 | Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical |  |
15
A WORD OF ADVICE
To the disaffected “Sooty Rabble,” on their meeting to petition for a Reform in Parliament, in the year 1816; by James Block, Esq., Place-hunter.
Vile “Sooty Rabble!” what d'ye mean,
By raising a' this dreadfu' din?—
Do ye no' ken what horrid sin
Ye are committing,
By hauding up your chafts sae thin
At sic a meeting:
By raising a' this dreadfu' din?—
Do ye no' ken what horrid sin
Ye are committing,
By hauding up your chafts sae thin
At sic a meeting:
Fine times, indeed! when squalid spectres,
Like you, maun now turn State directors,
And meet here to deliver lectures
On Parliaments,
And, like sae mony bullying Hectors,
Cry “To your tents.”
Like you, maun now turn State directors,
And meet here to deliver lectures
On Parliaments,
And, like sae mony bullying Hectors,
Cry “To your tents.”
16
What deevil brings you here ava,
To set up your confounding jaw?—
Sheer off;—or faith we'll learn you a'
Anither way yet;
Ye have nae business wi' the law,
But to obey it.
“What Deevil brings you here ava?” It must be distinctly stated here, that the pious Place-hunter does not use this exclamation in the same sense as profane swearers do;—no; he puts it by way of interrogation, as he is perfectly certain that such a rabble could only meet at the instigation of some infernal agent.
To set up your confounding jaw?—
Sheer off;—or faith we'll learn you a'
Anither way yet;
Ye have nae business wi' the law,
But to obey it.
Base outcast riddlings o' creation,
How daur ye speak o' Reformation?
Or spurt your vile disapprobation
At men o' worth,
Wha represent the happiest nation
Upon the yirth?
How daur ye speak o' Reformation?
Or spurt your vile disapprobation
At men o' worth,
Wha represent the happiest nation
Upon the yirth?
Whaur could we find sic talents bright?—
Whaur meet wi' conduct sae upright
As theirs?—whilk beams as clear's the light
That shines at noon;
And yet ye'll cry there's naething right,
For a' they've done.
Whaur meet wi' conduct sae upright
As theirs?—whilk beams as clear's the light
That shines at noon;
And yet ye'll cry there's naething right,
For a' they've done.
17
Ye'll rave and rant 'bout rotten boroughs,
Fell fruitfu' source o' a' your sorrows,
Whilk, like the lean, starved, kye o' Pharaoh's,
The fat devour,
And after a' are just as poor as
They were before.
Fell fruitfu' source o' a' your sorrows,
Whilk, like the lean, starved, kye o' Pharaoh's,
The fat devour,
And after a' are just as poor as
They were before.
But be they poor, or be they rich,
Their chartered rights ye daurna touch,
Their sacredness has aye been such,
And shall be still,
That whar's the base unhallowed wretch
Daur do them ill?
Their chartered rights ye daurna touch,
Their sacredness has aye been such,
And shall be still,
That whar's the base unhallowed wretch
Daur do them ill?
Ye'll cry for equal rights to all,
Without regard to great or small,
For annual Parliaments ye'll bawl;
But what are ye?
A blank—a mere political
Non-entity.
Without regard to great or small,
For annual Parliaments ye'll bawl;
But what are ye?
A blank—a mere political
Non-entity.
18
Frae what grand era do ye date
Your first existence in the State,
That ye maun rave at sic a rate,
And storm about it?
We ne'er heard tell o't till of late,
And therefore doubt it.
Your first existence in the State,
That ye maun rave at sic a rate,
And storm about it?
We ne'er heard tell o't till of late,
And therefore doubt it.
But you—ye silly credulous pack,
Ye maun believe ilk knavish quack,
Wha does possess that cursed knack
O' specious wheezing,
Whilk ye gulp down for gospel fact,
Just 'cause 'tis pleasing.
Ye maun believe ilk knavish quack,
Wha does possess that cursed knack
O' specious wheezing,
Whilk ye gulp down for gospel fact,
Just 'cause 'tis pleasing.
Now will ye blether out your nonsense,
'Bout titled paupers and their pensions,
And wonder how they hae the conscience
To fleece ye sae;
These things are past your comprehensions,
Like mony mae.
'Bout titled paupers and their pensions,
And wonder how they hae the conscience
To fleece ye sae;
These things are past your comprehensions,
Like mony mae.
19
Ye'll hae the face, too, to debate,
And argue 'bout the nation's debt,
As if ye meant to liquidate
Ilk plack that's awn,
If so;—then nae mair idle prate,
But pay't aff han'.
And argue 'bout the nation's debt,
As if ye meant to liquidate
Ilk plack that's awn,
If so;—then nae mair idle prate,
But pay't aff han'.
If not;—say ye nae mair about it,
We great folks couldna do without it;
By it, we've a' got spurred and bootet,
And (mind your sides)
By it we'll soon hae saddles suited
To your grim hides.
We great folks couldna do without it;
By it, we've a' got spurred and bootet,
And (mind your sides)
By it we'll soon hae saddles suited
To your grim hides.
And L---d, we'll ride you till you sweat,
And hay and strae we'll mak you eat,
Upon your vera hands and feet
We'll gar you rin;
The lash, too,—ye shall smartly dree't
On your bare skin.
And hay and strae we'll mak you eat,
Upon your vera hands and feet
We'll gar you rin;
The lash, too,—ye shall smartly dree't
On your bare skin.
20
Ye'll growl at our most righteous war,
And what it was engaged in for;
Silence, ye stupid brutes, nor daur
To yell and bray sae,
Do ye no ken 'twas to restore
Legitimacy?
And what it was engaged in for;
Silence, ye stupid brutes, nor daur
To yell and bray sae,
Do ye no ken 'twas to restore
Legitimacy?
Behold how Heaven thus wisely brings
About sae mony glorious things;—
See Pope and Prelates, Priests and Kings,
Restored again,
While ilka ane now rules and rings
Owre what's his ain.
About sae mony glorious things;—
See Pope and Prelates, Priests and Kings,
Restored again,
While ilka ane now rules and rings
Owre what's his ain.
Behold a base licentious Press,
Ay prone just limits to transgress,
Pretending ever to redress
The people's wrangs,
Now, curb'd at last, the power confess
Of lawyers' fangs.
Ay prone just limits to transgress,
Pretending ever to redress
The people's wrangs,
Now, curb'd at last, the power confess
Of lawyers' fangs.
21
See how the Church doth proudly raise
Her head, in these her glorious days;
Mark how she smites her deadly faes,
The Hug'nots vile,
Frying them a' like bugs or flaes
'Mang tar and oil.
Her head, in these her glorious days;
Mark how she smites her deadly faes,
The Hug'nots vile,
Frying them a' like bugs or flaes
'Mang tar and oil.
See how the Inquisition grand
Diffuses, wi' unsparing hand,
Its various blessings o'er a land
That swarms wi' priests;
Dispelling, with the flaming brand,
Heretic mists.
Diffuses, wi' unsparing hand,
Its various blessings o'er a land
That swarms wi' priests;
Dispelling, with the flaming brand,
Heretic mists.
Behold the Queen (Quean?) of Babylon placed
Upon her scarlet-coloured beast,
As drunk as Bacchus at a feast,
Wi' blood o' saunts,
While round her mony a rosy priest
Roars, reels, and rants.
Upon her scarlet-coloured beast,
As drunk as Bacchus at a feast,
Wi' blood o' saunts,
While round her mony a rosy priest
Roars, reels, and rants.
22
When ye've reviewed these blessings o'er,
Whilk we've sae lang been fechting for,
Then say, ye wretches, if ye daur,
To speak it but!
Was it a just—a needfu' war,
Or was it not?
Whilk we've sae lang been fechting for,
Then say, ye wretches, if ye daur,
To speak it but!
Was it a just—a needfu' war,
Or was it not?
Vile Pagans! doom'd through life to drudge,
And howk amang your native sludge,
Wha is't gies you a right to judge
O' siccan matters;
That ye maun grumble, grunt and grudge,
At us, your betters?
And howk amang your native sludge,
Wha is't gies you a right to judge
O' siccan matters;
That ye maun grumble, grunt and grudge,
At us, your betters?
As hands and feet at first were made,
To serve their sovereign lord, the head,
So you, ye low-born slavish breed,
For a' your fuss,
By righteous heaven were decreed
To toil for us.
To serve their sovereign lord, the head,
So you, ye low-born slavish breed,
For a' your fuss,
By righteous heaven were decreed
To toil for us.
23
Yes, ye were made, ye drudges vile,
To drive the shuttle, plow the soil,
To wield the hammer, grasp the file,
The plane, the saw,
That we might live exempt frae toil,
Abune you a'.
To drive the shuttle, plow the soil,
To wield the hammer, grasp the file,
The plane, the saw,
That we might live exempt frae toil,
Abune you a'.
Ye'll bawl aloud how hard ye're taxed,
How sair ye're hungered, pinched and vexed,
How oftentimes ye're sair perplexed
To get a diet,
It's a' a flimsy weak pretext
To breed a riot.
How sair ye're hungered, pinched and vexed,
How oftentimes ye're sair perplexed
To get a diet,
It's a' a flimsy weak pretext
To breed a riot.
A growling disaffected crew,
There's aye a something wrang wi' you,
Nae matter whether toom or fou,
Ye'll carp at us;
Gude troth, ye're no half hauden to,
And that's your loss.
There's aye a something wrang wi' you,
Nae matter whether toom or fou,
Ye'll carp at us;
Gude troth, ye're no half hauden to,
And that's your loss.
24
When fouth o' meat and drink ye gat,
Scarce kenning then what ye'd be at,
Jeshuran-like, ye waxed fat,
And fell a-kicking;
But now, ye're weel paid in for that,
Wi' scanty picking.
Scarce kenning then what ye'd be at,
Jeshuran-like, ye waxed fat,
And fell a-kicking;
But now, ye're weel paid in for that,
Wi' scanty picking.
And when we deigned to scrimp your food,
Mind, wretches, it was for your good,
In order to correct your blood,
And keep it cool,
And bring you to a proper mood
To bear our rule.
Mind, wretches, it was for your good,
In order to correct your blood,
And keep it cool,
And bring you to a proper mood
To bear our rule.
Sae dinna girn, and growl, and fret,
At siclike usage as ye get,
Do not our Clergy tell you flat,
It's for your sins,
That ye are gettin't now, sae het,
Out owre the shins?
At siclike usage as ye get,
Do not our Clergy tell you flat,
It's for your sins,
That ye are gettin't now, sae het,
Out owre the shins?
25
Yes, for your sins an angry God
Thus heavily applies the rod;
And daur the offspring o' the clod,
The child o' dust,
Thus impiously arraign abroad
His dealing just?
Thus heavily applies the rod;
And daur the offspring o' the clod,
The child o' dust,
Thus impiously arraign abroad
His dealing just?
“No, no,” I think I hear you cry,
“That heavy charge we a' deny,
“It's naething but a downright lie,”
And siclike stuff;
But, haud your tongues, nor daur reply,
You've said enough.
“That heavy charge we a' deny,
“It's naething but a downright lie,”
And siclike stuff;
But, haud your tongues, nor daur reply,
You've said enough.
Base herd! whase ignorance surpasses
The dull stupidity of asses,
Think ye the privileged classes
Care aught about ye?
If ony mair ye daur to fash us,
By George, we'll shoot ye.
The dull stupidity of asses,
Think ye the privileged classes
Care aught about ye?
If ony mair ye daur to fash us,
By George, we'll shoot ye.
26
It's only makin' matters waur
To argue here wi' sic a core,
What need we cast our pearls before
A drove o' swine,
Wha'd tak and tramp them in the glaur,
And rive us syne?
To argue here wi' sic a core,
What need we cast our pearls before
A drove o' swine,
Wha'd tak and tramp them in the glaur,
And rive us syne?
We've walth o' sodgers in the town,
To keep sic ragamuffins down,
And gin ye dinna settle soon,
By a' that's good!
We'll gar the common sewers rin brown
Wi' your base blood.
To keep sic ragamuffins down,
And gin ye dinna settle soon,
By a' that's good!
We'll gar the common sewers rin brown
The reader may here suppose that the word “brown” is introduced merely for the sake of rhyme, without paying any regard to sense. This is by no means the case. A pure Aristocrat firmly believes that the blood of the “Sooty Rabble” is neither so pure, so rich, nor so red as his own; hence his aversion to, and detestation of the working classes.
Wi' your base blood.
Tak', therefore, this kind admonition,
Recant, repent, be a' submission;
And as a proof that your contrition
Is frae the heart,
In Gude's name rive that curst petition
Before ye part.
Recant, repent, be a' submission;
And as a proof that your contrition
Is frae the heart,
In Gude's name rive that curst petition
Before ye part.
27
Then to your hovels ilka ane,
Ye tattered tribes o' skin and bane,
There—thank your stars ye're let alane,
In peace to starve;
Sic mild forbearance, I maintain,
Ye scarce deserve.
Ye tattered tribes o' skin and bane,
There—thank your stars ye're let alane,
In peace to starve;
Sic mild forbearance, I maintain,
Ye scarce deserve.
| Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical | |