The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 238

Never in short did parallel Betwixt two heroes _gee_ so well; And among the points in which they fit, There's one, dear Bob, I can?t omit.

That hacking, hectoring blade of thine Dealt much in the _Domdaniel_ line; And 'tis but rendering justice due, To say that ours and his Tory crew _d.a.m.n Daniel_ most devoutly too.

RIVAL TOPICS.[1]

AN EXTRAVAGANZA.

Oh Wellington and Stephenson, Oh morn and evening papers, _Times_, _Herald_, _Courier_, _Globe_, and _Sun_, When will ye cease our ears to stun With these two heroes' capers?

Still "Stephenson" and "Wellington,"

The everlasting two!-- Still doomed, from rise to set of sun, To hear what mischief one has done, And t'other means to do:-- What bills the banker past to friends, But never meant to pay; What Bills the other wight intends, As honest, in their way;-- Bills, payable at distant sight, Beyond the Grecian kalends, When all good deeds will come to light, When Wellington will do what's right, And Rowland pay his balance.

To catch the banker all have sought, But still the rogue unhurt is; While t'other juggler--who'd have thought?

Tho' slippery long, has just been caught By old Archbishop Curtis;-- And, such the power of papal crook, The crosier scarce had quivered About his ears, when, lo! the Duke Was of a Bull delivered!

Sir Richard Birnie doth decide That Rowland "must be mad,"

In private coach, with crest, to ride, When chaises could be had.

And t'other hero, all agree, St. Luke's will soon arrive at, If thus he shows off publicly, When he might pa.s.s in private.

Oh Wellington, oh Stephenson, Ye ever-boring pair, Where'er I sit, or stand, or run, Ye haunt me everywhere.

Tho' Job had patience tough enough, Such duplicates would try it; Till one's turned out and t'other off, We Shan? have peace or quiet.

But small's the chance that Law affords-- Such folks are daily let off; And, 'twixt the old Bailey and the Lords, They both, I fear, will get off.

[1] The date of this squib must have been, I think, about 1828-9.

THE BOY STATESMAN.

BY A TORY.

"That boy will be the death of me."

_Matthews at Home_.

Ah, Tories dear, our ruin is near, With Stanley to help us, we can?t but fall; Already a warning voice I hear, Like the late Charles Matthews' croak in my ear, "That boy--that boy'll be the death of you all."

He will, G.o.d help us!--not even Scriblerius In the "Art of Sinking" his match could be; And our case is growing exceeding serious, For, all being in the same boat as he, If down my Lord goes, down go we, Lord Baron Stanley and Company, As deep in Oblivion's swamp below As such "Masters Shallow," well could go; And where we shall all both low and high, Embalmed in mud, as forgotten lie As already doth Graham of Netherby!

But that boy, that boy!--there's a tale I know, Which in talking of him comes a_propos_.

Sir Thomas More had an only son, And a foolish lad was that only one, And Sir Thomas said one day to his wife, "My dear, I can?t but wish you joy.

"For you prayed for a boy, and you now have a boy, "Who'll continue a boy to the end of his life."

Even such is our own distressing lot, With the ever-young statesman we have got; Nay even still worse; for Master More Wasn't more a youth than he'd been before, While _ours_ such power of boyhood shows, That the older he gets the more juvenile he grows, And at what extreme old age he'll close His schoolboy course, heaven only knows;-- Some century hence, should he reach so far, And ourselves to witness it heaven condemn, We shall find him a sort of _cub_ Old Parr, A whipper-snapper Methusalem; Nay, even should he make still longer stay of it, The boy'll want _judgment_, even to the day of it!

Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction; And day and night with awe I recall The late Mr. Matthews' solemn prediction, "That boy'll be the death, the death of you all."

LETTER

FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN TO THE REV. MURTHAGH O'MULLIGAN.

Arrah, where were _you_, Murthagh, that beautiful day?-- Or how came it your riverence was laid on the shelf, When that poor craythur, Bobby--as _you_ were away-- Had to make _twice_ as big a Tomfool of _himself_.

Troth, it wasn?t at all civil to lave in the lurch A boy so deserving your tindhr'est affection:-- Too such iligant Siamase twins of the Church, As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the connection.

If thus in two different directions you pull, 'Faith, they'll swear that yourself and your riverend brother Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory's Bull, Whose tails were joined _one_ way, while they lookt _another_![1]

Och blest be he, whosomdever he be, That helpt soft Magee to that Bull of a Letther!

Not even my own self, tho' I sometimes make free At such bull-manufacture, could make him a betther.

To be sure, when a lad takes to _forgin_', this way, 'Tis a thrick he's much timpted to carry on gayly; Till, at last, his "injanious devices,"[2]

Show him up, not at Exether Hall, but the Ould Bailey.

That parsons should forge thus appears mighty odd, And (as if somethin' "odd" in their _names_, too, must be,) _One_ forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, "While a riverend Todd's now his match, to a T.[3]

But, no matther _who_ did it all blessin's betide him, For dis.h.i.+n' up Bob, in a manner so nate; And there wanted but _you_, Murthagh 'vourneen, beside him, To make the whole grand dish of _bull_-calf complate.

[1] "You will increase the enmity with which they are regarded by their a.s.sociates in heresy, thus tying these foxes by the tails, that their faces may tend in opposite directions."--Bob's _Bull_ read, at Exeter Hall, July 14.

[2] "An ingenious device of my learned friend."--Bob's _Letter to Standard_.

[3] Had I consulted only my own wishes, I should not have allowed this hasty at tack on Dr. Todd to have made its appearance in this Collection; being now fully convinced that the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of intending to pa.s.s off as genuine his famous mock Papal Letter was altogether unfounded. Finding it to be the wish, however, of my reverend friend--as I am now glad to be permitted to call him--that both the wrong and the reparation, the Ode and, the Palinode, should be thus placed in juxtaposition, I have thought it but due to him, to comply with his request.

MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER.

Of all the odd plans of this monstrously queer age, The oddest is that of reforming the peerage;-- Just as if we, great dons, with a t.i.tle and star, Did not get on exceedingly well as we are, And perform all the functions of noodles by birth As completely as any born noodles on earth.

How _acres_ descend, is in law-books displayed, But we as _wise_acres descend, ready made; And by right of our rank in Debrett's nomenclature, Are all of us born legislators by nature;-- Like ducklings to water instinctively taking, So we with like quackery take to lawmaking; And G.o.d forbid any reform should come o'er us, To make us more wise than our sires were before us.

The Egyptians of old the same policy knew-- If your sire was a cook, you must be a cook too: Thus making, from father to son, a good trade of it, Poisoners _by right_ (so no more could be said of it), The cooks like our lords.h.i.+ps a pretty mess made of it; While, famed for _conservative_ stomachs, the Egyptians Without a wry face bolted all the prescriptions.