by Thomas Moore
Alike a gamester and a wit,
At night he was seen with Crockford’s crew,
At morn with learned dames would sit —
So past his time ‘twixt black and blue.
Some wisht to make him an M. P.,
But, finding Wilks was also one, he
Swore, in a rage, “he’d be damned, if he
“Would ever sit in one house with Johnny.”
At length as secrets travel fast,
And devils, whether he or she,
Are sure to be found out at last,
The affair got wind most rapidly.
The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs
Alike a fiend’s or an angel’s capers —
Miss Paton’s soon as Beelzebub’s,
Fired off a squib in the morning papers:
“We warn good men to keep aloof
“From a grim old Dandy seen about
“With a fire-proof wig and a cloven hoof
“Thro’ a neat-cut Hoby smoking out.”
Now, — the Devil being gentleman,
Who piques himself on well-bred dealings, —
You may guess, when o’er these lines he ran,
How much they hurt and shockt his feelings.
Away he posts to a Man of Law,
And ’twould make you laugh could you have seen ’em,
As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw,
And ’twas “hail, good fellow, well met,” between ’em.
Straight an indictment was preferred —
And much the Devil enjoyed the jest,
When, asking about the Bench, he heard
That, of all the Judges, his own was Best.1
In vain Defendant proffered proof
That Plaintiff’s self was the Father of Evil —
Brought Hoby forth to swear to the hoof
And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil.
The Jury (saints, all snug and rich,
And readers of virtuous Sunday papers)
Found for the Plaintiff — on hearing which
The Devil gave one of his loftiest capers.
For oh, ’twas nuts to the Father of Lies
(As this wily fiend is named in the Bible)
To find it settled by laws so wise,
That the greater the truth, the worse the libel!
1 A celebrated Judge, so named.
LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT.
Wanted — Authors of all-work to job for the season,
No matter which party, so faithful to neither;
Good hacks who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason.
Can manage, like * * * * * *, to do without either.
If in jail, all the better for out-o’-door topics;
Your jail is for travellers a charming retreat;
They can take a day’s rule for a trip to the Tropics,
And sail round the world at their ease in the Fleet.
For a dramatist too the most useful of schools —
He can study high life in the King’s Bench community;
Aristotle could scarce keep him more within rules,
And of place he at least must adhere to the unity.
Any lady or gentleman, come to an age
To have good “Reminiscences” (three-score or higher)
Will meet with encouragement — so much, per page,
And the spelling and grammar both found by the buyer.
No matter with what their remembrance is stockt,
So they’ll only remember the quantum desired; —
Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes, oct.,
Price twenty-four shillings, is all that’s required.
They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeu-d’esprits,
Like Dibdin, may tell of each farcical frolic;
Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis,1
That gingerbread-cakes always give them the colic.
Wanted also a new stock of Pamphlets on Corn
By “Farmers” and “Landholders” — (worthies whose lands
Enclosed all in bow-pots their attics adorn,
Or whose share of the soil maybe seen on their hands).
No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein,
Sure of a market; — should they too who pen ’em
Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh O’Sullivan,2
Something extra allowed for the additional venom.
Funds, Physics, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance,
All excellent subjects for turning a penny; —
To write upon all is an author’s sole chance
For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any.
Nine times out of ten, if his title is good,
The material within of small consequence is; —
Let him only write fine, and, if not understood,
Why — that’s the concern of the reader, not his.
Nota Bene — an Essay, now printing, to show,
That Horace (as clearly as words could express it)
Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages ago,
When he wrote thus— “Quodcunque in Fund is, assess it.”
1 This lady also favors us, in her Memoirs, with the address of those apothecaries, who have, from time to time, given her pills that agreed with her; always desiring that the pills should be ordered “comme pour elle.”
2 A gentleman, who distinguished himself by his evidence before the Irish Committees.
THE IRISH SLAVE.1
1827.
I heard as I lay, a wailing sound,
“He is dead — he is dead,” the rumor flew;
And I raised my chain and turned me round,
And askt, thro’ the dungeon-window, “Who?”
I saw my livid tormentors pass;
Their grief ’twas bliss to hear and see!
For never came joy to them alas!
That didn’t bring deadly bane to me.
Eager I lookt thro’ the mist of night,
And askt, “What foe of my race hath died?
“Is it he — that Doubter of law and right,
“Whom nothing but wrong could e’er decide —
“Who, long as he sees but wealth to win,
“Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt
“What suitors for justice he’d keep in,
“Or what suitors for freedom he’d shut out —
“Who, a clog for ever on Truth’s advance,
“Hangs round her (like the Old Man of the Sea
“Round Sinbad’s neck2), nor leaves a chance
“Of shaking him off — is’t he? is’t he?”
Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled,
And thrusting me back to my den of woe,
With a laughter even more fierce and wild
Than their funeral howling, answered “No.”
But the cry still pierced my prison-gate,
And again I askt, “What scourge is gone?
“Is it he — that Chief, so coldly great,
“Whom Fame unwillingly shines upon —
“Whose name is one of the ill-omened words
“They link with hate on his native plains;
“And why? — they lent him hearts and swords,
“And he in return gave scoffs and chains!
“Is it he? is it he?” I loud inquired,
When, hark! — there sounded a Royal knell;
And I knew what spirit had just expired,
And slave as I was my triumph fell.
He had pledged a hate unto me and mine,
He had left to the future nor hope nor choice,
But sealed that hate with a Name Divine,
And he now was dead and — I couldn’t rejoice!
He had fanned afresh the burning brands
Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim;
He had armed anew my torturers’ hands,
And them did I curse — but sighed for him.
For, his was the error of head not heart;
> And — oh! how beyond the ambushed foe,
Who to enmity adds the traitor’s part,
And carries a smile with a curse below!
If ever a heart made bright amends
For the fatal fault of an erring head —
Go, learn his fame from the lips of friends,
In the orphan’s tear be his glory read.
A Prince without pride, a man without guile,
To the last unchanging, warm, sincere,
For Worth he had ever a hand and smile,
And for Misery ever his purse and tear.
Touched to the heart by that solemn toll,
I calmly sunk in my chains again;
While, still as I said, “Heaven rest his soul!”
My mates of the dungeon sighed “Amen!”
January, 1827.
1 Written on the death of the Duke of York.
2 “You fell, said they, into the hands of the Old Man of the Sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks.” — Story of Sinbad.
ODE TO FERDINAND.
1827.
Quit the sword, thou King of men,
Grasp the needle once again;
Making petticoats is far
Safer sport than making war;
Trimming is a better thing,
Than the being trimmed, oh King!
Grasp the needle bright with which
Thou didst for the Virgin stitch
Garment, such as ne’er before
Monarch stitched or Virgin wore,
Not for her, oh semster nimble!
Do I now invoke thy thimble;
Not for her thy wanted aid is,
But for certain grave old ladies,
Who now sit in England’s cabinet,
Waiting to be clothed in tabinet,
Or whatever choice étoffe is
Fit for Dowagers in office.
First, thy care, oh King, devote
To Dame Eldon’s petticoat.
Make it of that silk whose dye
Shifts for ever to the eye,
Just as if it hardly knew
Whether to be pink or blue.
Or — material fitter yet —
If thou couldst a remnant get
Of that stuff with which, of old,
Sage Penelope, we’re told,
Still by doing and undoing,
Kept her suitors always wooing —
That’s the stuff which I pronounce, is
Fittest for Dame Eldon’s flounces.
After this, we’ll try thy hand,
Mantua-making Ferdinand,
For old Goody Westmoreland;
One who loves, like Mother Cole,
Church and State with all her soul;
And has past her life in frolics
Worthy of our Apostolics.
Choose, in dressing this old flirt,
Something that won’t show the dirt,
As, from habit, every minute
Goody Westmoreland is in it.
This is all I now shall ask,
Hie thee, monarch, to thy task;
Finish Eldon’s frills and borders,
Then return for further orders.
Oh what progress for our sake,
Kings in millinery make!
Ribands, garters, and such things,
Are supplied by other Kings —
Ferdinand his rank denotes
By providing petticoats.
HAT VERSUS WIG.
1827.
“At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eldon, in order to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon his hat during the whole of the ceremony.”
— metus omnes et inexorabile fatum subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari.
‘Twixt Eldon’s Hat and Eldon’s Wig
There lately rose an altercation, —
Each with its own importance big,
Disputing which most serves the nation.
Quoth Wig, with consequential air,
“Pooh! pooh! you surely can’t design,
“My worthy beaver, to compare
“Your station in the state with mine.
“Who meets the learned legal crew?
“Who fronts the lordly Senate’s pride?
“The Wig, the Wig, my friend — while you
“Hang dangling on some peg outside.
“Oh! ’tis the Wig, that rules, like Love,
“Senate and Court, with like éclat —
“And wards below and lords above,
“For Law is Wig and Wig is Law!
“Who tried the long, Long WELLESLEY suit,
“Which tried one’s patience, in return?
“Not thou, oh Hat! — tho’ couldst thou do’t,
“Of other brims1 than thine thou’dst learn.
“’Twas mine our master’s toil to share;
“When, like ‘Truepenny,’ in the play,2
“He, every minute, cried out ‘Swear,’
“And merrily to swear went they; — 3
“When, loath poor WELLESLEY to condemn, he
“With nice discrimination weighed,
“Whether ’twas only ‘Hell and Jemmy,’
Or ‘Hell and Tommy’ that he played.
“No, no, my worthy beaver, no —
“Tho’ cheapened at the cheapest hatter’s,
“And smart enough as beavers go
“Thou ne’er wert made for public matters.”
Here Wig concluded his oration,
Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise;
While thus, full cockt for declamation,
The veteran Hat enraged replies: —
“Ha! dost thou then so soon forget
“What thou, what England owes to me?
“Ungrateful Wig! — when will a debt,
“So deep, so vast, be owed thee?
“Think of that night, that fearful night,
“When, thro’ the steaming vault below,
“Our master dared, in gout’s despite,
“To venture his podagric toe!
“Who was it then, thou boaster, say
“When thou hadst to thy box sneaked off,
“Beneath his feet protecting lay,
“And saved him from a mortal cough?
“Think, if Catarrh had quenched that sun,
“How blank this world had been to thee!
“Without that head to shine upon,
“Oh Wig, where would thy glory be?
“You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope
“Of Church and State been ravisht from ye,
“Oh think, how Canning and the Pope
“Would then have played up ‘Hell and Tommy’!
“At sea, there’s but a plank, they say,
“‘Twixt seamen and annihilation;
“A Hat, that awful moment, lay
“‘Twixt England and Emancipation!
“Oh!!!—”
At this “Oh!!!” The Times Reporter
Was taken poorly, and retired;
Which made him cut Hat’s rhetoric shorter,
Than justice to the case required.
On his return, he found these shocks
Of eloquence all ended quite;
And Wig lay snoring in his box,
And Hat was — hung up for the night.
1 “Brim — a naughty woman.” — GROSE.
2”Ghost[beneath]. — Swear! “Hamlet. — Ha, ha! say’st thou so! Art thou there, Truepenny? Come on.”
3 His Lordship’s demand for fresh affidavits was incessant.
THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS.
A SALMAGUNDIAN HYMN.
“To Panurge was assigned the Laird-ship of Salmagundi, which was yearly worth 6,789,106,789 ryals besides the revenue of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting one year with another to the value of 2,485,768,” etc. — RABELAIS.
“Hurra! hurra!” I heard them say,
And they cheered and s
houted all the way,
As the Laird of Salmagundi went.
To open in state his Parliament.
The Salmagundians once were rich,
Or thought they were — no matter which —
For, every year, the Revenue
From their Periwinkles larger grew;
And their rulers, skilled in all the trick
And legerdemain of arithmetic,
Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10,
Such various ways, behind, before,
That they made a unit seem a score,
And proved themselves most wealthy men!
So, on they went, a prosperous crew,
The people wise, the rulers clever —
And God help those, like me and you,
Who dared to doubt (as some now do)
That the Periwinkle Revenue
Would thus go flourishing on for ever.
“Hurra! hurra!” I heard them say,
And they cheered and shouted all the way,
As the Great Panurge in glory went
To open his own dear Parliament.
But folks at length began to doubt
What all this conjuring was about;
For, every day, more deep in debt
They saw their wealthy rulers get: —
“Let’s look (said they) the items thro’
“And see if what we’re told be true
“Of our Periwinkle Revenue,”
But, lord! they found there wasn’t a tittle
Of truth in aught they heard before;
For they gained by Periwinkles little
And lost by Locusts ten times more!
These Locusts are a lordly breed
Some Salmagundians love to feed.
Of all the beasts that ever were born,
Your Locust most delights in corn;
And tho’ his body be but small,
To fatten him takes the devil and all!
“Oh fie! oh fie!” was now the cry,
As they saw the gaudy show go by,
As the Laird of Salmagundi went
To open his Locust Parliament!
NEW CREATION OF PEERS.
BATCH THE FIRST.
“His ‘prentice han’
He tried on man,
And then he made the lasses.”
1827.
“And now,” quoth the Minister, (eased of his panics,
And ripe for each pastime the summer affords,)
“Having had our full swing at destroying mechanics,
“By way of set-off, let us make a few Lords.
“’Tis pleasant — while nothing but mercantile fractures,
“Some simple, some compound, is dinned in our ears —
