University of Virginia Library

And can his antiquarian eyes,
My Anglo-Saxon C despise?
And does Lord Harcourt day by day,
Regret the extinct initial K?
And still with ardour unabated,
Labour to get it reinstated?
I know, my Lord, your generous passion
For every long exploded fashion;
And own the Catherine you delight in,
Looks irresistibly inviting,
Appears to bear the stamp and mark
Of English used in Noah's Ark;
“But all that glitters is not gold,”
Not all things obsolete are old.
Would you but take the pains to look
In Dr. Johnson's quarto book
(As I did, wishing much to see
Th' aforesaid letter's pedigree),
Believe me, 't would a tale unfold,
Would make your Norman blood run cold.
My Lord, you'll find the K's no better
Than an interpolated letter;
A wand'ring Greek, a franchis'd alien,
Derived from Cadmus or Deucalion;
And why, or wherefore, none can tell,
Inserted 'twixt the J and L.
The learnèd say, our English tongue
On Gothic beams is built and hung;
Then why the solid fabric piece
With motley ornaments from Greece?
Her lettered despots had no bowels
For northern consonants and vowels;
The Roman and the Greek grammarian
Deem'd us and all our words barbarian;
'Till those hard words, and harder blows,
Had silenced all our haughty foes;
And proud they were to kiss the sandals
(Shoes we had none) of Goths and Vandals.
So call we now the various race
That gave the Roman Eagle chase;
Nurtur'd by all the storms that roll
In thunder round the Arctic Pole,
And from the bosom of the North,
Like gelid rain-drops, scattered forth—
Dread Odin's desolating sons,
Teutones, Cimbrians, Franks and Huns:—
But hold, 't would try Don Quixote's patience
To nomenclate this mob of nations,
Whose names a poet's teeth might break,
And only botanists could speak.
They at a single glance would see us
Rang'd in the system of Linnæus;
Would organise the mingled mass,
Assign their genus, order, class,
And give, as trivial and specific,
Names harder still and more terrific.
But since our Saxon line we trace
Up to this all-subduing race,
Since flows their blood in British veins,
Who led the universe in chains,
And from their “sole dominion” hurl'd
The giants of the ancient world,
Their boasted languages confounding,
And with such mortal gutturals wounding,
That Greek and Latin fell or fled,
And soon were number'd with the dead;
Befits it us, so much their betters,
To spell our names with conquer'd letters?
And shall they rise and prate again,
Like Falstaff, from among the slain?
A licence quite of modern date
Which no long customs consecrate;
For since this K, of hateful sound,
First set his foot on British ground,
'Tis not, as antiquarians know,
A dozen centuries ago.—
That darling theme of English story,
For learning fam'd and martial glory,
Alfred, who quell'd th' usurping Dane,
And burst indignant from his chain;
Who slaves redeem'd to reign o'er men,
Changing the falchion for the pen,
And outlined, with a master's hand.
Th' immortal Charter of the land;
Alfred, whom yet these realms obey,
In all his kingdom own'd no K,
From foreign arms and letters free
Preserv'd his Cynȝly dignity,
And wrote it with a Saxon C.
This case in point, from Alfred's laws,
Establishes my client's cause;
Secures a verdict for defendant,
K pays the costs, and there's an end on't.
The suit had lingered long, I grant, if
Counsel had first been heard for plaintiff;
Who might, to use a new expression,
Have urg'd the plea of dis-possession,
And put our better claims to flight
By pre-, I mean pro-scriptive right,
Since that which modern times explode,
The world will deem the prior mode.
But grant this specious plea prevailing,
And all my legal learning failing;
There yet remains so black a charge,
Not only 'gainst the K's at large,
But th' individual K in question,
You'd tremble at the bare suggestion,
Nor ever more a wish reveal
So adverse to the public weal.

Dear gentle Earl, you little know
That wish might work a world of woe;
The ears that are unborn would rise
In judgment 'gainst your lordship's eyes;
The ears that are unborn would rue
Your letter patent to renew
The dormant dignity of Shrew.
The K restor'd, takes off th' attainder,
And grants the title, with remainder
In perpetuity devis'd,
To Katherines lawfully baptis'd.
What has not Shakespeare said and sung,
Of our pre-eminence of tongue!
His glowing pen has writ the name
In characters of fire and flame;
Not flames that mingle as they rise
Innocuous, with their kindred skies;
Some chemic, lady-like solution,
Shown at the Royal Institution;
But such as still, with ceaseless clamour,
Dance round the anvil and the hammer.
See him the comic muse invoking
(The merry nymph with laughter choking),
While he exhibits at her shrine
Th' unhallow'd form of Katherine;
And there the Gorgon image plants,—
Palladium of the termagants.
He form'd it of the rudest ore
That lay in his exhaustless store,
Nor from the crackling furnace drew,
Which still the breath of genius blew,
Till (to preserve the bright allusion)
The mass was in a state of fusion;
Then cast it in a Grecian mould,
Once modell'd from a living scold;
When from her shelly prison burst
That finished vixen, Kate the curst!

If practice e'er with precept tallies,
Could Shakespeare set down “ought in malice?”
From nature all his forms he drew,
And held the mirror to her view;
And if an ugly wart arose,
Or freckle upon Nature's nose,
He flatter'd not the unsightly flaw,
But marked and copied what he saw;
Strictly fulfilling all his duties
Alike to blemishes and beauties;
So that in Shakespeare's time, 'tis plain,
The Katherines were scolds in grain,
No females louder, fiercer, worse.
Now contemplate the bright reverse,
And say, amid the countless names
Borne by contemporary dames—
Exotics fetched from distant nations,
Or good old English appellations—
Names hunted out from ancient books,
Or found on dairymaids and cooks,
Genteel, familiar, or pedantic,
Grecian, Roman, or romantic,
Christian, Infidel, or Jew,
Heroines, fabulous or true,
Ruths, Rebeccas, Rachels, Sarahs.
Charlottes, Harriets, Emmas, Claras,
Auroras, Helens, Daphnes, Delias,
Martias, Portias, and Cordelias,
Nannies, Fannies, Jennies, Hetties,
Dollies, Mollies, Biddies, Betties,
Saccharisas, Melesinas,
Dulcibellas, Celestinas,—
Say, is there one more free from blame,
One that enjoys a fairer fame,
One more endow'd with Christian graces,
(Although I say it to our faces,
And flattery we don't delight in,)
Than Catherine, at this present writing?
Where, then, can all the difference be?
Where? but between the K---C---:
Between the graceful curving line
We now prefix to atherine,
Which seems to keep, with mild police,
Those rebel syllables in peace,
Describing, in the line of duty,
Both physical and moral beauty,
And that impracticable K
Who led them all so much astray—
Was never seen in black and white
A character more full of spite!
That stubborn back, to bend unskilful,
So perpendicularly wilful!
With angles hideous to behold,
Like the sharp elbows of a scold,
In attitude, when words shall fail,
To fight their battle tooth and nail.
In page the first, you're sagely told
“That all that glitters is not gold”;
Fain would I quote one proverb more—
“Ne veillez pas le chat qui dort.”
Here some will smile as if suspicious
That simile was injudicious;
Because in C A T they trace
Alliance with the feline race;
But we the name alone inherit,
C has the letter, K the spirit.
And woe betide the man who tries
Whether or no the spirit dies!
Tho' dormant long, it yet survives,
With its full complement of lives.
The nature of the beast is still
To scratch and claw, if not to kill:
For royal Cats to low-born wrangling
Will superadd the gift of strangling.
Witness in modern times the fate
Of that unhappy potentate,
Who from his palace near the pole,
Where the chill waves of Neva roll,
Was snatched, while yet alive and merry,
And sent aboard old Charon's ferry.
The Styx he travers'd, execrating
A Katherine of his own creating.
Peter the Third! Illustrious peer!
Great Autocrat of half the sphere!
(At least of all the Russias, he
Was Emperor, Czar of Muscovy).
In evil hour, this simple Czar,
Impell'd by some malignant star,
Impos'd upon his new Czarina
The fatal name of Katarina;
And as Monseigneur l'Archévêque
Chose to baptise her à la grecque,
'Twas Katherina, with a K:
He rued it to his dying day:
Nay, died, as I observ'd before,
The sooner on that very score.
The Princess quickly learnt her cue,
Improv'd upon the part of Shrew,
And as the plot began to thicken,
She wrung his head off like a chicken.
In short, this despot of a wife
Robb'd the poor man of crown and life:
And robbing Peter, paid not Paul;
But clear'd the stage of great and small,
No corner of the throne could spare,
To gratify her son and heir;
But liv'd till three-score years and ten,
Still trampling on the rights of men.
Thy brief existence, hapless Peter!
Had doubtless longer been, and sweeter;
But that thou wilfully disturb'st
The harmless name she brought from Zerbst.
Nor was it even then too late,
When crown'd and register'd a Kate;
When all had trembling heard and seen
The shriller tone, and fiercer mien;
Had'st thou e'en then, without the measure
That Russian boors adopt at pleasure,
Or publishing a tedious ukase,
To blab to all the world the true case,
By virtue of th' Imperial knout,
But whipp'd th' offending letter out:
She, in the fairest page of fame,
Might then have writ her faultless name,
And thou retained thy life and crown,
'Till Time himself had mow'd them down.

Perhaps, my Lord, you think the storm
That needs must follow this reform,
And crown your philanthropic labours,
Will only crush your friends and neighbours;
While you, secure from all alarms,
May brave the alphabet in arms;
Assur'd no gathering clouds can lower
On fair Eliza's charmèd bower.
But ah! reflect—'tis worth reflection,
On one yet unforeseen objection:
Th' enormous sureties you must find
To tranquillize the public mind.
We must suppose so wise a State
Would feel the danger to be great,
Nor such delinquents would release
Till bound in form to keep the peace;
And not alone your simple word
Would satisfy the vulgar herd.
They'd large securities demand,
And seek them at your Lordship's hand,
Such as would drain your every coffer,
Tho' stored with all the wealth of Ophir.
Tho' lovely Nuneham's rich domains
Were wider than Arabian plains;
Tho' Flora, portress at your gate,
Could vegetable gold create,
And, where her orange groves ascend,
Whose boughs with yellow fruitage bend,
And scatter round from countless flowers,
With each light breeze, ambrosial showers,
That fruit could change to sterling metal,
And drop a pearl from every petal,
Scarce would the mighty pledge avail
To justify so rash a bail.
Shall you your wealth and credit barter,
For a dead letter's forfeit charter?
Shall I a helping hand extend
To aid the ruin of my friend?
Forbid it, all ye powers that bind
With potent chains the human mind;
Forbid it, all ye powers excelling
In the deep mysteries of spelling!
And ye, who teach the sons of men
To guide with faltering hand the pen,
These solemn words record—and thou,
Harcourt's dread Earl, attest my vow;
If e'er, an alien born and bred,
The K dare rear its mushroom head,—
Proved, as it is beyond dispute,
A consonant of ill repute,—
Within the precincts of my name,
And I admit th' unlawful claim,
May never syllable of mine
Reach the full length of Catherine!
Depriv'd of their baptismal right,
May they—uncouth to sound and sight—
Of self-disgrace an hideous pattern,
By my own hand be written—Kattern!