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University of Virginia Library

The Ingoldsby Lyrics

By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham]

Ingoldsby, Thomas (1788-1845)

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Occasional Epilogue,

The Resolution;

Encomium Irregulare.

The Victim of Sensibility.

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I.

II.

III.

The Rival Josephs.

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POLITICAL SKITS, PARODIES, Etc.

Waddington's Name.

My Adieu to a “Man of Sense.”

The London University;

The Spots in the Sun.

La Belle Ordamis.

A London Eclogue.

The Distrest Laddie,

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The Old Woman's Cat.

Lord Waithman's Lament.

A New Song to an Old Tune.

The Irish Fisherman.

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OCCASIONAL PIECES.

The House that Jack Built.

The Dark-looking Man.

Mother Goose's Tale;

Encomium Longanum.

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Relics of Antient Poetry.

I.

II.

Correspondence.

A Strand Eclogue.

Garris v. Kemble.

The Modern Ixion:

The Cabouat Tragedy.

The Brave Lieutenant Fitch.

Lines Left at Hook's House in June, 1834.

A Parody.

The Church's Petition.

To Dr. Roberts, with a China Jug.

The Two M.P.'s.

Lines on the Birthday of Sir Thomas White.

The Coronation.

A Song of Sixpence.

Sum and Substance of a New Domestic Tragedy.

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Dick's Long-Tailed Coat.

The Country Seat.

The Sheriff's Ball.

The Drawing Room.

Lines on the Tom Cat.

To Mrs. Scoones.

A Phrenological Fragment.

Moral Reflections.

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SONGS, EPIGRAMS, Etc.

The Lord Warenne.

On the Death of a Daughter.

The Demolished Farce,

Epitaph on Myself

Martial, Lib. 12, Epig. 94.

Extempore Translation

On the Windows of King's College Remaining Boarded.

An Archæological Hint to the Curators of Canterbury Cathedral.

Epigram on a Dull Book.

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FAMILIAR EPISTLES.

To Doctor Wilmot.

To Henry Colburn, Esq., etc., etc.

To R. H. D. Barham.

To Master Edward Barham (Ætat. 8.)

To T. Ryde, Esq.

A Friendly Remonstrance.

To Doctor Hume.

To Miss Barham.

To Richard Bentley, Esq.

To the Garrick Club.

The Radiant Boy.

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A Parody.

My Lord P—loquitur—

My cab is at the door,
Thou must raise the wind for me—
But ere you go, Tom Moore,
Here's a snug douceur for thee!

173

Here's a bond for those who'll lend me,
And a bill at six months' date—
And I'll sign whate'er you send me,—
Get the cash at any rate!

Though boring duns surround me,
They still must trust me on;
Till you the cash have found me,
“Call again” to every one!

Each knock I know full well,
And my fainting spirits sink
When they pull the area bell,
So be off and fetch the “chink!”

Mind and bring me back by one,
Of thousands half a score,—
Hark! there's another dun;—
Adieu! adieu! Tom Moore!

It need scarcely be said that the Tom Moore addressed in the above pathetic lines was not the poet, but one whose name was mixed up with that of a noble lord in certain bill transactions which came before the public.