-Twist.
  
Cork is the Aiden for you, love, and me.
  
BALLAD ON THE DEATH OF SIMON DE MONTFORT, EARL OF LEICESTER, AT THE BATTLE OF EVERSHAM, 1226.
  
Lament for Lord Byron.
  
Odoherty's Dirge
  
Drink.
  
Crambambulee.
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Vol. II
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Pandemus Polyglott.
  
Sapphics. The Friend of Humanity and the Knifegrinder
  
[“Busy, curious, thirsty fly]
  
Young Lady.
  
Myself.
  
Song by Ben Jonson.
  
Song: The Glasses sparkle.
  
The Widow to her Dying Child—by Matthew Child.
  
Three Goblets of Wine.
  
Indy Callaghan.
  
Monsieur Indas.
  
Roger Goodfellow.
  
Backe and Side go Bare, go Bare.
  
At my Time of Day.
  
Farewell, Beggarly Scotland.
  
French Slang Song from Vidocq.
  
CHILD DANIEL.
  
SORROW IS DRY.
  
EXTRACT FROM MY GREAT AUTO-BIOGRAPHICAL POEM.
  
SIR DANIEL DONNELLY.—A BALLAD.
  
ODONNELLY, AN ODE BY MORGAN ODOHERTY.
  
[Mourn Erin, sons of Erin mourn]
  
A DIRGE OVER SIR DANIEL DONNELLY; BY THOMAS JENNINGS.
  
[Underneath this pillar high]
  
[“What is it ails you, ye beauteous people]
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The Embalmer.
 I. 
I. VERSE OF “TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.”
 II. 
II. VERSES OF JULY THE FIRST, THE GREAT ORANGE SONG IN IRELAND.
 III. 
III. GROVES OF BLARNEY.
 IV. 
IV. VERSE OF MARY AMBREE.
 V. 
V. VERSE OF SIR TRISTREM.
 VI. 
VI. ON SIR P. SARSFIELD.
 VII. 
VII. ON JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.
 VIII. 
VIII. CONCLUSION OF THE EPITAPH ON HENRY, DUKE OF GRAFTON, SON OF CHARLES II. KILLED AT THE SIEGE OF CORK, 1690.
 IX. 
IX. ON ROBIN HOOD.
 X. 
X. ON SIR DANIEL DONNELLY, C. I.
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Irish Melodies.
 I. 
Song I. SAINT PATRICK.
 II. 
Song II. LAMENT OF A CONNAUGHT RANGER.
 III. 
Song III. RAFFERTY'S ADVICE.
 IV. 
Song IV. THE GATHERING OF THE MAHONYS.
 V. 
Song V. A REAL IRISH “FLY NOT YET.”
 VI. 
Song VI. THE IMPASSIONED WAVE.
  
Byron to Murray.
  
Ode to Mrs. Flanagan.
  
Ode to Marshal Grouchy on his Return.
  
Odes by Q. Horatius Flaccus, and the City Poet of 1788.
  
Drink Away!
  
Drouthiness.
  
A FESTAL ODE.
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Lord Byron's Combolio.
  
INTRODUCTION.
  
THE ROSARY.
  
L'Envoy.
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Royal Visit to Ireland.
 I. 
I. The King's Landing.
 II. 
II. A Welcome to His Majesty.
 III. 
III. Odoherty's Impromptu.
 IV. 
IV. Translation of the Royal “Adventus.”
  
Who wrote “The Groves of Blarney”?
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HORACE, BOOK FIRST.
 I. 
ODE I.
 5. 
ODE FIFTH, BOOK FIRST.
 9. 
ODE NINTH, BOOK FIRST.
  
O WEEP FOR ADONAIS, &C.
  
ELEGY ON MY TOMCAT.
  
PACKING UP AFTER AN ENGLISH COUNTRY BALL.
  
The Wine-Bibber's Glory—A New Song.
  
Critique on Lord Byron.
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Modern English Ballads.
 1. 
No. 1.—Spring's Return.
 2. 
No. 2.—The Lament for Thurtell.
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Moore-ish Melodies.
 1. 
1.—THE LAST LAMP OF THE ALLEY.
 2. 
2.—'TIS THE LAST GLASS OF CLARET.
 3. 
3.—RICH AND RARE.
 4. 
4.—TOM STOKES LIVED ONCE.
 5. 
5.—BILLINGSGATE MUSIC.
 6. 
6.—TO A BOTTLE OF OLD PORT.
 7. 
7.—TO THE FINISH I WENT.
  
The Route.
  
A Happy New-Year.
  
Parody on Wordsworth.
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FRAGMENTS.
  
[I never saw a more delightful spot!—]
  
[They were not married by a mutt'ring priest]
  
[Come, and you'll find the muffins hot]
  
[There fled the noblest spirit—the most pure]
  
[Pretty little playful Patty]
  
[Oh! lay me when I die]
  
Song of the Sea.
  
SECOND EPODE OF HORACE DONE IN A NEW STYLE.
  
The Crabstick.
  
Sonnet.
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[The setting sun with crimson beam]
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
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Vol. IV.
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HOMERIC BALLADS.
 I. 
I. The Bath of Odysseus.
 II. 
II. The Song of the Trojan Horse.
 III. 
III. The Return of the Chiefs from Troy.
 IV. 
IV. The Cloak.
 V. 
V. The Dog Argus.
 VI. 
VI. The Funeral of Achilles.
 VII. 
VII. The Introduction of Penelope.
 VIII. 
VIII. The Last Appearance of Penelope.
 IX. 
IX. The Prophecy of Theoclymenus the Seer.
 X. 
X. The Story of the Swineherd.
 XI. 
XI. The Beaten Beggarman.
 XII. 
XII. The First Appearance of Helen
 XIII. 
XIII. The Genealogy of Glaucus.
 XIV. 
XIV. The Arming of Achilles.
 XV. 
XV. The Genealogy of Aeneas.
 XVI. 
XVI. Nestor's First Essay in Arms.
collapse sectionV. 
Vol. V.
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MEMOIR OF WILLIAM MAGINN, LL. D.
  
“TO HELEN R.
  
“THE MOCKINGS OF THE SOLDIERS.
  
“I GIVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE.
  
“TO MY DAUGHTERS.
  
[“Here, early to bed, lies kind William Maginn]
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FRASERIAN PAPERS.
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THE ELECTION OF EDITOR.
  
[“Ladies and Gentlemen—It was a strange]
  
Song.
  
O'Doherty sings his translation.
  
Mr. Jesse's Song.
  
[Whisky mixed up with water]
  
Lay of the Whipper-in.
  
Song.
  
[In Liverpool's good easy times]
  
The Wind and the Wave.
  
THE SHERIDAN FAMILY.
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HORACE IN OTHER SHAPES.
  
Lib. I. Carmen VII.
  
Lib. III. Carmen XIX.
  
THE LAY OF THE DISMAL CRAMP.
  
THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
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POETICAL PLAGIARIES.
  
“TO MRS. ---
  
BARNEY MOORE;
  
MISS PIPSON.
  
THE SPERMACETI CANDLE.
  
SONG OF THE SHIRTLESS FOR THE YEAR THIRTY-THREE
  
NONSENSE VERSES.
  
LAMENT UPON APSLEY HOUSE.
  
FROM ANACREON.
  
O'DOHERTY'S CONFESSION.
  
SABBATH JOY.

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4.—TOM STOKES LIVED ONCE.

[_]

“Young Love.”

Tom Stokes liv'd once in a garret high
Where fogs were breathing,
And smoke was wreathing
232

Her curls to give the cerulean sky,
Which high up above Tom's head did lie:
His red cheeks flourish'd,
For Sam Swipes nourish'd
Their bloom full oft with Whitbread's showers.
But debts, tho' borish, must be paid,
And Bailiffs a'nt bam'd for many hours.
Ah! that the Nabman's evil eyes
Should ever come hither,
Such cheeks to wither!
The fat soon, soon, began to die,
And Tom fell sick as the blades drew nigh.
They came one morning,
Ere Stokes had warning,
And rapp'd at the door where the wild spark lay.
‘Oh, ho!’ says Tom, ‘Is it you?’ good bye.—
So he pack'd up his awls, and he trudg'd away.
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