It chanc'd at this moment, the Episcopal Prig
Was imploring the P-e to dispense with his wig,1
Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his head,
And some Tobit-like marks of his patronage shed,
Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idolatrous eye,
That, while Fum cried 'Oh Fo!' all the court cried 'Oh fie!'
But, a truce to digression;-these Birds of a feather
Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State matters together;
(The P- ---e just in bed, or about to depart for't,
His legs full of gout, and his arms full of H--rtf―d),
'I say, Hum,' says Fum-Fum, of course, spoke Chinese,
But, bless you, that's nothing-at Brighton one sees
Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease-
'I say, Hum, how fares it with Royalty now?
Is it up? is it prime? is it spooney?—or how?'
(The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree
Under B-rr-m-re, Y-th, and young Master L-e)
'As for us in Pekin '-here a devil of a din
From the bed-chamber came, where that long Mandarin,
C-stl-gh (whom Fum calls the Confucius of Prose),
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose
To the deep double bass of the fat Idol's nose.
(Nota bene-his Lordship and L-v-rp-1 come,
In collateral lines, from the old Mother Hum,
C-stl-gh a Hum-bug-L-v-rp-1 a Hum-drum.)
The Speech being finish'd, out rush'd C-stl-gh,
Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away,
Through the regions of air, like a Snip on his hobby,
Ne'er paus'd, till he lighted in St. Stephen's lobby.
EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIBB TO BIG BEN.
CONCERNING SOME FOUL PLAY IN A LATE TRANSACTION.2
'Ahi, mio BEN!'-Metastasio,3
WHAT! Ben, my old hero, is this your renown?
Is this the new go?-kick a man when he's down!
When the foe has knock'd under, to tread on him then--
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben!
'Foul! foul!' all the lads of the Fancy exclaim-
Charley Shock is electrified-Belcher spits flame-
And Molyneux-ay, even Blacky cries shame!'
Time was, when John Bull little difference spied
'Twixt the foe at his feet, and the friend at his side;
When he found (such his humour in fighting and eating)
His foe, like his beefsteak, the sweeter for beating.
In consequence of an old promise, that he should be allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he might be elevated to a Bishopric by his R-1 H--SS.
2 Written soon after Bonaparte's transportation to St. Helena.
3 Tom, I suppose, was 'assisted' to this Motto by Mr. Jackson, who, it is well known, keeps the most learned company going..
But this comes, Master Ben, of your curst foreign notions,
Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace, and lotions;
Your Noyaus, Curaçoas, and the Devil knows what-
(One swig of Blue Ruin1 is worth the whole lot!)
Your great and small crosses— (my eyes, what a brood!
A cross-buttock from me would do some of them good!)
Which have spoilt you, till hardly a drop, my old porpoise,
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus;
And (as Jim says) the only one trick, good or bad,
Of the Fancy you're up to, is fibbing, my lad.
Hence it comes,-Boxiana, disgrace to thy page!—
Having floor'd, by good luck, the first swell of the age,
Having conquer'd the prime one, that mill'd us all round,
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on the ground!
Ay-just at the time to show spunk, if you'd got any-
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'd him to Botany!
Oh, shade of the Cheesemonger! you, who, alas!
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in brass,
On that great day of milling, when blood lay in lakes,
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe the stakes,
Look down upon Ben-see him, dunghill all o'er,
Insult the fall'n foe, that can harm him no more.
Out, cowardly spooney!-again and again,
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben.
To show the white feather is many men's doom,
But, what of one feather ?-Ben shows a whole Plume.
AN AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK AND GOVERNMENT,
Is all then forgotten ?-those amorous pranks
You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, played—
When you called me the fondest, the truest of Banks,
And enjoyed the endearing advances I made.
When-left to do all, unmolested and free,
That a dashing, expensive young couple should do,
A law against paying was laid upon me,
But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you?
And is it then vanished?—that 'hour (as Othello
So happily calls it) of Love and Direction ;'
And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow,
Grow good in our old age, and cut the connexion?
Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be,
This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing
We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee
There must soon be a stop to our bill-ing and cooing.
Propagation in reason-a small child or two-
Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to;
The issue of some folks is moderate and few-
But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no end to! So, hard as it is on a pair who've already
Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence; And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy, Who'd even in famine cry, D- --n the expense !'— The day is at hand, my Papyria1 Venus,
When, high as we once used to carry our capers, Those soft billets-doux we're now passing between us Will serve but to keep Mrs. C-tts in curl-papers; And when-if we still must continue our love
After all that is past-our amour, it is clear (Like that which Miss Danaë managed with Jove), Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear!
ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES.
BY SIR T-S LE.
'Legiferæ Cereri Phœboque.'-Virgil.
DEAR Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies), Adorned with somniferous poppies, to show
Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Goddess ! Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee,
An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches,
Great Queen of Mark Lane (if the thing doesn't bore thee),
Thou'lt read o'er the last of his-never-last speeches.
Ah! Ceres, thou knowest not the slander and scorn
Now heaped upon England's 'Squirearchy so boasted;
Improving on Hunt's scheme, instead of the Corn,
'Tis now the Corn-growers, alas! that are roasted!
In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us-
Reviewers, economists-fellows, no doubt,
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus,
And Gods of high fashion, know little about.
There's B-nth-m, whose English is all his own making, -—
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking
(What he himself calls) his post-prandial vibration."2
'To distinguish her from the 'Aurea'
2 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk.
There are two Mr. M—s, too, whom those that like reading
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever;—
And, whereas M- Senior makes war on good breeding,
M- Junior makes war on all breeding whatever!
In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages;-
With which of these classes we landlords have sided,
Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few pages.
For therein I've proved, to my own satisfaction,
And that of all 'Squires I've the honour of meeting,
That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouthed detraction,
To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating.
On the contrary, such the chaste notions of food
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart,
They would scorn any law, be it ever so good,
That would make thee dear Goddess, less dear than thou art!
And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day,
When the Land and the Silk shall, in fond combination,
(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play),
Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and Starvation !1
Long life to the Minister !--no matter who,
Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he,
Keeps the ports shut-and the people's mouths, too,-
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity.
As for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn
To hate the whole crew who would take our rents from us,
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn,
That last honest Uni-corn2 would be-Sir Th-s!
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND A ONE-POUND NOTE.
'O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres
Agna lupos, capreæque leones.'-Hor.
SAID a Sovereign to a Note,
In the pocket of my coat,
Where they met, in a neat purse of leather,
How happens it, I prithee,
That though I'm wedded with thee,
Fair Pound, we can never live together?
allusion to the natural history of the unicorn,
Dicta Fames Cereris (quamvis contraria which is supposed to be something between the
Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees' clopædia tells us, has a particular liking for anything
This is meant not so much for a pun, as in chaste.
'Like your sex, fond of change,
With silver you can range,
And of lots of young sixpences be mother;
While with me-on my word,
Not my Lady and my Lord
-th see so little of each other!'
The indignant Note replied
(Lying crumpled by his side),
'Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir,
One cannot look askance,
But, whip! you're off to France,
Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir!
'Your scampering began
From the moment Parson Van,
Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter.
"For better or for worse
Is the usual marriage curse:
But ours is all "worse" and no "better."
'In vain are laws passed,
There's nothing holds you fast,
Though you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you-
At the smallest hint in life,
You forsake your lawful wife,
As other Sovereigns did before you.
'I flirt with Silver, true-
But what can ladies do,
When disowned by their natural protectors?
And as to falsehood, stuff!
I shall soon be false enough,
When I get among those wicked Bank Directors.'
The Sovereign, smiling on her,
Now swore, upon his honour,
To be henceforth domestic and loyal
But, within an hour or two,
Why-I sold him to a Jew,
And he's now at No. 10, Palais Royal.
AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING.
'Quem das finem, Rex magne, laborum ?'—Virgil.
How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,
'Tis hardly worth while being very high born!
1 See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1, when Lord King was severely re proved by several of the noble Peers for making so many speeches against the Corn Laws.
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