 | The march of intellect |  |
THE MARCH OF INTELLECT,
A COMIC POEM.
I
Oh Intellect! thou wondrous power!Let me, in manner arch,
Diversify a weary hour,
And versify thy march.
II
Thy march, that has such wonders done,And made such striding shoots,
That it would seem thou hadst put on
The Ogre's seven leagued boots!
6
III
And come, Tom Hood, thou man of pun,On merry-thoughts still lunching,
Quaffing huge draughts of spirits rum,
From humour's favorite Pun-cheon.
IV
Thou funny lexicographer,In folly's pastures gleaning,
That can on every word confer,
At will, a double meaning!
V
Ere I my Pun-ic war begin,Impart thy happiest mood;
For once, let our two faces grin,
Oh, Tom! beneath one Hood!
VI
Gruff Doctor Johnson, dearest Tom,Ere grim death struck his docket,
Declared, he who could make a pun
Would also pick a pocket!
7
VII
And truly thou hast proved it true,For many a pun thou'st made,
And pick'd the publick's pockets too,
All in the way of trade!
VIII
To wit, with Whims and Oddities!No felony that latter,
For hanging—though a ticklish—is
We know no laughing matter!
IX
Thy Hunt, too, where thou didst run downThe muse, and found her supple!
I'd fain share with thee half a crown;
Then let us hunt in couple!
X
‘Laugh and grow fat,’ the adage says,If that, Tom, is the case,
We must to thee yield tons of praise,
Great fattener of thy race!
8
XI
A portion of that fatness give,Deign my support to be;
Most lean of all by verse that live,
Oh, let me lean on thee.
XII
Yes, bid me still as young Tom reign,Thou'lt honor gain therefrom;
For gin-uine spirit thou'lt remain,
Par excellence, Old Tom!
XIII
I but aspire to copy you,To catch your manner terse;
Then let me pen a verse or two,
And be not you a-verse.
XIV
But to my ‘March of Intellect,’Which thoughts of you have cross'd,
Should I neglect, folks would suspect
My intellects I'd lost.
9
XV
This is, indeed, a wondrous age,Most rare of all we've had;
Improvement now is all the rage,
Folks are improving mad.
XVI
We have had England's olden days,When fought and bled her sons;
We too have had her golden days,
These are her learned ones.
XVII
And could our ancestors arise,Each soon would hide his head;
Our intellect would so surprise
They'd glad be they were dead.
XVIII
Its march now travels each highway,On every plain and green,
In town and country, night and day,
It takes steps to be seen.
10
XIX
Short stages now are all cut short,Too long they've had their day;
From Paris (all the world they court)
The OMNIBUS bears sway.
XX
Cads now are to Conducteurs turn'd,To intellect they bow;
St. Giles's Greek by all is spurn'd,
They parlez Français now.
XXI
Inviting you to take a spell,Lest ennui chance to bore,
They put inside, with you to ride,
Scott, Byron, Crabbe, and Moore.
XXII
Shakspeare and Milton they supply,That those who run may read;
A circulating library
It may be call'd indeed.
11
XXIII
No more of reading by the hour,We at such limits smile;
Now intellect has three horse power,
'Tis reading by the mile.
XXIV
Says Mrs. Fubs to Billy Stubbs,Her grandson, “By what rule
Are these machines call'd Omnibus?
You must have learnt at school.”
XXV
“Why, grandma, omni stands for all,And buss, you know, means kiss;
So great or small we must kiss all,
The meaning not to miss.”
XXVI
“Psha, boy!—you're like your uncle Tom,You're of the selfsame rank;
Tell me where Omnibus comes from”—
“It comes, Ma, from the Bank!”
12
XXVII
“Hey! here's the guard, he jabbers French,Your larning now boy show;
Put to the blush that giggling wench!
Come, Billy, parley woo!
XXVIII
“You've been brought up in mode polite,”“Lord, Ma, you're such a fool!”
“In my young days, to read and write,
Was all we learnt at school.
XXIX
“But you've larnt Latin, French, and Greek,“So speak to him, boy, do.”
“Well, Ma! if I in French must speak,
Commong gy “potty woo?”
XXX
“Monsieur! Je ne vous comprends pas,”“What does he say, boy? tell.”
“Why, Ma! I ask'd him how he was,”
And he said, ‘Pretty well.’”
15
XXXI
“Well, what a thing is learning! zounds!But I was sure you knew:
I wouldn't grudge a hundred pounds
If I spoke French like you.”
XXXXII
Our guards now musical have grown;Key'd bugles and Rossini
Have made French horns resign their throne,
Haydn, Mozart, Piccini.
XXXIII
Di Piacer no peace allows,Di tanti palpiti
‘Moll in the Wad’ now bids repose,
All, Intellect! through thee.
XXXIV
Our common carriers, now o'days,Deserve no such cognomen,
Maps of their ways each one displays,
They're carriers uncommon.
16
XXXV
So much does intellect increase,In manner systematic,—
Our kitchens smell of classic Greece,
Our garrets all are attic!
XXXVI
In the domestic offices(For kitchen's vulgar now)
The march of mind steps by degrees,
And reaches all below.
XXXVII
The cook skims now in science' dream,Alive to all that passes;
She her potatoes boils by steam,
And lights her fire by gasses.
XXXVIII
My lady's maid learns by the cardAll Mr. Payne's quadrilles;—
The groom he tries the gallop hard,
As powerful mind still wills.
19
XXXIX
The footman, voting work a bore,Will, as time quickly by shoots,
O'er Meyerbeer and Weber pore,
And whistle o'er the Freischutz.
XL
Meanwhile the butler, worthy man,So snug o'er his o-port-o,
Enjoys the ‘Life of Sherry-dan,’
Appropriately in quart-o.
XLI
Housekeepers (bless their learned heads!)Know what is by each art meant;
In short the march of knowledge spreads,
All through the home department.
XLII
The dinner à-la-mode ParisWe now find christened wholly;
A stew is styled a fricassee,
Boil'd beef is now term'd bouilli.
20
XLIII
Old Mrs. Glass has given placeTo Kitchener and Ude;
To take soup twice is quite disgrace,
To malt with cheese, is rude.
XLIV
Deep skill'd in gastronomic waysUde aids the cooks manœuvres;
He regulates the entremets,
And directs the hors d'ouvres.
XLV
The scullion acts by mental rule,Soars 'bove her situation,—
Boasts, brought up at the parish school,
A liberal education.
XLVI
What more can intellect desire,Of poets she can prate,
And sighs o'er, as she lights the fire,
The ashes of the grate.
21
XLVII
Learning's by poverty unchill'd,Each workhouse is a college,
And paupers, deep in science skill'd,
Prove they're not poor in knowledge.
XLVIII
They sadly sigh o'er former days,Superior to their station,
Rail at the sums the red book pays,
And seek to save the nation.
XLIX
Yearning to raise their country higher,The ministry to stir;
They'd rather go without a fire,
Than Cobbett's Register.
L
With novels they beguile the hours,With poems cure the vapours;
Watch warily the parish powers,
And club to read the papers.
22
LI
Abuses anxious to reform,And lop corruption's tree,
They daily at the beadle storm,
The overseer o'ersee.
LII
They loudly talk of equal rights,With solemn physiognomy,
And settle in their wards at night,
Political economy.
LIII
One forc'd at fortune's frown to stoop,In chemic art well read,
Begins to analyze the soup
And decompose the bread.
LIV
The baker proves a rogue in grain,By well-bred persons hated;
The butcher of the self same vein
His beef adulterated.
25
LV
The soup not of the proper strength,But lowered most unfairly,
(Can peculation go such length!)
Supporting life but barely.
LVI
Another rails against the billFor anatomy's addition;
A skeleton prepare he will,
Direct, of a petition.
LVII
Cut up like dogs' meat! no, not he,'Twould make a martyr rave:
No, kings as well may subjects be;
All's equal in the grave.
LVIII
Words now grow high—reform! reform!All's uproar and disquiet;
The beadle hears the rising storm,
And comes to quell the riot.
26
LIX
True member he of the select,He speaks like a recorder;
Begs they will church and state respect,
And keep up social order.
LX
The vestry will the poor maintain,That they may not grow thinner;
Their state they will discuss again,
And meet, and have a dinner.
LXI
The vestry meet—a rate is madeTo pay the current quarter;
The March of Intellect's display'd
In champagne and rose water.
LXII
Mister Churchwarden in the chair,Each side the overseers;
The worthy rector too is there,
The sight his bosom cheers.
29
LXIII
While venison, turtle, game, and fishEach hungry palate blesses,
They on the table with each dish
Digest the poor's distresses.
LXIV
“We must allow them some more bread,—Bring the champagne here, waiter!—
And, that they may be better fed,
The poor rates must be greater.
LXV
“They can't be starv'd,—mock turtle here,—Distress with all now grapples,
Each article's so very dear,
Bring, waiter, some pineapples.”
LXVI
Thus in the vestry, intellectIts rapid march makes known;
Nor stand nor stall does it neglect,
It every where is shown.
30
LXVII
Plain speaking dare not show its face,All patter metaphorical;
Each dirty Court is called a Place,
In manner alley-gorical.
LXVIII
Masters no more, tyrannical,Improvement's course can stop;
For intellect mechanical
Now marches in each shop.
LXIX
For science' honors yearning still,Mechanics gladly pay;
And operative learning will
Securely work its way.
LXX
Mechanics' InstitutionsAt each second step we meet;
And Birkbeck's resolutions
Stare us in every street.
31
LXXI
The barber takes you by the nose,And talks about nosology;
And Thames Street warehousemen disclose,
Their art in crane-iology.
LXXII
Last-dying speeches beggars sell,And prate about buy-ography;
While journeymen take walks and well
Improve them in toe-pography.
LXXIII
And mendicants and paupers still,Consistent in their actions,
Break stones upon the road, their skill
To show in vulgar fractions.
LXXIV
The milkman who turns pale each day,While studying astronomy;
Calls pouring on the milky way,
Political economy.
32
LXXV
Our waggoners that up hill go,Can tell you of highdraw-lics;—
They taste the luxury of ‘woh!’
And drag through lectures prolix.
LXXVI
Now gardeners extract their rootsBy science, till they've not any;
And costermongers taste the fruits
(While selling greens) of Botany.
LXXVII
Innkeepers double entry learn,And wisely calculate;
While carpenters those sawyers spurn,
That log-arithms hate.
LXXVIII
The march of intellect all love,All wish to have a hand in;
E'en cobblers labour to improve
The human understanding.
35
LXXIX
Such is the general thirst of knowledge,So little is its scarcity;
Soon Tooley Street will have its College,
St. Giles its University.
LXXX
Now Mister Cobbett all our fellowsDelights to make grammatical;
And cats' meat sellers, from their cellars,
Answer most dog-matical.
LXXXI
The press is pressing through each streetIts rapid march—if willing,
You now may purchase forty feet
Of knowledge for a shilling!!
LXXXII
By puffs our papers rise and fall,The mighty march of mind
('Tis plainly evident in all)
Is but to raise the wind.
36
LXXXIII
Else would the Times be out of joint,The Atlas would decline,
The Star would be without a point,
The Sun would never shine.
LXXXIV
The Courier would make no way,No one would mind the Post,
The Herald would no art display,
The Globe itself be lost!
LXXXV
But now to end this march of mine,Kind friends, a bard protect,
Nor science with grave scorn decline,
Our March of Intellect.
FINISH.
| The march of intellect | |