The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
There's Bentham, 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 "postprandial vibration."[2]
There are two Mr. Mills to whom those that love reading Thro' all that's unreadable call very clever;-- And whereas Mill Senior makes war on _good_ breeding, Mill Junior makes war on all _breeding_ whatever!
In short, my dear G.o.ddess, old England's divided Between _ultra_ blockheads and superfine sages;-- With _which_ of these cla.s.ses 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 honor 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"[3] 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 G.o.ddess, less dear than thou art!
And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day, Whom the Land and the Silk[4] shall in fond combination (Like _Sulky_ and _Silky_, that pair in the play,)[5]
Cry out with one voice for High Rents and Starvation!
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,
And, 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-Corn[6] would be Sir Thomas!
[1] A sort of "breakfast-power," composed of roasted corn, was about this time introduced by Mr. Hunt, as a subst.i.tute for coffee.
[2] The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk.
[3] A phrase in one of Sir Thomas's last speeches.
[4] Great efforts were, at that time, making for the exclusion of foreign silk.
[5] "Road to Ruin."
[6] This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be, something between the _Bos_ and the _Asinus_, and, as Rees's Cyclopaedia a.s.sures us, has a particular liking for everything "chaste."
A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE RECESS.
_"animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo."_
And now-cross-buns and pancakes o'er-- Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more!
Thrice hail and welcome, Houses Twain!
The short eclipse of April-Day Having (G.o.d grant it!) past away, Collective Wisdom, s.h.i.+ne again!
Come, Ayes and Noes, thro' thick and thin,-- With Paddy Holmes for whipper-in,-- Whate'er the job, prepared to back it; Come, voters of Supplies--bestowers Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, At eighty mortal pounds the jacket![1]
Come--free, at length, from Joint-Stock cares-- Ye Senators of many Shares, Whose dreams of premium knew no boundary; So fond of aught like _Company_, That you would even have taken _tea_ (Had you been askt) with Mr. Goundry.[2]
Come, matchless country-gentlemen; Come, wise Sir Thomas--wisest then When creeds and corn-lords are debated; Come, rival even the Harlot Red, And show how wholly into _bread_ A 'Squire is _transubstantiated_,
Come, Lauderdale, and tell the world, That--surely as thy scratch is curled As never scratch was curled before-- Cheap eating does more harm than good, And working-people spoiled by food, The less they eat, will work the more.
Come, Goulburn, with thy glib defence (Which thou'dst have made for Peter's Pence) Of Church-rates, worthy of a halter; Two pipes of port (_old_ port, 'twas said By honest _New_port)[3] bought and paid By Papists for the Orange Altar![4]
Come, Horton, with thy plan so merry For peopling Canada from Kerry-- Not so much rendering Ireland quiet, As grafting on the dull Canadians That liveliest of earth's contagions, The _bull_-pock of Hibernian riot!
Come all, in short, ye wondrous men Of wit and wisdom, come again; Tho' short your absence, all deplore it-- Oh, come and show, whate'er men say, That you can _after_ April-Day, Be just as--sapient as _before_ it.
[1] An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeavored tog et rid of:-- trumpeters, it appears like the men of All-Souls, must be "_bene vest.i.ti_."
[2] The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his _Joint_-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing "Te _solo adoro_."
[3] Sir John Newport.
[4] This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their Catholic fellow- paris.h.i.+oners by the Irish Protestants. "The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine."
MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK.
MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826.
The Budget--quite charming and witty--no hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it;-- Great comfort to find, tho' the speech isn't _cheering_, That all its gay auditors _were_ every minute.
What, _still_ more prosperity!--mercy upon us, "This boy'll be the death of me"--oft as, already, Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, For _Ruin made easy_ there's no one like Freddy.
TUESDAY.
Much grave apprehension exprest by the Peers, Lest--calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts-- The large stock of gold we're to have in three years, Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets![1]
WEDNESDAY.
Little doing--for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table-- When _the Members_ all meet, to make much of that part, With which they so rashly fell out in the Fable.
It appeared, tho', to-night, that--as church-wardens yearly, Eat up a small baby--those cormorant sinners.
The Bankrupt Commissioners, _bolt_ very nearly A moderate-sized bankrupt, _tout chaud_, for their dinners![2]
_Nota bene_--a rumor to-day, in the city, "Mr. Robinson just has resigned"--what a pity!
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, When they heard of the fate of poor c.o.c.k _Robin_: While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, A murmuring _Stock_-dove breathed her ditty:--
Alas, poor _Robin_, he crowed as long And as sweet as a prosperous c.o.c.k could crow; But his _note_ was _small_ and the _gold_-finch's song Was a pitch too high for Robin to go.
Who'll make his shroud?
