The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed Edited, with notes, by Sir George Young |
 | I. |
Part I.
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
 | II. |
| III. |
 | The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
3
I. Part I.
1823–1830
I. A FREE TRANSLATION OF A LETTER FROM PRINCE HILT TO A FRIEND AT PARIS.
4
From climate hot and hot campaign
I write, ma chère amie,
To let you know how nobly Spain
Agrees with France and me;
All folks misled by false pretences
Recover now their chains, and senses,
And all the crowds I see
Adore, without the slightest shyness,
The Inquisition, and my Highness.
I write, ma chère amie,
To let you know how nobly Spain
Agrees with France and me;
All folks misled by false pretences
Recover now their chains, and senses,
And all the crowds I see
Adore, without the slightest shyness,
The Inquisition, and my Highness.
Whene'er we meet a whiskered foe
He's sure to be defeated,
(My bulletins have told you so)
Yet corpses have retreated;
And every day the battle-slain,
Substantial ghosts, start up again,
And Hell and I are cheated,
And blade and ball begin to soften,
We kill the brutes so very often!
He's sure to be defeated,
(My bulletins have told you so)
Yet corpses have retreated;
And every day the battle-slain,
Substantial ghosts, start up again,
And Hell and I are cheated,
And blade and ball begin to soften,
We kill the brutes so very often!
5
We pass our time delightfully;
I like, as I'm a sinner,
My laurels after victory,
My claret after dinner;
Yet mirth and meat are very dear,
And pursuivant and pioneer
Are looking rather thinner;
And though I love the Spanish ladies,
I wish they'd let us into Cadiz.
I like, as I'm a sinner,
My laurels after victory,
My claret after dinner;
Yet mirth and meat are very dear,
And pursuivant and pioneer
Are looking rather thinner;
And though I love the Spanish ladies,
I wish they'd let us into Cadiz.
I also like Madrid nobility
Where Dons and Dames abound,
And patronize Madrid civility
Where drums and Vivas sound;
I also like the Friars and Nuns,
The cowls, the Canons—not the guns—
And look in rapture round
When all the Counts and all their wives
Damn the Guerrillas and their knives.
Where Dons and Dames abound,
And patronize Madrid civility
Where drums and Vivas sound;
I also like the Friars and Nuns,
The cowls, the Canons—not the guns—
And look in rapture round
When all the Counts and all their wives
Damn the Guerrillas and their knives.
The peasantry seem quite content;
The King has got the gout;
The Cortez seem securely pent—
The devil may drive them out!
Old Moncey has been often bit;
But he has length of beard and wit,
And knows what he's about;
While Mina swears in every weather,
And cuts his jokes and throats together.
The King has got the gout;
The Cortez seem securely pent—
The devil may drive them out!
Old Moncey has been often bit;
But he has length of beard and wit,
And knows what he's about;
While Mina swears in every weather,
And cuts his jokes and throats together.
6
You know O'Donnel's plot was blown;
And General Morillo
Might just as well have left alone
His little peccadillo.
They did not, sweetest love, amuse,
And were not of the smallest use;
And I must wear the willow,
And mourn that two such glorious traitors
Could only bring their grins and gaiters.
And General Morillo
Might just as well have left alone
His little peccadillo.
They did not, sweetest love, amuse,
And were not of the smallest use;
And I must wear the willow,
And mourn that two such glorious traitors
Could only bring their grins and gaiters.
Adieu! you'll understand my story
From this right royal rhyme;
I've gained a deal of ground and glory,
And lost a deal of time.
My uniform is much admired:
(I'm getting wonderfully tired)
My boots are quite sublime;
And I remember in my prayer
Paris—kid gloves—et vous ma chère!
From this right royal rhyme;
I've gained a deal of ground and glory,
And lost a deal of time.
My uniform is much admired:
(I'm getting wonderfully tired)
My boots are quite sublime;
And I remember in my prayer
Paris—kid gloves—et vous ma chère!
7
II. CHANCERY MORALS.
8
“Round, around, about, about, about:
All ill come running in, all good keep out.”—Macbeth.
Bold Benbow rubs his jovial eyes,
And lauds the Law's refinement;
Dense Dugdale is in ecstasies,
Though Carlile's in confinement;
And guilt hath wed legality;
And useful through the nation
Is prurience to publicity
And sin to circulation.
“Don Juan was a horrid beast,
And that was why we selled 'un:”
So say the Statutes; or at least
So says the Earl of Eldon.
And lauds the Law's refinement;
Dense Dugdale is in ecstasies,
Though Carlile's in confinement;
And guilt hath wed legality;
And useful through the nation
Is prurience to publicity
And sin to circulation.
“Don Juan was a horrid beast,
And that was why we selled 'un:”
So say the Statutes; or at least
So says the Earl of Eldon.
Pert Poll has come from Kentish Town
With sixpence in her pocket,
Red Rose has sold her yellow gown,
Meek Meg her little locket,
And Molly, who with Mrs. Fry
Has crammed a deal of cant, goes
To pawn her prayers for poetry,
Her canticles for Cantos.
“‘Don Juan’ is a very feast,
So wicked 'tis and well done,
We thank Heav'n for it—or at least
We thank the Earl of Eldon!”
With sixpence in her pocket,
Red Rose has sold her yellow gown,
Meek Meg her little locket,
And Molly, who with Mrs. Fry
Has crammed a deal of cant, goes
To pawn her prayers for poetry,
Her canticles for Cantos.
“‘Don Juan’ is a very feast,
So wicked 'tis and well done,
9
We thank the Earl of Eldon!”
The City hath its myriads sent
To learn what Byron's pen does,
And bakers study sentiment,
And butchers innuendoes;
And big Bow bells unheeded chime,
And Beaux and Belles grow tender;
And Taste admires a double rhyme
And Ton a double entendre;
And frail ones, whose illicit trade
Could never else have held on,
Cry “Bless my soul! our fortune's made!
Long live the Earl of Eldon!”
To learn what Byron's pen does,
And bakers study sentiment,
And butchers innuendoes;
And big Bow bells unheeded chime,
And Beaux and Belles grow tender;
And Taste admires a double rhyme
And Ton a double entendre;
And frail ones, whose illicit trade
Could never else have held on,
Cry “Bless my soul! our fortune's made!
Long live the Earl of Eldon!”
The girls of the Academy,
With empty heads and purses,
Bless Charity and Chancery
For cheapening naughty verses;
And Mauds and Marys peep and pay
With sigh and shilling ready,
And Anna envies “Julia,”
And Araminta “Haidee”;
And Gouvernantes are furious quite—
“Lord! what have Bet and Bell done?
They've read ‘Don Juan’ through to-night,
And blest the Earl of Eldon!”
With empty heads and purses,
Bless Charity and Chancery
For cheapening naughty verses;
And Mauds and Marys peep and pay
With sigh and shilling ready,
And Anna envies “Julia,”
And Araminta “Haidee”;
And Gouvernantes are furious quite—
“Lord! what have Bet and Bell done?
They've read ‘Don Juan’ through to-night,
And blest the Earl of Eldon!”
10
Bad Byron loathes the legal Fence,
The guardian of good order,
The conqueror of common sense
From Cornwall to the Border;
And damns his doubts and his delays,
His quibbles and quotations,
His knowing nods and solemn says,
His robes and revelations.
“This piracy will never do!
I'll send you down to Hell, Don;
The devils have a right to you—
So says the Earl of Eldon.”
The guardian of good order,
The conqueror of common sense
From Cornwall to the Border;
And damns his doubts and his delays,
His quibbles and quotations,
His knowing nods and solemn says,
His robes and revelations.
“This piracy will never do!
I'll send you down to Hell, Don;
The devils have a right to you—
So says the Earl of Eldon.”
11
III. LETTERS TO ILLUSTRIOUS CHARACTERS.
I.—A COMPLIMENTARY EPISTLE TO THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.
Great Sire, since Princes sometimes ask—
For Princes are but men—
Respite from table and from task,
From Petersburg's enlivening flask
And Pozzo's patent pen,
Don't give your Royal brain the vapours
By opening Opposition papers;
Leave Prince and Parliament alone,
To squabble for their barren bone;
While Pittites pout and Foxites fume,
And Mr. Peel drubs Mr. Hume,
Mind only how your Guards are laced,
And pinch your subjects, and your waist,
And put embroidery on your breeches,
And read no more of Tierney's speeches.
For Princes are but men—
Respite from table and from task,
From Petersburg's enlivening flask
And Pozzo's patent pen,
12
By opening Opposition papers;
Leave Prince and Parliament alone,
To squabble for their barren bone;
While Pittites pout and Foxites fume,
And Mr. Peel drubs Mr. Hume,
Mind only how your Guards are laced,
And pinch your subjects, and your waist,
And put embroidery on your breeches,
And read no more of Tierney's speeches.
For me, I am a loyal wight,
And love to flatter Princes;
The Treasury triumphs when I write,
And all the faction winces;
And I am going to compare
Your father's honourable heir
With Philip's less resplendent son,
The glory of old Macedon.
Look very grand and very gracious,
And smooth your brow and your mustachios,
And let a would-be Laureate tell a
Few stories of the Prince of Pella.
And love to flatter Princes;
The Treasury triumphs when I write,
And all the faction winces;
And I am going to compare
Your father's honourable heir
With Philip's less resplendent son,
The glory of old Macedon.
Look very grand and very gracious,
And smooth your brow and your mustachios,
And let a would-be Laureate tell a
Few stories of the Prince of Pella.
Philip and Paul, your sire and his,
Both found a gory bier;
He shed the murderers' blood for this,
And you—the mourner's tear;
He rooted up, you down—the weed;
And sage was your adviser,
For his might be the holier deed,
But yours was far the wiser;
Your boasting, like his bowl, mounts high;
He poured his long libations
As quickly as your Majesty
Can pour your protestations;
And Greece was ever fond of whim,
And fond of falsehood too,
And, as she swallowed wine for him,
She swallows lies for you.
Both made a bonfire in the land,
For love's—or glory's lures;
Sweet Thais lit the Grecian brand,
And sour Rostopchin yours.
Your torch was dipped in grief and gore,
And his in mirth and laughter;
He drank a drop or two before,
You wept as many after.
You both were swift in letting blood,
And both were swift in swearing,
And, if he passed Granicus' flood,
Why, you have passed all bearing;
So both have made a monstrous fuss,
And made the barbers prate,
And you are dubbed Magnanimous,
And he was voted Great.
And lauded and bespattered thus
By gazers and by gapers,
He lies in his sarcophagus,
And you—in your state-papers.
Both found a gory bier;
He shed the murderers' blood for this,
And you—the mourner's tear;
13
And sage was your adviser,
For his might be the holier deed,
But yours was far the wiser;
Your boasting, like his bowl, mounts high;
He poured his long libations
As quickly as your Majesty
Can pour your protestations;
And Greece was ever fond of whim,
And fond of falsehood too,
And, as she swallowed wine for him,
She swallows lies for you.
Both made a bonfire in the land,
For love's—or glory's lures;
Sweet Thais lit the Grecian brand,
And sour Rostopchin yours.
Your torch was dipped in grief and gore,
And his in mirth and laughter;
He drank a drop or two before,
You wept as many after.
You both were swift in letting blood,
And both were swift in swearing,
And, if he passed Granicus' flood,
Why, you have passed all bearing;
So both have made a monstrous fuss,
And made the barbers prate,
And you are dubbed Magnanimous,
And he was voted Great.
14
By gazers and by gapers,
He lies in his sarcophagus,
And you—in your state-papers.
And so farewell! Live on, in all
That decks a crown with gladness,
In tented field and tapestried hall,
In majesty and madness;
Enjoy the tailor's cunning toil,
And patronize Macassar Oil,
And never heed how Canning frets,
And plan your soldiers' epaulettes;
And sleep, begirt by vows and verses,
And bowing Counts, and bitter curses.
That decks a crown with gladness,
In tented field and tapestried hall,
In majesty and madness;
Enjoy the tailor's cunning toil,
And patronize Macassar Oil,
And never heed how Canning frets,
And plan your soldiers' epaulettes;
And sleep, begirt by vows and verses,
And bowing Counts, and bitter curses.
15
IV. LETTERS TO ILLUSTRIOUS CHARACTERS.
II.—TO LA DESIRÉE OF LE DESIRÉ.
Fair Lady, from whose lips and eyes
The Royal Bourbon snatches
Oblivion of rebellious cries,
Thick legs and thicker Deputies,
Short wit and long despatches,
Sweet Sorceress, at whose smile or frown,
The Father of all France
Sinks all the sorrows of the Crown,
And leaves the Duke to take the town,
Or else—to take his chance;
Forgive me if I dare intrude
On your exalted station,
And venture—I was always rude—
To greet you in your solitude
With song and salutation.
The Royal Bourbon snatches
Oblivion of rebellious cries,
Thick legs and thicker Deputies,
Short wit and long despatches,
Sweet Sorceress, at whose smile or frown,
The Father of all France
16
And leaves the Duke to take the town,
Or else—to take his chance;
Forgive me if I dare intrude
On your exalted station,
And venture—I was always rude—
To greet you in your solitude
With song and salutation.
Queen of the play-house and the Press,
Of operas and of odes,
Supreme o'er dances and o'er dress,
All-influencing patroness
Of ministers and modes,
'Tis yours—'tis yours to bring again
Legitimacy's glorious reign,
And fill again the arms of kings
With liaisons and twenty things
Which fled in horror from the scene
Of Sansculotte and Guillotine.
Of operas and of odes,
Supreme o'er dances and o'er dress,
All-influencing patroness
Of ministers and modes,
'Tis yours—'tis yours to bring again
Legitimacy's glorious reign,
And fill again the arms of kings
With liaisons and twenty things
Which fled in horror from the scene
Of Sansculotte and Guillotine.
Yours is the great and varied sway
Which politics and pins obey;
Yours is the empire, as is fit,
O'er Church and Senate, war and wit,
Curés and canons, marshals, misses,
Cards, compliments, charades, and kisses,
The soldier's sash, the poet's dream,
New bonnets, and the old régime.
The fair and faded Marquis flies
To tell his griefs to you,
With dingy coat and twitching eyes,
Cold sentiments and burning sighs,
Long stories and long queue.
To you the happy author brings
His dry though dripping sheet,
And reads, and raves, and swears, and sings,
And eulogizes limping kings
In very limping feet;
And advocates fill up the crowd
Immensely ignorant and loud,
And officers with bloodless blades,
Who practise grins and gasconnades,
And doat on laces and liqueur,
Love, glory, and the Moniteur;
And the Prince-Prelate—for he knows
How all the pageant comes and goes,
Looks on in silence all the while
With shaking head and quiet smile,
And smothers, till a proper season,
His studied jest and plotted treason.
Which politics and pins obey;
Yours is the empire, as is fit,
O'er Church and Senate, war and wit,
Curés and canons, marshals, misses,
Cards, compliments, charades, and kisses,
The soldier's sash, the poet's dream,
New bonnets, and the old régime.
17
To tell his griefs to you,
With dingy coat and twitching eyes,
Cold sentiments and burning sighs,
Long stories and long queue.
To you the happy author brings
His dry though dripping sheet,
And reads, and raves, and swears, and sings,
And eulogizes limping kings
In very limping feet;
And advocates fill up the crowd
Immensely ignorant and loud,
And officers with bloodless blades,
Who practise grins and gasconnades,
And doat on laces and liqueur,
Love, glory, and the Moniteur;
And the Prince-Prelate—for he knows
How all the pageant comes and goes,
Looks on in silence all the while
With shaking head and quiet smile,
And smothers, till a proper season,
His studied jest and plotted treason.
Thrice blest is he for whom you deck
Your boudoir and your curls,
For whom you clothe your snowy neck
In perfumes and in pearls;
Thrice blest, for he remembers not
That horrible Convention,
The perils of his exiled lot,
His patrons, and his pension;
And Spain is low, and Rentes are high,
In spite of Lafayette;
And Paris is in ecstasy,
And England is in debt;
And Soult and Suchet fret and grieve,
And pretty Poissardes bellow “Vive!”
And Murder sleeps in St. Helena,
And Moncey is besieging Mina;
And that dark day can ne'er come back,
When stars and ribbands went to wrack,
When Gallia lost her lord and master,
And Peace fled fast, and he fled faster;
And all the fops who drank and dressed,
And wore a trinket at the breast,
In peril of their life and limb,
Packed up their trunks, and followed him.
Your boudoir and your curls,
For whom you clothe your snowy neck
In perfumes and in pearls;
18
That horrible Convention,
The perils of his exiled lot,
His patrons, and his pension;
And Spain is low, and Rentes are high,
In spite of Lafayette;
And Paris is in ecstasy,
And England is in debt;
And Soult and Suchet fret and grieve,
And pretty Poissardes bellow “Vive!”
And Murder sleeps in St. Helena,
And Moncey is besieging Mina;
And that dark day can ne'er come back,
When stars and ribbands went to wrack,
When Gallia lost her lord and master,
And Peace fled fast, and he fled faster;
And all the fops who drank and dressed,
And wore a trinket at the breast,
In peril of their life and limb,
Packed up their trunks, and followed him.
19
V. LOVE'S ETERNITY.
20
“Cum Paris Enone potuit sperare relicta
Ad fontem Xanthi versa recurrit aqua.”—Ovid.
What need of wit? What need of wile?
I know your eyes are killing;
But oh! he isn't worth a smile,
Who isn't worth a shilling!
And yet, by all the gods of rhyme,
And by your lips I swear,
Though all my love is loss of time
And all my hope despair,
The glittering stream shall cease to stray,
The wind refuse to rove,
All solid things shall melt away,
Before I cease to love!
I know your eyes are killing;
But oh! he isn't worth a smile,
Who isn't worth a shilling!
And yet, by all the gods of rhyme,
And by your lips I swear,
Though all my love is loss of time
And all my hope despair,
The glittering stream shall cease to stray,
The wind refuse to rove,
All solid things shall melt away,
Before I cease to love!
Fair Freedom shall be found in Quod,
Stern Justice in the Quorum,
Carlile shall praise the grace of God,
John Bull shall learn decorum,
Loyal addresses shall omit
“Our fortunes and our lives,”
The Commons shall be famed for wit,
The Lords for virtuous wives,
The Tenth shall dress without a glass
Or dine with one remove,
All monstrous things shall come to pass
Before I cease to love.
Stern Justice in the Quorum,
Carlile shall praise the grace of God,
John Bull shall learn decorum,
Loyal addresses shall omit
“Our fortunes and our lives,”
The Commons shall be famed for wit,
The Lords for virtuous wives,
The Tenth shall dress without a glass
Or dine with one remove,
All monstrous things shall come to pass
Before I cease to love.
21
Young widowhood shall lose its weeds,
Old kings shall loathe the Tories,
And monks be tired of telling beads,
And blues of telling stories;
And titled suitors shall be crossed,
And famished poets married,
And Canning's motion shall be lost
And Hume's amendment carried,
And Chancery shall cease to doubt,
And Algebra to prove,
And hoops come in, and gas go out,
Before I cease to love.
Old kings shall loathe the Tories,
And monks be tired of telling beads,
And blues of telling stories;
And titled suitors shall be crossed,
And famished poets married,
And Canning's motion shall be lost
And Hume's amendment carried,
And Chancery shall cease to doubt,
And Algebra to prove,
And hoops come in, and gas go out,
Before I cease to love.
And Peel shall sink his Popery-cry,
And Buxton lay his plans down,
And Bankes shall vote with honesty,
And Liverpool with Lansdowne;
And hungry knights shall lose their steak
And never talk of pairing,
And county members keep awake
Through half an hour of Baring;
And not a soul shall go to grin
When Martin goes to move,
And Mr. Cobbett shall get in,
Before I cease to love!
And Buxton lay his plans down,
And Bankes shall vote with honesty,
And Liverpool with Lansdowne;
And hungry knights shall lose their steak
And never talk of pairing,
And county members keep awake
Through half an hour of Baring;
And not a soul shall go to grin
When Martin goes to move,
And Mr. Cobbett shall get in,
Before I cease to love!
Good sense shall go to Parliament,
The tithe shall be abated,
A Papist shall be innocent,
A slave emancipated,
A French gallant shall break his heart,
A Spanish Count his fetters,
A fortune-teller trust her art,
A Radical his betters;
A pretty face shall like a veil,
A pretty hand a glove,
And Reason win, and bribery fail,
Before I cease to love.
The tithe shall be abated,
22
A slave emancipated,
A French gallant shall break his heart,
A Spanish Count his fetters,
A fortune-teller trust her art,
A Radical his betters;
A pretty face shall like a veil,
A pretty hand a glove,
And Reason win, and bribery fail,
Before I cease to love.
In short, the world shall all go mad,
And saints shall take to masquing,
And kisses and estates be had
For nothing but the asking;
And beauty shall be ugliness,
And ocean shall be dry,
And passion shall be passionless
And truth itself a lie,
And “Stars” shall cease to shine below,
And stars to shine above,
And Cunningham be left for Lowe,
Before I cease to love.
And saints shall take to masquing,
And kisses and estates be had
For nothing but the asking;
And beauty shall be ugliness,
And ocean shall be dry,
And passion shall be passionless
And truth itself a lie,
And “Stars” shall cease to shine below,
And stars to shine above,
And Cunningham be left for Lowe,
Before I cease to love.
23
VI. A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES.
24
“Ici finit le roman; où l'on remarquera que je ne suis pas heureux
dans la conclusion de mes amours.”—Rousseau.
Lady, I loved you all last year,
How honestly and well—
Alas! would weary you to hear,
And torture me to tell;
I raved beneath the midnight sky,
I sang beneath the limes—
Orlando in my lunacy,
And Petrarch in my rhymes.
But all is over! When the sun
Dries up the boundless main,
When black is white, false-hearted one,
I may be yours again!
How honestly and well—
Alas! would weary you to hear,
And torture me to tell;
I raved beneath the midnight sky,
I sang beneath the limes—
Orlando in my lunacy,
And Petrarch in my rhymes.
But all is over! When the sun
Dries up the boundless main,
25
I may be yours again!
When passion's early hopes and fears
Are not derided things;
When truth is found in falling tears,
Or faith in golden rings;
When the dark Fates that rule our way
Instruct me where they hide
One woman that would ne'er betray,
One friend that never lied;
When summer shines without a cloud,
And bliss without a pain;
When worth is noticed in a crowd,
I may be yours again!
Are not derided things;
When truth is found in falling tears,
Or faith in golden rings;
When the dark Fates that rule our way
Instruct me where they hide
One woman that would ne'er betray,
One friend that never lied;
When summer shines without a cloud,
And bliss without a pain;
When worth is noticed in a crowd,
I may be yours again!
When science pours the light of day
Upon the lords of lands;
When Huskisson is heard to say
That Lethbridge understands;
When wrinkles work their way in youth,
Or Eldon's in a hurry;
When lawyers represent the truth,
Or Mr. Sumner Surrey;
When aldermen taste eloquence
Or bricklayers champagne;
When common law is common sense,
I may be yours again
Upon the lords of lands;
When Huskisson is heard to say
That Lethbridge understands;
When wrinkles work their way in youth,
Or Eldon's in a hurry;
When lawyers represent the truth,
Or Mr. Sumner Surrey;
When aldermen taste eloquence
Or bricklayers champagne;
When common law is common sense,
I may be yours again
26
When learned judges play the beau,
Or learned pigs the tabor;
When traveller Bankes beats Cicero,
Or Mr. Bishop Weber;
When Sinking Funds discharge a debt,
Or female hands a bomb;
When bankrupts study the Gazette,
Or colleges Tom Thumb;
When little fishes learn to speak,
Or poets not to feign;
When Dr. Geldart construes Greek,
I may be yours again!
Or learned pigs the tabor;
When traveller Bankes beats Cicero,
Or Mr. Bishop Weber;
When Sinking Funds discharge a debt,
Or female hands a bomb;
When bankrupts study the Gazette,
Or colleges Tom Thumb;
When little fishes learn to speak,
Or poets not to feign;
When Dr. Geldart construes Greek,
I may be yours again!
When Pole and Thornton honour cheques,
Or Mr. Const a rogue;
When Jericho's in Middlesex,
Or minuets in vogue;
When Highgate goes to Devonport,
Or fashion to Guildhall;
When argument is heard at Court,
Or Mr. Wynn at all;
When Sidney Smith forgets to jest,
Or farmers to complain;
When kings that are are not the best,
I may be yours again!
Or Mr. Const a rogue;
When Jericho's in Middlesex,
Or minuets in vogue;
When Highgate goes to Devonport,
Or fashion to Guildhall;
When argument is heard at Court,
Or Mr. Wynn at all;
When Sidney Smith forgets to jest,
Or farmers to complain;
When kings that are are not the best,
I may be yours again!
When peers from telling money shrink,
Or monks from telling lies;
When hydrogen begins to sink,
Or Grecian scrip to rise;
When German poets cease to dream,
Americans to guess;
When Freedom sheds her holy beam
On Negroes, and the Press;
When there is any fear of Rome,
Or any hope of Spain;
When Ireland is a happy home,
I may be yours again!
Or monks from telling lies;
27
Or Grecian scrip to rise;
When German poets cease to dream,
Americans to guess;
When Freedom sheds her holy beam
On Negroes, and the Press;
When there is any fear of Rome,
Or any hope of Spain;
When Ireland is a happy home,
I may be yours again!
When you can cancel what has been,
Or alter what must be,
Or bring once more that vanished scene,
Those withered joys, to me;
When you can tune the broken lute,
Or deck the blighted wreath,
Or rear the garden's richest fruit,
Upon a blasted heath;
When you can lure the wolf at bay
Back to his shattered chain,
To-day may then be yesterday—
I may be yours again!
Or alter what must be,
Or bring once more that vanished scene,
Those withered joys, to me;
When you can tune the broken lute,
Or deck the blighted wreath,
Or rear the garden's richest fruit,
Upon a blasted heath;
When you can lure the wolf at bay
Back to his shattered chain,
To-day may then be yesterday—
I may be yours again!
28
VII. ODE TO THE CHANCELLOR.
29
Old Lady of Chancery, why do you tarry
So long on the throne of your vanishing reign?
The neighbourhood titters whene'er you miscarry,
And hints that your labours are labours in vain.
So long on the throne of your vanishing reign?
The neighbourhood titters whene'er you miscarry,
And hints that your labours are labours in vain.
There is one thing at least, which your closest endeavour
Will hardly discover a reason to doubt,
That be candles and statesmen how wicked soever,
All candles and statesmen at last must go out.
Will hardly discover a reason to doubt,
That be candles and statesmen how wicked soever,
All candles and statesmen at last must go out.
When girls in their summer begin to grow willing,
Their grandmothers think about making their wills;
And oh, you had better be done with your billing,
Before your old lovers say “no” to your bills!
Their grandmothers think about making their wills;
And oh, you had better be done with your billing,
Before your old lovers say “no” to your bills!
'Tis all very pretty, when love or defiance
Is breathed from the lips of a younger coquette;
When Peel is seduced by the Holy Alliance,
Or Robinson flirts with the National Debt.
Is breathed from the lips of a younger coquette;
When Peel is seduced by the Holy Alliance,
Or Robinson flirts with the National Debt.
But it is not for you, when the grave gapes before you,
To be scaring gilt stars with those wrinkles of awe;
Giving garters and ribbands to fools who adore you,
And stealing silk gowns from your daughters-in-law.
To be scaring gilt stars with those wrinkles of awe;
30
And stealing silk gowns from your daughters-in-law.
Sweet Gifford, I grant, as your tenderness taught her,
May flaunt in rich suits, and be kind to appeals;
And dabble her scull in the dirtiest water,
Like a Greenlander, all for the love of the seals;
May flaunt in rich suits, and be kind to appeals;
And dabble her scull in the dirtiest water,
Like a Greenlander, all for the love of the seals;
But you—put your salary up in your full sack,
And go to your grave with a gentle decline;
Take a nightcap of woollens instead of a wool-sack,
And leave to George Canning his roses and wine.
And go to your grave with a gentle decline;
Take a nightcap of woollens instead of a wool-sack,
And leave to George Canning his roses and wine.
31
VIII. WISDOM OF THE GREAT COUNCIL. I.
32
“Ere our measures we move, our facts we must prove,”
Says the solemn official Goulburn;
And proceeds with grave face to establish his case,
Like a meagre octavo from Colburn:
Undertaking to show that a vigorous blow,
Struck home by the heads of the nation,
In the name of the Crown, ought at once to put down
The Catholic Association.
Says the solemn official Goulburn;
And proceeds with grave face to establish his case,
Like a meagre octavo from Colburn:
Undertaking to show that a vigorous blow,
Struck home by the heads of the nation,
In the name of the Crown, ought at once to put down
The Catholic Association.
“Sir, they never were sent to misrepresent
Our counties, ports, boroughs and cities;
Yet they constantly ape our voice, manner and shape,
Standing orders and standing committees;
Self-convoked, self-returned, self-controlled, self-adjourned,
Without more than six weeks' vacation,
They make such a fuss, not a soul cares for Us:
This impudent Association!
Our counties, ports, boroughs and cities;
33
Standing orders and standing committees;
Self-convoked, self-returned, self-controlled, self-adjourned,
Without more than six weeks' vacation,
They make such a fuss, not a soul cares for Us:
This impudent Association!
“How freely they sent their Catholic “Rent”
(A Popish misnomer for taxing),
While Robinson burns at their easy returns
Who pocket the money for axing!
Very true, they're not willing to part with a shilling;
Their subscriptions are mere affectation,
By menaces made up—though readily paid up—
Hypocritical Association!
(A Popish misnomer for taxing),
While Robinson burns at their easy returns
Who pocket the money for axing!
Very true, they're not willing to part with a shilling;
Their subscriptions are mere affectation,
By menaces made up—though readily paid up—
Hypocritical Association!
“Our reliance how just, that the law we could trust
For protecting our wives and our daughters—
Though we very well know, only three years ago
Ireland lay like a log on the waters!
What monsters are those, who dare interpose
In our criminal administration!
Though all the committed are tried—and acquitted;
What a culpable Association!
For protecting our wives and our daughters—
Though we very well know, only three years ago
Ireland lay like a log on the waters!
What monsters are those, who dare interpose
In our criminal administration!
Though all the committed are tried—and acquitted;
What a culpable Association!
34
“Sir, turning from Law, we must listen with awe
To the sounds of confusion and riot;
But if all tamely sit, and in silence submit—
They are still more alarming when quiet!
Of all evils accurst, civil war is the worst,
And fiery insubordination!
Better bloodshed and rout, than a peace brought about
By this damnable Association!
To the sounds of confusion and riot;
But if all tamely sit, and in silence submit—
They are still more alarming when quiet!
Of all evils accurst, civil war is the worst,
And fiery insubordination!
Better bloodshed and rout, than a peace brought about
By this damnable Association!
“Sir, I hold that the priests are no better than beasts—
In spite of some trifling varieties;
And beg to disclaim all this fury and flame
On the part of the Bible Societies.
The Ass in the Fable was quite as much able
In Heaven to produce agitation,
As aught this side Hell—but the soul-shaking bell
Of the Catholic Association!
In spite of some trifling varieties;
And beg to disclaim all this fury and flame
On the part of the Bible Societies.
The Ass in the Fable was quite as much able
In Heaven to produce agitation,
As aught this side Hell—but the soul-shaking bell
Of the Catholic Association!
“Without throwing dirt, I most fully assert—
Contradict me who dare or who can, Sir—
That our foes are plunged in incompatible sin!
Let the votes of this House give the answer
Most humble, yet proudest—most silent, yet loudest—
The greatest—and least—in creation,
The strongest—the weakest, the fiercest—the meekest,
Is the Catholic Association.
Contradict me who dare or who can, Sir—
That our foes are plunged in incompatible sin!
Let the votes of this House give the answer
Most humble, yet proudest—most silent, yet loudest—
The greatest—and least—in creation,
35
Is the Catholic Association.
“We must check by main force their dangerous course,
Put them down by the sword of the Law, Sir!
But if our Act fail, our mere wish will prevail,
And our enemies, bowing, withdraw—Sir!”
He ceased. Mr. Butterworth, a preacher from Lutterworth,
Stood as clerk to his clear predication;
Most pious of laymen, he groaned a grave Amen!
So good-night to the Association!
Put them down by the sword of the Law, Sir!
But if our Act fail, our mere wish will prevail,
And our enemies, bowing, withdraw—Sir!”
He ceased. Mr. Butterworth, a preacher from Lutterworth,
Stood as clerk to his clear predication;
Most pious of laymen, he groaned a grave Amen!
So good-night to the Association!
36
IX. WISDOM OF THE GREAT COUNCIL. II.
37
“So help me God!”—Speech of the Duke of York.
“God help thee, silly one!”—Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin.
“My lords, since things at last are come
To such a situation,
That members of the Church of Rome
Grow weary of starvation;
Since in the Commons House for once
Some common sense is seated,
Since Mr. Bankes is called a dunce
And Mr. Peel defeated;
Since Noble Lords begin to joke
When Orthodoxy preaches,
And toil profanely to provoke
Meek prelates to make speeches;
Since Plunket is not deemed a thief;
Since placemen talk of reason;
Since freedom is not unbelief,
Nor toleration treason,
Nought but a Godhead, or an ass,
Can mar this wicked work.
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
To such a situation,
That members of the Church of Rome
Grow weary of starvation;
Since in the Commons House for once
Some common sense is seated,
Since Mr. Bankes is called a dunce
And Mr. Peel defeated;
Since Noble Lords begin to joke
When Orthodoxy preaches,
And toil profanely to provoke
Meek prelates to make speeches;
Since Plunket is not deemed a thief;
Since placemen talk of reason;
Since freedom is not unbelief,
Nor toleration treason,
Nought but a Godhead, or an ass,
Can mar this wicked work.
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
“Though Mr. Leslie Foster winced
From what he once asserted;
Though Mr. Brownlow is convinced,
And Mr. North converted;
Though even country gentlemen
Are sick of half their maggots,
And rustics mock the Vicar, when
He prates of fiery faggots;
Though Hume and Brougham and twenty more
Are swaggering and swearing,
And Scarlett hopes the scarlet whore
Will not be found past bearing;
Though Reverend Norwich does not mind
The feuds of two and seven,
And trusts that humble prayer may find
A dozen roads to Heaven;
Till royal heads are lit with gas—
Till Hebrews dine off pork—
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
From what he once asserted;
38
And Mr. North converted;
Though even country gentlemen
Are sick of half their maggots,
And rustics mock the Vicar, when
He prates of fiery faggots;
Though Hume and Brougham and twenty more
Are swaggering and swearing,
And Scarlett hopes the scarlet whore
Will not be found past bearing;
Though Reverend Norwich does not mind
The feuds of two and seven,
And trusts that humble prayer may find
A dozen roads to Heaven;
Till royal heads are lit with gas—
Till Hebrews dine off pork—
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
“Let England from her slumbers wake
To greet her best adviser,
And know, that nought on earth can make
The Heir Apparent wiser.
I care not how the seasons fly;
How circumstances alter;
I care not for necessity,
Which makes Olympus falter;
I care not for a Parliament;
I care not for a people;
I care not for an argument
As long as Strasburg steeple;
I care not who are faithful still,
I care not who are failers,
In short, I care for Burdett's bill
As much as for my tailor's;
And though the rebels rise en masse
With bludgeon and with fork,
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
To greet her best adviser,
And know, that nought on earth can make
The Heir Apparent wiser.
I care not how the seasons fly;
How circumstances alter;
I care not for necessity,
Which makes Olympus falter;
39
I care not for a people;
I care not for an argument
As long as Strasburg steeple;
I care not who are faithful still,
I care not who are failers,
In short, I care for Burdett's bill
As much as for my tailor's;
And though the rebels rise en masse
With bludgeon and with fork,
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
“Oh, yes, let English wrath appal
The Irish brutes and Catos;
And let the curse of famine fall
On all who eat potatoes;
Let gold, my Lords, be spent like dust,
Let blood be spilt like water,
Let churchmen preach by cut and thrust,
And educate by slaughter;
Let Bradley King and Harcourt Lees
Awake their zeal and learning,
And nib their pen for rhapsodies,
And light their torch for burning;
Let Paget choose a proper stand
Against the Pope's invaders,
And Chester raise his reverend hand
To bless the Lord's crusaders;
Let Ireland read a mournful mass
From Holyhead to Cork:
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
The Irish brutes and Catos;
And let the curse of famine fall
On all who eat potatoes;
Let gold, my Lords, be spent like dust,
Let blood be spilt like water,
Let churchmen preach by cut and thrust,
And educate by slaughter;
Let Bradley King and Harcourt Lees
Awake their zeal and learning,
And nib their pen for rhapsodies,
And light their torch for burning;
Let Paget choose a proper stand
Against the Pope's invaders,
40
To bless the Lord's crusaders;
Let Ireland read a mournful mass
From Holyhead to Cork:
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
“And think, my Lords! when kings are crowned
A solemn oath is plighted;
Which he who thinks an empty sound
Is grievously benighted;
And sure, my Lords, that noble lord
Has very little breeding
Who asks a king to break his word
To save a little bleeding!
I speak my own peculiar creed;
I answer for no other;
Of course I don't presume to read
The conscience of my brother;
But I, where'er my head may rest,
Whate'er my lot or station—
I pledge myself to do my best
To plague the Irish nation.
There once a clever fable was
About a Log, and Stork:
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
A solemn oath is plighted;
Which he who thinks an empty sound
Is grievously benighted;
And sure, my Lords, that noble lord
Has very little breeding
Who asks a king to break his word
To save a little bleeding!
I speak my own peculiar creed;
I answer for no other;
Of course I don't presume to read
The conscience of my brother;
But I, where'er my head may rest,
Whate'er my lot or station—
I pledge myself to do my best
To plague the Irish nation.
There once a clever fable was
About a Log, and Stork:
My Lords, this Bill shall never pass,
So help me God!” said York.
41
X. THE LAY OF THE CHEESE.
“Does your Honour like cheese?” “Like it!” said the Duke, whose
good-nature anticipated what was to follow, “cakes and cheese are a
dinner for an Emperor!”—Heart of Midlothian.
The Pope, that pagan full of pride,
From whom may Heaven defend us,
Did lay one summer eventide,
A horrid plot to end us;
O'Connell came and talked his fill;
Sir Francis Burdett made a Bill;
And honest men felt great alarms,
Both for their faiths and for their farms,
Solid men of Cheshire!
From whom may Heaven defend us,
Did lay one summer eventide,
A horrid plot to end us;
42
Sir Francis Burdett made a Bill;
And honest men felt great alarms,
Both for their faiths and for their farms,
Solid men of Cheshire!
We heard around the savage cries
Of men with ragged breeches,
Who practised the barbarities
Of making hay—and speeches;
And Popish priests, disguised like Whigs,
Prepared to steal the Parson's pigs,
To overthrow the Church and steeple
And break the backs of upright people,
Solid men of Cheshire!
Of men with ragged breeches,
Who practised the barbarities
Of making hay—and speeches;
And Popish priests, disguised like Whigs,
Prepared to steal the Parson's pigs,
To overthrow the Church and steeple
And break the backs of upright people,
Solid men of Cheshire!
Then up the Heir Apparent got
Of Britain's wide dominion,
And said that Heaven and Earth should not
Demolish his opinion;
That Heirs Apparent were not meant
To listen to an argument,
And bringing Royal Dukes to reason,
He thought, was little short of treason—
Solid men of Cheshire.
Of Britain's wide dominion,
And said that Heaven and Earth should not
Demolish his opinion;
That Heirs Apparent were not meant
To listen to an argument,
And bringing Royal Dukes to reason,
He thought, was little short of treason—
Solid men of Cheshire.
And what reward did men devise
For such a peroration,
Which saved their lives and liberties
From transubstantiation?
A long address, filled full of beauties,
Expressive of their loves and duties;
And also a prodigious cheese,
As heavy as Sir Harcourt Lees—
Solid men of Cheshire.
For such a peroration,
43
From transubstantiation?
A long address, filled full of beauties,
Expressive of their loves and duties;
And also a prodigious cheese,
As heavy as Sir Harcourt Lees—
Solid men of Cheshire.
Rank makes a virtue of a sin;
Small labour it would cost one
To prove that Peers a cheese may win,
As Æsop's magpie lost one.
The Prince and pie perhaps inherit
A voice of nearly equal merit;
A fox induced the bird to puke;
A lawyer bammed the Royal Duke—
Solid men of Cheshire.
Small labour it would cost one
To prove that Peers a cheese may win,
As Æsop's magpie lost one.
The Prince and pie perhaps inherit
A voice of nearly equal merit;
A fox induced the bird to puke;
A lawyer bammed the Royal Duke—
Solid men of Cheshire.
“Blest cheese,” said girls in grogram vests,
“Rub off your rural shyness;
And feast his Royal Highness' guests,
And feast his Royal Highness.
'Tis thine to catch the sweets that slip
From Mr. Peel's melodious lip,
The Chancellor's Bœotian thunders,
And Blomfield's Æschylean blunders—
Solid men of Cheshine.
“Rub off your rural shyness;
And feast his Royal Highness' guests,
And feast his Royal Highness.
'Tis thine to catch the sweets that slip
From Mr. Peel's melodious lip,
The Chancellor's Bœotian thunders,
And Blomfield's Æschylean blunders—
Solid men of Cheshine.
44
“The Parmesan upon the board
Shall tasteless seem before thee,
And many a spiritual lord
Shall breathe a blessing o'er thee;
A hallowed spot the shrine shall be,
Where'er a shrine is made for thee,
And none but Reverend Rats shall dare
To taste a single morsel there—
Solid men of Cheshire.”
Shall tasteless seem before thee,
And many a spiritual lord
Shall breathe a blessing o'er thee;
A hallowed spot the shrine shall be,
Where'er a shrine is made for thee,
And none but Reverend Rats shall dare
To taste a single morsel there—
Solid men of Cheshire.”
Alas, the fatal sisters frowned
Upon the promised pleasure;
The creditors came darkly round,
And seized the ponderous treasure!
But yet, to ease the Duke's distress,
They forwarded the long address,
Because—to strip the fact of feigning—
The paper was not worth detaining!
Solid men of Cheshire!
Upon the promised pleasure;
The creditors came darkly round,
And seized the ponderous treasure!
But yet, to ease the Duke's distress,
They forwarded the long address,
Because—to strip the fact of feigning—
The paper was not worth detaining!
Solid men of Cheshire!
45
XI. ROYAL EDUCATION.
A NURSERY SONG.
I am a babe of royalty;
Queen Charlotte was my grannam;
And Parliament has voted me
Six thousand pounds per annum;
To teach me how to read and write,
To teach me elocution,
To teach me how to feast and fight
For the king and constitution,
As a well-taught Prince should do,
Who is taught by contribution.
Queen Charlotte was my grannam;
And Parliament has voted me
Six thousand pounds per annum;
To teach me how to read and write,
To teach me elocution,
To teach me how to feast and fight
For the king and constitution,
46
Who is taught by contribution.
I'll have a doll of porphyry
With diamonds in her curls,
And a rocking-horse of ivory,
And a skipping rope of pearls;
I'll have a painted paper kite
With banker's bills for wings,
And a golden fiddle to play at night
With a silver wire for strings,
As a well-taught Prince should have,
Who is sprung from the German kings.
With diamonds in her curls,
And a rocking-horse of ivory,
And a skipping rope of pearls;
I'll have a painted paper kite
With banker's bills for wings,
And a golden fiddle to play at night
With a silver wire for strings,
As a well-taught Prince should have,
Who is sprung from the German kings.
My woman of the bed chamber
Shall dress in the finest silk;
And a nobleman of Hanover
Shall boil my bread and milk;
My breeches shall be of cloth of gold,
My night-cap of Mechlin lace,
And Cologne water, hot and cold,
Shall be ready to wash my face,
As a well-taught Prince should wash,
Who is come of a royal race.
Shall dress in the finest silk;
And a nobleman of Hanover
Shall boil my bread and milk;
My breeches shall be of cloth of gold,
My night-cap of Mechlin lace,
And Cologne water, hot and cold,
Shall be ready to wash my face,
As a well-taught Prince should wash,
Who is come of a royal race.
And when my coach and six shall jog,
With horns, huzzas, and banners,
To some gaunt German pedagogue
Who teaches Greek and manners,
How very ready I shall be
To show that I'm fit for ruling,
By gaming and by gallantry,
And other kinds of fooling
Which a well-taught Prince should learn,
Who costs so much in schooling.
With horns, huzzas, and banners,
To some gaunt German pedagogue
Who teaches Greek and manners,
47
To show that I'm fit for ruling,
By gaming and by gallantry,
And other kinds of fooling
Which a well-taught Prince should learn,
Who costs so much in schooling.
I'll learn of Uncle George to make
A sword-knot, and a bow,
And I'll learn of Uncle York to take
The long odds, and a vow;
And Uncle Clarence shall supply
The science of imprecation,
And you, my own papa, shall try
To teach me fabrication,
Which a well-taught Prince should study,
Whose tutors are paid by the nation.
A sword-knot, and a bow,
And I'll learn of Uncle York to take
The long odds, and a vow;
And Uncle Clarence shall supply
The science of imprecation,
And you, my own papa, shall try
To teach me fabrication,
Which a well-taught Prince should study,
Whose tutors are paid by the nation.
I'll learn of Peel his lunacy
About the priests and popes;
From ... to live in infamy,
From Canning to talk in tropes;
From Blomfield to discern new lights,
To darken the old, from Scott,
From Liverpool the chartered rights
Which an Englishman has not,
As a well-taught Prince should know,
Who is born for a kingly lot.
About the priests and popes;
From ... to live in infamy,
From Canning to talk in tropes;
From Blomfield to discern new lights,
To darken the old, from Scott,
From Liverpool the chartered rights
Which an Englishman has not,
As a well-taught Prince should know,
Who is born for a kingly lot.
48
While education day by day
My native wit enlarges,
Oh shall I not at last repay
The country's heavy charges!
As wise as any other Guelph,
As useful and as dear,
Oh shall I not procure myself
A people's scorn and fear,
Which a well-taught Prince should earn,
With six thousand pounds a year!
My native wit enlarges,
Oh shall I not at last repay
The country's heavy charges!
As wise as any other Guelph,
As useful and as dear,
Oh shall I not procure myself
A people's scorn and fear,
Which a well-taught Prince should earn,
With six thousand pounds a year!
49
XII. THE CORONATION OF CHARLES X.
I. THE JOURNEY TO RHEIMS.
“Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsi.”
Oh was it not a glorious day
For all the mighty nation,
When Charles set out—le bien aimé—
To act his coronation!
All people left their old abodes
To aid the celebration,
And purchased flowers, and studied modes,
In glad anticipation
Of such a day.
For all the mighty nation,
When Charles set out—le bien aimé—
To act his coronation!
All people left their old abodes
To aid the celebration,
50
In glad anticipation
Of such a day.
Oh who shall sing the motley hordes
Of women and of warriors;
Or count the Counts, or laud the Lords,
Who started from the Barriers!
Canaille was mixed with Cavaliers,
And fair ones jostled farriers,
And gouty limbs and feeble years
Cried shame upon the tarriers
At home that day.
Of women and of warriors;
Or count the Counts, or laud the Lords,
Who started from the Barriers!
Canaille was mixed with Cavaliers,
And fair ones jostled farriers,
And gouty limbs and feeble years
Cried shame upon the tarriers
At home that day.
The student started from his books,
The farmer from his stubble;
The belle bestowed upon her looks
Then times her usual trouble;
Monsieur for once forgot to swear
At being made a bubble,
And gaily charged his tabatière,
When conducteurs charged double
Their fare that day.
The farmer from his stubble;
The belle bestowed upon her looks
Then times her usual trouble;
Monsieur for once forgot to swear
At being made a bubble,
And gaily charged his tabatière,
When conducteurs charged double
Their fare that day.
And there were shouts of deputies
Awaking from the Session,
And Presidents of Colleges
To grace the King's procession;
And mayors of little towns came out
To read their faith's profession,
Which might have been improved, no doubt,
By half an hour's compression
The previous day.
Awaking from the Session,
And Presidents of Colleges
To grace the King's procession;
51
To read their faith's profession,
Which might have been improved, no doubt,
By half an hour's compression
The previous day.
The peasants on the journey showed
Their loyalty was hearty,
By flinging laurels on the road
Before the Royal Party;
They waved old banners to the skies
Inscribed “Non minor Marte,”
And scratched from their transparencies
The name of Bonaparté,
To suit the day.
Their loyalty was hearty,
By flinging laurels on the road
Before the Royal Party;
They waved old banners to the skies
Inscribed “Non minor Marte,”
And scratched from their transparencies
The name of Bonaparté,
To suit the day.
And right and left upon the way
They made the cannons rattle;
And babes in arms cried out “O gai!
The French have won a battle!”
And rockets flew about like rain,
And frightened all the cattle;
Three dukes were very nearly slain,
Which would have made a tattle
For many a day.
They made the cannons rattle;
And babes in arms cried out “O gai!
The French have won a battle!”
And rockets flew about like rain,
And frightened all the cattle;
Three dukes were very nearly slain,
Which would have made a tattle
For many a day.
The king, whose steeds had made a start,
Composed the fright he woke in,
And gave of his benignant heart
A most bewitching token:
“Mon Dieu!” the gracious monarch said,
Before the leech had spoken;
“Mon Dieu! Has Damas broke his head?
I wish it had been broken
Some other day!”
Composed the fright he woke in,
52
A most bewitching token:
“Mon Dieu!” the gracious monarch said,
Before the leech had spoken;
“Mon Dieu! Has Damas broke his head?
I wish it had been broken
Some other day!”
But oh, at Rheims, the day before,
A hundred prayers were canted,
And dull addresses mumbled o'er,
And naughty ballads chaunted;
The capital's debauchery
Was all at once transplanted,
And Etienne fils brought eau de vie,
And Vérey's scullion panted
At Rheims that day.
A hundred prayers were canted,
And dull addresses mumbled o'er,
And naughty ballads chaunted;
The capital's debauchery
Was all at once transplanted,
And Etienne fils brought eau de vie,
And Vérey's scullion panted
At Rheims that day.
The cool Café, the cabriolet,
Cigars and macaronis,
And Rouge et noir, and eau sucré,
And conversaziones;
The loungers of the Tuileries
Find here their ancient cronies,
And ladies, hot with ecstasies,
May hurry to Tortoni's
For ice to-day.
Cigars and macaronis,
And Rouge et noir, and eau sucré,
And conversaziones;
The loungers of the Tuileries
Find here their ancient cronies,
And ladies, hot with ecstasies,
May hurry to Tortoni's
For ice to-day.
53
And Father Paul, the Capuchin,
Is damning all his flock—O!
And pretty little Adeline
Percurrit pulpita socco;
And rich and poor and peer and boor
May find at eight o'clock—O!
“Les premiers soupirs d'Amour”—
Les derniers de Jocko—
Or both, to-day.
Is damning all his flock—O!
And pretty little Adeline
Percurrit pulpita socco;
And rich and poor and peer and boor
May find at eight o'clock—O!
“Les premiers soupirs d'Amour”—
Les derniers de Jocko—
Or both, to-day.
So when Apollo from the skies
Drove down his coach and four—O!
He did not leave one pair of eyes
Bedewed in Rheims with sorrow;
While those who could not buy a bed,
And those who could not borrow,
Lay down upon the floor, and said
“I wish it were to-morrow,
And not to-day!”
Drove down his coach and four—O!
He did not leave one pair of eyes
Bedewed in Rheims with sorrow;
While those who could not buy a bed,
And those who could not borrow,
Lay down upon the floor, and said
“I wish it were to-morrow,
And not to-day!”
54
XIII. THE CORONATION OF CHARLES X.
II.—RHEIMS.
“Wherefore come ye not to court?
Certain 'tis the rarest sport.”—Skelton.”
“God save the king!”—What God? What king
In sooth it hardly matters;
For Fortune is a fickle thing,
And as she builds she batters,
The world goes round; the daintiest guest
May live to gnaw the platters,
And he that wears the purple vest
May wear the rags and tatters
Some other day.
In sooth it hardly matters;
For Fortune is a fickle thing,
And as she builds she batters,
55
May live to gnaw the platters,
And he that wears the purple vest
May wear the rags and tatters
Some other day.
An exile looked with signs of grief
Upon his foreign letters,
And sighed—“Now hang the little thief!
He bullies all his betters!”
The dirge is shifted for the dance,
The creditors are debtors,
The exile reigns in merry France,
The bully dies in fetters,
Alas the day!
Upon his foreign letters,
And sighed—“Now hang the little thief!
He bullies all his betters!”
The dirge is shifted for the dance,
The creditors are debtors,
The exile reigns in merry France,
The bully dies in fetters,
Alas the day!
Rheims! midwife of French Royalty!
In thy age-hallowed towers
Reviving Aristocracy
Sits garlanded with flowers;
And Order smiles her placid smile
In spite of Satan's powers,
And sweet Religion all the while
Rains down benignant showers
Of Priests to-day.
In thy age-hallowed towers
Reviving Aristocracy
Sits garlanded with flowers;
And Order smiles her placid smile
In spite of Satan's powers,
And sweet Religion all the while
Rains down benignant showers
Of Priests to-day.
But thou didst see another sight
In that terrific season
When mobs pulled down the matron—Right,
And crowned the harlot—Reason;
When raving cobblers mended creeds,
And fishwives babbled treason,
And honest men who told their beads
Were like to find their weasand
Cut through some day.
In that terrific season
56
And crowned the harlot—Reason;
When raving cobblers mended creeds,
And fishwives babbled treason,
And honest men who told their beads
Were like to find their weasand
Cut through some day.
Thou saw'st the painted goddess led
In triumph through the city;
While monks looked blue and maids looked red
Before her fierce banditti;
Thou heard'st the drums and trumpets roll,
When Horror, growing witty,
Made greybeards dance the Carmagnole,
And virgins sing the ditty
Of blood that day!
In triumph through the city;
While monks looked blue and maids looked red
Before her fierce banditti;
Thou heard'st the drums and trumpets roll,
When Horror, growing witty,
Made greybeards dance the Carmagnole,
And virgins sing the ditty
Of blood that day!
A butcher with unholy feet
Profaned the shuddering altar;
His surplice was a winding sheet,
His girdle was a halter.
Alas, where massacre was mass,
And blasphemy was psalter,
Those hands of iron, throats of brass,
Did never fail or falter
At church all day!
Profaned the shuddering altar;
His surplice was a winding sheet,
His girdle was a halter.
Alas, where massacre was mass,
And blasphemy was psalter,
Those hands of iron, throats of brass,
Did never fail or falter
At church all day!
57
Those times are changed. Thy sacred shrine
Its ancient worship blesses,
And lords and ladies gaily shine
Amid thy carved recesses;
Long whiskers come, and longer ears,
False hearts and falser tresses,
Court pages and Court pamphleteers,
Court follies and Court dresses,
All new to-day.
Its ancient worship blesses,
And lords and ladies gaily shine
Amid thy carved recesses;
Long whiskers come, and longer ears,
False hearts and falser tresses,
Court pages and Court pamphleteers,
Court follies and Court dresses,
All new to-day.
There's Marshal Lauriston, quite gay
In bobbins and in buckles;
And Moncey, who in Spain one day
Was rapped upon the knuckles;
Chateaubriand, who bawls and broils,
Villêle, who talks and truckles,
And Talleyrand, who sets the toils,
And holds his tongue, and chuckles,
And bides his day.
In bobbins and in buckles;
And Moncey, who in Spain one day
Was rapped upon the knuckles;
Chateaubriand, who bawls and broils,
Villêle, who talks and truckles,
And Talleyrand, who sets the toils,
And holds his tongue, and chuckles,
And bides his day.
And Pozzo, whose intruding tread
Makes such a plaguy racket,
When nations, weary of their Head,
Lift up a club to crack it;
And Percy's formidable coat,
And Esterhazy's jacket,
And other clothes of lesser note,
Sent over by the packet
To grace the day.
Makes such a plaguy racket,
When nations, weary of their Head,
Lift up a club to crack it;
And Percy's formidable coat,
And Esterhazy's jacket,
58
Sent over by the packet
To grace the day.
But where's the king? The king's asleep.
Go, seek our Royal Master,
And tell him that his humble sheep
Are waiting for their pastor.
The king was sitting in a gown
As white as alabaster;
“Sire,” said the Bishop, with a frown,
“You should have been much faster
Asleep to-day!”
Go, seek our Royal Master,
And tell him that his humble sheep
Are waiting for their pastor.
The king was sitting in a gown
As white as alabaster;
“Sire,” said the Bishop, with a frown,
“You should have been much faster
Asleep to-day!”
And then—the usual farce began,
And multitudes were staring
To see an old and ugly man
A velvet night-cap wearing;
The Moniteur declares “the whole
Was solemn beyond bearing;”
And quantum suff. of rigmarole,
And quantum suff. of swearing
Hallowed the day.
And multitudes were staring
To see an old and ugly man
A velvet night-cap wearing;
The Moniteur declares “the whole
Was solemn beyond bearing;”
And quantum suff. of rigmarole,
And quantum suff. of swearing
Hallowed the day.
He swore to keep his Royal word,
He swore to keep the Charter,
He swore in no unjust accord
His creed or Crown to barter;
He swore in all the Church's wars
To give and take no quarter
He swore to be a modern Mars,
Or else a modern martyr
For God some day.
He swore to keep the Charter,
He swore in no unjust accord
His creed or Crown to barter;
59
To give and take no quarter
He swore to be a modern Mars,
Or else a modern martyr
For God some day.
He swore to slay all heresies
Without the least compunction,
And understand the Trinity's
Mysterious conjunction;
And having oiled his hands and face
With Heaven's soul-cleansing unction,
Lay on his belly, full of grace,
And so obtained the function
Of KING that day.
Without the least compunction,
And understand the Trinity's
Mysterious conjunction;
And having oiled his hands and face
With Heaven's soul-cleansing unction,
Lay on his belly, full of grace,
And so obtained the function
Of KING that day.
“May blessings fall immensely thick
On him whom Heaven sets o'er us!
And may he be a wall of brick
Behind us and before us!”
So prayed a paralytic priest
Most solemn and sonorous;
The people, anxious for the feast,
Responded in full chorus
“Amen!” that day.
On him whom Heaven sets o'er us!
And may he be a wall of brick
Behind us and before us!”
So prayed a paralytic priest
Most solemn and sonorous;
The people, anxious for the feast,
Responded in full chorus
“Amen!” that day.
Then comes the dinner and the dance,
And rustic sports and games, Sir;
And peasants drink the health of France,
And peers dispute for claims, Sir;
And some are calling “Vive le Roi!”
And some are calling names, Sir;
And some are calling “Suivez moi!”
We've had enough of Rheims, Sir,
For one fine day.
And rustic sports and games, Sir;
60
And peers dispute for claims, Sir;
And some are calling “Vive le Roi!”
And some are calling names, Sir;
And some are calling “Suivez moi!”
We've had enough of Rheims, Sir,
For one fine day.
61
XIV. THE LONDON UNIVERSITY.
A DISCOURSE DELIVERED BY A COLLEGE TUTOR AT A SUPPER-PARTY.
62
Ye Dons and ye doctors, ye Provosts and Proctors,
Who are paid to monopolize knowledge,
Come make opposition by voice and petition
To the radical infidel College;
Come put forth your powers in aid of the towers
Which boast of their Bishops and Martyrs,
And arm all the terrors of privileged errors
Which live by the wax of their Charters.
Who are paid to monopolize knowledge,
Come make opposition by voice and petition
To the radical infidel College;
Come put forth your powers in aid of the towers
Which boast of their Bishops and Martyrs,
And arm all the terrors of privileged errors
Which live by the wax of their Charters.
Let Mackintosh battle with Canning and Vattel,
Let Brougham be a friend to the “niggers,”
Burdett cure the nation's misrepresentations,
And Hume cut a figure in figures;
But let them not babble of Greek to the rabble,
Nor teach the mechanics their letters;
The labouring classes were born to be asses,
And not to be aping their betters.
Let Brougham be a friend to the “niggers,”
63
And Hume cut a figure in figures;
But let them not babble of Greek to the rabble,
Nor teach the mechanics their letters;
The labouring classes were born to be asses,
And not to be aping their betters.
'Tis a terrible crisis for Cam and for Isis!
Fat butchers are learning dissection;
And looking-glass-makers become sabbath-breakers
To study the rules of reflection;
“Sin: φ” and “sin: θ”—what sins can be sweeter?
Are taught to the poor of both sexes,
And weavers and spinners jump up from their dinners
To flirt with their Y's and their X's.
Fat butchers are learning dissection;
And looking-glass-makers become sabbath-breakers
To study the rules of reflection;
“Sin: φ” and “sin: θ”—what sins can be sweeter?
Are taught to the poor of both sexes,
And weavers and spinners jump up from their dinners
To flirt with their Y's and their X's.
Chuckfarthing advances the doctrine of chances
In spite of the staff of the beadle;
And menders of breeches between the long stitches
Write books on the laws of the needle;
And chandlers all chatter of luminous matter,
Who communicate none to their tallows,
And rogues get a notion of the pendulum's motion
Which is only of use at the gallows.
In spite of the staff of the beadle;
And menders of breeches between the long stitches
Write books on the laws of the needle;
And chandlers all chatter of luminous matter,
Who communicate none to their tallows,
And rogues get a notion of the pendulum's motion
Which is only of use at the gallows.
The impurest of attics read pure mathematics,
The ginshops are turned into cloisters,
A Crawford next summer will fill you your rummer,
A Coplestone open your oysters.
The bells of Old Bailey are practising gaily
The erudite tones of St. Mary's;
The Minories any day will rear you a Kennedy,
And Bishopsgate blossom with Airys.
The ginshops are turned into cloisters,
64
A Coplestone open your oysters.
The bells of Old Bailey are practising gaily
The erudite tones of St. Mary's;
The Minories any day will rear you a Kennedy,
And Bishopsgate blossom with Airys.
The nature of granites, the tricks of the planets,
The forces of steams and of gases,
The engines mechanical, the long words botanical,
The ranging of beetles in classes,
The delicate junctions of symbols and functions,
The impossible roots of equations—
Are these proper questions for Cockney digestions,
Fit food for a cit's lucubrations?
The forces of steams and of gases,
The engines mechanical, the long words botanical,
The ranging of beetles in classes,
The delicate junctions of symbols and functions,
The impossible roots of equations—
Are these proper questions for Cockney digestions,
Fit food for a cit's lucubrations?
The eloquent pages of time-hallowed sages
Embalmed by some critical German,
Old presents from Brunckius, new futures from Monckius,
The squabbles of Porson with Hermann,
Your Alphas and Betas, your Canons of Metres,
Your Infinite Powers of Particles,
Shall these and such-like work make journeymen strike work
And 'prentices tear up their articles?
Embalmed by some critical German,
Old presents from Brunckius, new futures from Monckius,
The squabbles of Porson with Hermann,
Your Alphas and Betas, your Canons of Metres,
Your Infinite Powers of Particles,
Shall these and such-like work make journeymen strike work
And 'prentices tear up their articles?
But oh! since fair Science will cruelly fly hence
To smile upon vagrants and gipsies,
Since knights of the hammer must handle their grammar,
And nightmen account for eclipses,
Our handicraft neighbours shall share in our labours
If they leave us the whole of the honey,
And the sans-culotte caitiff shall start for the plate, if
He puts in no claim to plate-money.
To smile upon vagrants and gipsies,
65
And nightmen account for eclipses,
Our handicraft neighbours shall share in our labours
If they leave us the whole of the honey,
And the sans-culotte caitiff shall start for the plate, if
He puts in no claim to plate-money.
Ye Halls, on whose dais the Don of to-day is
To feed on the beef and the benison,
Ye Common-room glories, where beneficed Tories
Digest their belief and their venison,
Ye duels scholastic, where quibbles monastic
Are asserted with none to confute them,
Ye grave Congregations, where frequent taxations
Are settled with none to dispute them—
To feed on the beef and the benison,
Ye Common-room glories, where beneficed Tories
Digest their belief and their venison,
Ye duels scholastic, where quibbles monastic
Are asserted with none to confute them,
Ye grave Congregations, where frequent taxations
Are settled with none to dispute them—
Far hence be the season when Radical treason
Of port and of pudding shall bilk ye,
When the weavers aforesaid shall taste of our boar's head,
The silk-winders swallow our silky,
When the mob shall eat faster than any Vicemaster,
The watermen try to out-tope us,
When Campbell shall dish up a bowl of our bishop,
Or Brougham and Co. cope with our copus.
Of port and of pudding shall bilk ye,
When the weavers aforesaid shall taste of our boar's head,
The silk-winders swallow our silky,
When the mob shall eat faster than any Vicemaster,
The watermen try to out-tope us,
When Campbell shall dish up a bowl of our bishop,
Or Brougham and Co. cope with our copus.
66
XV. AN EPITAPH ON THE LATE KING OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.
BY CRAZEE RATTEE, ESQ., HIS MAJESTY'S POET LAUREATE.
67
Beneath the marble, mud, or moss,
Whiche'er his subjects shall determine,
Entombed in eulogies and dross,
The Island King is food for vermin.
Preserved by scribblers and by salt
From Lethe and sepulchral vapours,
His body fills his father's vault,
His character the daily papers.
Whiche'er his subjects shall determine,
Entombed in eulogies and dross,
The Island King is food for vermin.
Preserved by scribblers and by salt
From Lethe and sepulchral vapours,
His body fills his father's vault,
His character the daily papers.
Well was he framed for royal seat;
Kind—to the meanest of his creatures,
With tender heart and tender feet,
And open purse and open features;
The ladies say who laid him out,
And earned thereby the usual pensions,
They never wreathed a shroud about
A corpse of more genteel dimensions.
Kind—to the meanest of his creatures,
With tender heart and tender feet,
And open purse and open features;
The ladies say who laid him out,
And earned thereby the usual pensions,
They never wreathed a shroud about
A corpse of more genteel dimensions.
He warred with half-a-score of foes,
And shone—by proxy—in the quarrel;
Enjoyed hard fights and soft repose,
And deathless debt, and deathless laurel;
His enemies were scalped and flayed
Whene'er his subjects were victorious,
And widows wept, and paupers paid,
To make their Sovereign ruler glorious.
And shone—by proxy—in the quarrel;
Enjoyed hard fights and soft repose,
And deathless debt, and deathless laurel;
68
Whene'er his subjects were victorious,
And widows wept, and paupers paid,
To make their Sovereign ruler glorious.
And days were set apart for thanks,
And prayers were said by pious readers,
And laud was lavished on the ranks,
And laurel lavished on their leaders.
Events are writ by History's pen,
Though causes are too much to care for;
Fame talks about the where and when,
While Folly asks the why and wherefore.
And prayers were said by pious readers,
And laud was lavished on the ranks,
And laurel lavished on their leaders.
Events are writ by History's pen,
Though causes are too much to care for;
Fame talks about the where and when,
While Folly asks the why and wherefore.
In peace he was intensely gay,
And indefatigably busy,
Preparing gewgaws every day,
And shows, to make his subjects dizzy;
And hearing the report of guns,
And signing the report of gaolers,
And making up receipts for buns
And patterns for the army tailors,
And indefatigably busy,
Preparing gewgaws every day,
And shows, to make his subjects dizzy;
And hearing the report of guns,
And signing the report of gaolers,
And making up receipts for buns
And patterns for the army tailors,
And building carriages and boats
And streets and chapels and pavilions,
And regulating all the coats
And all the principles of millions,
And drinking homilies and gin,
And chewing pork and adulation,
And looking backwards upon sin,
And looking forwards to salvation.
And streets and chapels and pavilions,
And regulating all the coats
And all the principles of millions,
69
And chewing pork and adulation,
And looking backwards upon sin,
And looking forwards to salvation.
The people, in his happy reign,
Were blest beyond all other nations:
Unharmed by foreign axe or chain,
Unhealed by civil innovations;
They served the usual logs and stones
With all the usual rites and terrors,
And swallowed all their father's bones,
And swallowed all their father's errors,
Were blest beyond all other nations:
Unharmed by foreign axe or chain,
Unhealed by civil innovations;
They served the usual logs and stones
With all the usual rites and terrors,
And swallowed all their father's bones,
And swallowed all their father's errors,
When the fierce mob, with clubs and knives,
All swore that nothing should prevent them,
But that their representatives
Should actually represent them,
He interposed the proper checks,
By sending troops, with drums and banners,
To cut their speeches short, and necks,
And break their heads, to mend their manners.
All swore that nothing should prevent them,
But that their representatives
Should actually represent them,
He interposed the proper checks,
By sending troops, with drums and banners,
To cut their speeches short, and necks,
And break their heads, to mend their manners.
And when Dissension flung her stain
Upon the light of Hymen's altar,
And Destiny made Hymen's chain
As galling as the hangman's halter,
He passed a most domestic life,
By many mistresses befriended,
And did not put away his wife,
For fear the priest should be offended.
Upon the light of Hymen's altar,
And Destiny made Hymen's chain
As galling as the hangman's halter,
70
By many mistresses befriended,
And did not put away his wife,
For fear the priest should be offended.
And thus at last he sank to rest
Amid the blessings of his people,
And sighs were heard from every heart,
And bells were tolled from every steeple;
And loud was every public throng
His public character adorning,
And poets raised a mourning song,
And clothiers raised the price of mourning.
Amid the blessings of his people,
And sighs were heard from every heart,
And bells were tolled from every steeple;
And loud was every public throng
His public character adorning,
And poets raised a mourning song,
And clothiers raised the price of mourning.
His funeral was very grand,
Followed by many robes and maces,
And all the great ones of the land
Struggling as heretofore, for places;
And every loyal Minister
Was there, with signs of purse-felt sorrow,
Save Pozzy, his lord-chancellor,
Who promised to attend “to-morrow.”
Followed by many robes and maces,
And all the great ones of the land
Struggling as heretofore, for places;
And every loyal Minister
Was there, with signs of purse-felt sorrow,
Save Pozzy, his lord-chancellor,
Who promised to attend “to-morrow.”
Peace to his dust. His fostering care
By grateful hearts shall long be cherished;
And all his subjects shall declare
They lost a grinder when he perished.
They who shall look upon the lead
Wherein a people's love hath shrined him,
Will say—when all the worst is said,
Perhaps he leaves a worse behind him!
By grateful hearts shall long be cherished;
And all his subjects shall declare
They lost a grinder when he perished.
71
Wherein a people's love hath shrined him,
Will say—when all the worst is said,
Perhaps he leaves a worse behind him!
78
XVII. THE CHAUNTS OF THE BRAZEN HEAD. II.
Bet half the British Parliament
To twice the British Forum;
Or Sugden's lengthy argument
To Brocard's scant decorum;
Or Mori's most astounding art
To Robin's rustic tabor;
Or twenty bars from old Mozart
To twenty scores from Weber.
To twice the British Forum;
Or Sugden's lengthy argument
To Brocard's scant decorum;
79
To Robin's rustic tabor;
Or twenty bars from old Mozart
To twenty scores from Weber.
Bet giants' clubs to kitchen brooms,
Or swords to kitchen pokers,
Or Canning's wit to Mr. Hume's,
Or Scott's to Mr. Croker's;
Or Laura's smile, so bright and gay,
To ocean's richest jewel,
Or Brougham's desire of place and pay
To Brougham's desire of duel.
Or swords to kitchen pokers,
Or Canning's wit to Mr. Hume's,
Or Scott's to Mr. Croker's;
Or Laura's smile, so bright and gay,
To ocean's richest jewel,
Or Brougham's desire of place and pay
To Brougham's desire of duel.
Bet honest Wisdom's lightest thought
To Folly's deepest knowledge;
Or what is proper to be taught
To what is taught—at college;
Or rotten eggs to rotten votes,
Or Englishmen to Germans,
Or half-a-dozen of Wentworth's notes
To half a quire of Burmann's.
To Folly's deepest knowledge;
Or what is proper to be taught
To what is taught—at college;
Or rotten eggs to rotten votes,
Or Englishmen to Germans,
Or half-a-dozen of Wentworth's notes
To half a quire of Burmann's.
Bet turtle-soup to vulgar tripe,
Or Regent Street to Holborn
Or puffs from a tobacco-pipe
To puffs from Mr. Colburn;
Or venison to a crust of bread,
Or perigords to fritters,
Or Friar Bacon's Brazen Head
To all the gold that glitters.
Or Regent Street to Holborn
80
To puffs from Mr. Colburn;
Or venison to a crust of bread,
Or perigords to fritters,
Or Friar Bacon's Brazen Head
To all the gold that glitters.
81
XVIII. THE CHAUNTS OF THE BRAZEN HEAD. III.
The world pursues the very track
Which it pursued at its creation;
And mortals shrink in horror back
From any hint of innovation;
From year to year the children do
Exactly what their sires have done;
Time is—Time was—there's nothing new—
There's nothing new beneath the sun!
Which it pursued at its creation;
And mortals shrink in horror back
From any hint of innovation;
From year to year the children do
Exactly what their sires have done;
Time is—Time was—there's nothing new—
There's nothing new beneath the sun!
Still lovers hope to be believed,
Still clients hope to win their causes;
Still plays and farces are received
With most encouraging applauses;
Still dancers have fantastic toes,
Still dandies shudder at a dun;
Still diners have their fricandeaus—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still clients hope to win their causes;
Still plays and farces are received
With most encouraging applauses;
82
Still dandies shudder at a dun;
Still diners have their fricandeaus—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still cooks torment the hapless eels,
Still boys torment the dumb cockchafers;
Lord Eldon still adores the seals,
Lord Clifford still adores the wafers;
Still asses have enormous ears,
Still gambling bets are lost and won;
Still opera dancers marry peers—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still boys torment the dumb cockchafers;
Lord Eldon still adores the seals,
Lord Clifford still adores the wafers;
Still asses have enormous ears,
Still gambling bets are lost and won;
Still opera dancers marry peers—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still women are absurdly weak,
Still infants dote upon a rattle;
Still Mr. Martin cannot speak
Of anything but beaten cattle;
Still brokers swear the shares will rise,
Still Cockneys boast of Manton's gun;
Still listeners swallow monstrous lies—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still infants dote upon a rattle;
Still Mr. Martin cannot speak
Of anything but beaten cattle;
Still brokers swear the shares will rise,
Still Cockneys boast of Manton's gun;
Still listeners swallow monstrous lies—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still genius is a jest to Earls,
Still honesty is down to zero;
Still heroines have spontaneous curls,
Still novels have a handsome hero;
Still Madame Vestris plays a man,
Still fools adore her—I for one;
Still youths write sonnets to a fan—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still honesty is down to zero;
Still heroines have spontaneous curls,
Still novels have a handsome hero;
83
Still fools adore her—I for one;
Still youths write sonnets to a fan—
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
Still people make a plaguy fuss
About all things that don't concern them,
As if it matters aught to us
What happens to our grandsons, burn them!
Still life is nothing to the dead;
Still Folly's toil is Wisdom's fun;
And still, except the Brazen Head,
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
About all things that don't concern them,
As if it matters aught to us
What happens to our grandsons, burn them!
Still life is nothing to the dead;
Still Folly's toil is Wisdom's fun;
And still, except the Brazen Head,
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
90
XX. THE DEATH OF CANNING.
91
VIII. AUGUST MDCCCXXVII.
Ay, mourn to-day! but mourn for those
Whose rights his arm defended;
Whose foes were his and Freedom's foes
Where'er the names were blended;
Whose rights his arm defended;
Whose foes were his and Freedom's foes
Where'er the names were blended;
For the serf, whose rest from toil and pain
His mercy might have spoken;
For the slave, whose cold and galling chain
His vengeance might have broken;
His mercy might have spoken;
For the slave, whose cold and galling chain
His vengeance might have broken;
For Helle's stream, where the Pasha's flag
Still waves o'er the sacred water;
For Erin's huts, where the Orange rag
Is still the sign of slaughter.
Still waves o'er the sacred water;
For Erin's huts, where the Orange rag
Is still the sign of slaughter.
Ay, mourn to-day! but not for him;
His name is writ in story,
Ere a single cloud could make more dim
The noon-day of its glory.
His name is writ in story,
Ere a single cloud could make more dim
The noon-day of its glory.
Victor in boyhood's early game
And youth's career of gladness,
Victor in manhood's lists of fame
O'er envy, hate, and madness,
And youth's career of gladness,
Victor in manhood's lists of fame
O'er envy, hate, and madness,
What could he hope in other years,
If the longest life had crowned him,
But thus to die, with a nation's tears
And a world's applause around him?
If the longest life had crowned him,
But thus to die, with a nation's tears
And a world's applause around him?
92
The laurel wreath upon his brow
Might have looked less green to-morrow;
But the leaves will bloom for ever now,
They are newly twined by sorrow.
Might have looked less green to-morrow;
But the leaves will bloom for ever now,
They are newly twined by sorrow.
The sighs that are whispered o'er his clay
May weary Heaven's Recorder;
But none are glad, save the Turk's Serai,
And a few of Lord Grey's “Order”!
May weary Heaven's Recorder;
But none are glad, save the Turk's Serai,
And a few of Lord Grey's “Order”!
93
XXI. THE RIDDLES OF THE SPHINX.
94
'Twas night; the House was cleared,
And hushed the fierce debate,
And robed in clouds the Sphinx appeared
Before St. Stephen's gate.
A virgin's face above,
A lion's form beneath,
Upon those lips was maiden love,
Within those claws was death.
And hushed the fierce debate,
And robed in clouds the Sphinx appeared
Before St. Stephen's gate.
A virgin's face above,
A lion's form beneath,
Upon those lips was maiden love,
Within those claws was death.
She look'd on that high Hall
With a grim and scornful smile;
And vapours passed like a funeral pall
O'er Heaven's expanse the while;
And the moon went back that hour
In an unforetold eclipse,
As the words of mystery and power
Fell from the marble lips.
With a grim and scornful smile;
And vapours passed like a funeral pall
O'er Heaven's expanse the while;
And the moon went back that hour
In an unforetold eclipse,
As the words of mystery and power
Fell from the marble lips.
“Can ye teach the Owl to meet
The light of the morning skies?
Can ye make the rays of reason sweet
To a bigot's blinking eyes?
Can ye bar the lightning's track
With a canopy of cloth?
Can ye beat a nation's fury back
With Bibles and cheap broth?
The light of the morning skies?
Can ye make the rays of reason sweet
To a bigot's blinking eyes?
Can ye bar the lightning's track
With a canopy of cloth?
Can ye beat a nation's fury back
With Bibles and cheap broth?
95
“Can ye count the grains of sand
On Ocean's stormy beach,
Or the blunders that Lord Westmoreland
Makes in a single speech?
Can ye read what words are writ
On the tombs of sacred Nile,
Or construe Mr. Bankes's wit,
When he makes the gallery smile?
On Ocean's stormy beach,
Or the blunders that Lord Westmoreland
Makes in a single speech?
Can ye read what words are writ
On the tombs of sacred Nile,
Or construe Mr. Bankes's wit,
When he makes the gallery smile?
“What drove Lord Melville out?
What made Lord Bexley stay?
And why does Londonderry spout?
And why do asses bray?
Why does the morning dawn
When Phœbus takes his seat?
And why does all the peerage yawn
When Redesdale talks of wheat?
What made Lord Bexley stay?
And why does Londonderry spout?
And why do asses bray?
Why does the morning dawn
When Phœbus takes his seat?
And why does all the peerage yawn
When Redesdale talks of wheat?
“How shall the blind discern
That black is never white?
How shall a rotten borough learn
That wrong is never right?
How shall fair health be sought
In the shade of a upas tree,
Or how shall honest deeds be wrought
In Sarum or Tralee?
That black is never white?
How shall a rotten borough learn
That wrong is never right?
How shall fair health be sought
In the shade of a upas tree,
Or how shall honest deeds be wrought
In Sarum or Tralee?
96
“Why does the Earth turn round?
And why does the Morning Post?
And when will the longitude be found,
Or the art of reigning lost?
And when will ice be warm?
And when will wrath be cool?
And when will love be not a charm,
And a minstrel not a fool?”
And why does the Morning Post?
And when will the longitude be found,
Or the art of reigning lost?
And when will ice be warm?
And when will wrath be cool?
And when will love be not a charm,
And a minstrel not a fool?”
While cards were cut in the Hell,
And capers on the stage,
While night on the monarch's palace fell,
And on the student's page,
The riddling Sphinx thus sung
Her how, and when, and why,
And like Sir Thomas, questions flung
With none to make reply.
And capers on the stage,
While night on the monarch's palace fell,
And on the student's page,
The riddling Sphinx thus sung
Her how, and when, and why,
And like Sir Thomas, questions flung
With none to make reply.
97
XXII. THE OUTS.
98
When Eldon can a judgment pass
In less than half an age,
When Westmoreland eschews a lass,
And Melville patronage,
When Peel forsakes his bigotry
And gives free thought the rein,
When Bathurst rears a colony—
They may come back again.
In less than half an age,
When Westmoreland eschews a lass,
And Melville patronage,
When Peel forsakes his bigotry
And gives free thought the rein,
When Bathurst rears a colony—
They may come back again.
When Bexley ceases to be saint,
And Wetherell to prose,
When Manners, free of Orange taint,
Shakes hands with Popish foes,
When Lethbridge, dropping thoughts of pelf,
In patriotic vein,
Can England substitute for self,
They may come back again.
And Wetherell to prose,
When Manners, free of Orange taint,
Shakes hands with Popish foes,
When Lethbridge, dropping thoughts of pelf,
In patriotic vein,
Can England substitute for self,
They may come back again.
99
When Londonderry, matchless peer,
His pension-hope outlives,
When Newcastle the cause shall hear
Before he verdict gives,
When Ellenborough's sage replies
Shall rival Canning's strain,
And beardless Castlereagh grow wise,
They may come back again.
His pension-hope outlives,
When Newcastle the cause shall hear
Before he verdict gives,
When Ellenborough's sage replies
Shall rival Canning's strain,
And beardless Castlereagh grow wise,
They may come back again.
When Cobbett, guiltless of hard names,
Pays debts with effort stoic,
And when the Post Fitzgerald shames
In spouting mock heroic;
When Southey, fixed at last in creed,
Shall other change disdain,
When Lees from Romish fears is freed,
They may come back again.
Pays debts with effort stoic,
And when the Post Fitzgerald shames
In spouting mock heroic;
When Southey, fixed at last in creed,
Shall other change disdain,
When Lees from Romish fears is freed,
They may come back again.
When honest men in lawyers thrive,
And Law knows no delay;
When Tory institutes outlive
The Chart of Liberty;
When Britons, pining for his rule,
Import a King from Spain—
The worthy head for such a school,
They may come back again.
And Law knows no delay;
When Tory institutes outlive
The Chart of Liberty;
When Britons, pining for his rule,
Import a King from Spain—
The worthy head for such a school,
They may come back again.
100
XXIII. THE RETROSPECT.
When Pitt was Premier, well-a-day!
I chanted Io Pœans,
And held the loftiest Whigs at bay
As well as base plebeians.
I filled old Jacobins with awe,
Distorting fact and reason,
Whene'er 'twas wished to twist the law
Or find constructive treason.
I chanted Io Pœans,
And held the loftiest Whigs at bay
As well as base plebeians.
I filled old Jacobins with awe,
Distorting fact and reason,
Whene'er 'twas wished to twist the law
Or find constructive treason.
101
I raved at all Republicans,
Detested snobbish hooters,
Got flattery from partisans,
And fees from Chancery suitors;
Reform I constantly decried,
Pronounced the truth a libel,
On working days to briefs applied,
On Sundays read my Bible.
Detested snobbish hooters,
Got flattery from partisans,
And fees from Chancery suitors;
Reform I constantly decried,
Pronounced the truth a libel,
On working days to briefs applied,
On Sundays read my Bible.
At length my loyalty was such
It could but be rewarded;
And, as I ne'er expected much,
A trifle was accorded.
Content the humble boon I took,
A coronet and pension,
And on the woolsack proudly shook
An Earldom's full dimension.
It could but be rewarded;
And, as I ne'er expected much,
A trifle was accorded.
Content the humble boon I took,
A coronet and pension,
And on the woolsack proudly shook
An Earldom's full dimension.
I kept the conscience of the king
With Protestant discernment;
And showed that freedom was a thing
Fit only for adjournment;
That granting rights to Catholics
Would be a dreadful omen,
And millions—say some five or six—
Were positively no men.
With Protestant discernment;
And showed that freedom was a thing
Fit only for adjournment;
That granting rights to Catholics
Would be a dreadful omen,
And millions—say some five or six—
Were positively no men.
102
In short, there's nothing more required
Than bayonets and bullets,
At reasonable prices hired,
To stop those Irish gullets;
But God forbid I e'er should be
Like that vile Popish Bonner,
Who roasted folks for heresy,
And for the Church's honour!
Than bayonets and bullets,
At reasonable prices hired,
To stop those Irish gullets;
But God forbid I e'er should be
Like that vile Popish Bonner,
Who roasted folks for heresy,
And for the Church's honour!
I would not burn the wretches—faugh!
But hanging, drawing, quart'ring
Are quite agreeable to law
Which disapproves of tort'ring;
And really, if they will persist
In actions contumacious,
Why then increase the Army List,
And shoot the most audacious!
But hanging, drawing, quart'ring
Are quite agreeable to law
Which disapproves of tort'ring;
And really, if they will persist
In actions contumacious,
Why then increase the Army List,
And shoot the most audacious!
But ah, the times are changed! and now,
Repenting old oppressions,
Majorities are bound to bow
In favour of concessions;
Yet I will still consistent be,
Intolerant and Tory,
And go down to posterity
In pure and perfect glory,
Repenting old oppressions,
Majorities are bound to bow
In favour of concessions;
Yet I will still consistent be,
Intolerant and Tory,
And go down to posterity
In pure and perfect glory,
103
XXIV. BIGOTRY'S REMONSTRANCE.
104
'Twas dead midnight, when Bigotry came
With Philpotts for her guide,
And shook her torch of sulphury flame
At old John Scott's bedside.
With Philpotts for her guide,
And shook her torch of sulphury flame
At old John Scott's bedside.
“Awake!” she said, “for my soul is sick,
Our throne is crumbling fast,
And Common Sense the heretic
Is rending my chain at last.
Our throne is crumbling fast,
And Common Sense the heretic
Is rending my chain at last.
“Yet Lethbridge is peacefully going to sleep,
As most of his hearers do,
And Goulburn sits in a reverie deep,
Dreaming of two times two.
As most of his hearers do,
And Goulburn sits in a reverie deep,
Dreaming of two times two.
“And dandies are carelessly sipping the froth
From the Sillery in Pall Mall,
And Crocky is happily laying the cloth
For the layers of odds in Hell.
From the Sillery in Pall Mall,
And Crocky is happily laying the cloth
For the layers of odds in Hell.
105
“They are blinded all by Priests and Popes,
They do not pity Peel;
They have ceased to fear O'Connell's tropes,
And the metaphors of Sheil.
They do not pity Peel;
They have ceased to fear O'Connell's tropes,
And the metaphors of Sheil.
“Awake, John Scott; once more advance
For the Church and Constitution,
The Champion still of Ignorance,
The Child of Persecution.
For the Church and Constitution,
The Champion still of Ignorance,
The Child of Persecution.
“And quail not thou for wrath or scorn;
I bring thee arms to-night
Of stouter mould than ever were worn
By Thetis' son in fight:
I bring thee arms to-night
Of stouter mould than ever were worn
By Thetis' son in fight:
“The sword of falsehood, to contend
That Lansdowne's white is black;
The shield of dulness strong, to send
The jests of Holland back:
That Lansdowne's white is black;
The shield of dulness strong, to send
The jests of Holland back:
“Abuse, which seems to the Tory host
The language of sobriety,
And cant, which sounds to the Morning Post
Like the tone of the truest piety.
The language of sobriety,
And cant, which sounds to the Morning Post
Like the tone of the truest piety.
“Go feign and flatter, preach and croak,
Beseech, reprove, upbraid;
And ever and anon invoke
Thy Frederic's holy shade.
Beseech, reprove, upbraid;
106
Thy Frederic's holy shade.
“Tell of the faggots of ancient years
Lit up by Monk and Friar,
Shed, if thou canst, appropriate tears,
And call Lord King a liar.
Lit up by Monk and Friar,
Shed, if thou canst, appropriate tears,
And call Lord King a liar.
“Then lull their Lordships to repose
With a quibble or a pun;
There's a proper theme in a nation's woes
For a Merry-Andrew's fun.
With a quibble or a pun;
There's a proper theme in a nation's woes
For a Merry-Andrew's fun.
“His Majesty shall clasp thy hand
When the hallowed strife is o'er,
And the princely lungs of Cumberland
Shall give thee one cheer more!”
When the hallowed strife is o'er,
And the princely lungs of Cumberland
Shall give thee one cheer more!”
113
XXVI. WATERLOO.
“On this spot the French cavalry charged, and broke the English
squares!”—Narrative of a French Tourist.
“Is it true, think you?”—Winter's Tale.
Ay, here such valorous deeds were done
As ne'er were done before;
Ay, here the reddest wreath was won
That ever Gallia wore;
Since Ariosto's wondrous Knight
Made all the Paynims dance,
There never dawned a day so bright
As Waterloo's on France.
As ne'er were done before;
Ay, here the reddest wreath was won
That ever Gallia wore;
Since Ariosto's wondrous Knight
Made all the Paynims dance,
There never dawned a day so bright
As Waterloo's on France.
The trumpet poured its deafening sound,
Flags fluttered on the gale,
And cannon roared, and heads flew round
As fast as summer hail;
The sabres flashed their light of fear,
The steeds began to prance;
The English quaked from front to rear—
They never quake in France!
Flags fluttered on the gale,
114
As fast as summer hail;
The sabres flashed their light of fear,
The steeds began to prance;
The English quaked from front to rear—
They never quake in France!
The cuirassiers rode in and out
As fierce as wolves and bears;
'Twas grand to see them slash about
Among the English squares!
And then the Polish Lancer came
Careering with his lance;
No wonder Britain blushed for shame,
And ran away from France!
As fierce as wolves and bears;
'Twas grand to see them slash about
Among the English squares!
And then the Polish Lancer came
Careering with his lance;
No wonder Britain blushed for shame,
And ran away from France!
The Duke of York was killed that day;
The king was sadly scarred;
Lord Eldon, as he ran away,
Was taken by the Guard;
Poor Wellington with fifty Blues
Escaped by some mischance;
Henceforth I think he'll hardly choose
To show himself in France.
The king was sadly scarred;
Lord Eldon, as he ran away,
Was taken by the Guard;
Poor Wellington with fifty Blues
Escaped by some mischance;
Henceforth I think he'll hardly choose
To show himself in France.
So Buonaparte pitched his tent
That night in Grosvenor Place,
And Ney rode straight to Parliament
And broke the Speaker's mace;
“Vive l' Empereur” was said and sung
From Peebles to Penzance;
The Mayor and Aldermen were hung;
Which made folks laugh in France.
That night in Grosvenor Place,
115
And broke the Speaker's mace;
“Vive l' Empereur” was said and sung
From Peebles to Penzance;
The Mayor and Aldermen were hung;
Which made folks laugh in France.
They pulled the Tower of London down;
They burnt our wooden walls;
They brought the Pope himself to town
And lodged him in St. Paul's;
And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes,
Awaking from a trance,
And grumbled out, in great surprise,
“Oh mercy! we're in France!”
They burnt our wooden walls;
They brought the Pope himself to town
And lodged him in St. Paul's;
And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes,
Awaking from a trance,
And grumbled out, in great surprise,
“Oh mercy! we're in France!”
They sent a Regent to our Isle,
The little King of Rome;
And squibs and crackers all the while
Blazed in the Place Vendôme;
And ever since, in arts and power,
They're making great advance;
They've had strong beer from that glad hour,
And sea-coal fires, in France.
The little King of Rome;
And squibs and crackers all the while
Blazed in the Place Vendôme;
And ever since, in arts and power,
They're making great advance;
They've had strong beer from that glad hour,
And sea-coal fires, in France.
My uncle, Captain Flanigan,
Who lost a leg in Spain,
Tells stories of a little man
Who died at St. Helène;
But bless my heart, they can't be true;
I'm sure they're all romance;
John Bull was beat at Waterloo!
They'll swear to that in France.
Who lost a leg in Spain,
116
Who died at St. Helène;
But bless my heart, they can't be true;
I'm sure they're all romance;
John Bull was beat at Waterloo!
They'll swear to that in France.
117
XXVII. MARS DISARMED BY LOVE.
Ay, bear it hence, thou blessed child,
Though dire the burden be
And hide it in the pathless wild,
Or drown it in the sea!
The ruthless murderer prays and swears—
So let him swear and pray!
Be deaf to all his oaths and prayers,
And take the sword away.
Though dire the burden be
118
Or drown it in the sea!
The ruthless murderer prays and swears—
So let him swear and pray!
Be deaf to all his oaths and prayers,
And take the sword away.
We've had enough of fleets and camps,
Guns, glories, odes, gazettes,
Triumphal arches, coloured lamps,
Huzzas and epaulettes;
We could not bear upon our head
Another leaf of bay;
That horrid Buonaparte's dead;
Yes, take the sword away.
Guns, glories, odes, gazettes,
Triumphal arches, coloured lamps,
Huzzas and epaulettes;
We could not bear upon our head
Another leaf of bay;
That horrid Buonaparte's dead;
Yes, take the sword away.
We're weary of the noisy boasts
That pleased our patriot throngs;
We've long been dull to Gooch's toasts,
And deaf to Dibdin's songs;
We're quite content to rule the wave
Without a great display;
We're known to be extremely brave;
But take the sword away.
That pleased our patriot throngs;
We've long been dull to Gooch's toasts,
And deaf to Dibdin's songs;
We're quite content to rule the wave
Without a great display;
We're known to be extremely brave;
But take the sword away.
We give a shrug when pipe and drum
Play up a favourite air;
We think our barracks are become
More ugly than they were;
We laugh to see the banners float;
We loathe the charger's bray;
We don't admire a scarlet coat;
Do take the sword away!
Play up a favourite air;
119
More ugly than they were;
We laugh to see the banners float;
We loathe the charger's bray;
We don't admire a scarlet coat;
Do take the sword away!
Let Portugal have rulers twain,
Let Greece go on with none,
Let Popery sink or swim in Spain
While we enjoy the fun;
Let Turkey tremble at the knout,
Let Algiers lose her Dey,
Let Paris turn her Bourbons out;
Bah! take the sword away.
Let Greece go on with none,
Let Popery sink or swim in Spain
While we enjoy the fun;
Let Turkey tremble at the knout,
Let Algiers lose her Dey,
Let Paris turn her Bourbons out;
Bah! take the sword away.
Our honest friends in Parliament
Are looking vastly sad;
Our farmers say with one consent
It's all immensely bad;
There was a time for borrowing,
And now it's time to pay;
A budget is a serious thing;
So, take the sword away.
Are looking vastly sad;
Our farmers say with one consent
It's all immensely bad;
There was a time for borrowing,
And now it's time to pay;
A budget is a serious thing;
So, take the sword away.
And oh the bitter tears we wept
In those our days of fame—
The dread that o'er our heart-strings crept
With every post that came—
The home-affections waged and lost
In many a far-off fray—
The price that British glory cost!
Ah, take the sword away!
In those our days of fame—
120
With every post that came—
The home-affections waged and lost
In many a far-off fray—
The price that British glory cost!
Ah, take the sword away!
We've plenty left to hoist the sail,
Or dare the dangerous breach,
And Freedom breathes in every gale
That wanders round our beach.
When Duty bids us dare or die,
We'll fight, another day;
But till we know the reason why,
Take—take the sword away!
Or dare the dangerous breach,
And Freedom breathes in every gale
That wanders round our beach.
When Duty bids us dare or die,
We'll fight, another day;
But till we know the reason why,
Take—take the sword away!
| The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |