The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens Part 5

The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land, In England there shall be dear bread--in Ireland, sword and brand; And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand, So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand, Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time!

W.

II.--THE QUACK DOCTOR'S PROCLAMATION

THE QUACK DOCTOR'S PROCLAMATION

TUNE--'A COBBLER THERE WAS'

An astonis.h.i.+ng doctor has just come to town, Who will do all the faculty perfectly brown: He knows all diseases, their causes, and ends; And he begs to appeal to his medical friends.

Tol de rol: Diddle doll: Tol de rol, de dol, Diddle doll Tol de rol doll.

He's a magnetic doctor, and knows how to keep The whole of a Government snoring asleep To popular clamours; till popular pins Are stuck in their midriffs--and then he begins Tol de rol.

He's a _clairvoyant_ subject, and readily reads His countrymen's wishes, condition, and needs, With many more fine things I can't tell in rhyme, --And he keeps both his eyes shut the whole of the time.

Tol de rol.

You mustn't expect him to talk; but you'll take Most particular notice the doctor's awake, Though for aught from his words or his looks that you reap, he Might just as well be most confoundedly sleepy.

Tol de rol.

h.o.m.oeopathy, too, he has practised for ages (You'll find his prescriptions in Luke Hansard's pages), Just giving his patient when maddened by pain,-- Of Reform the ten thousandth part of a grain.

Tol de rol.

He's a med'cine for Ireland, in portable papers; The infallible cure for political vapours; A neat label round it his 'prentices tie-- 'Put your trust in the Lord, and keep this powder dry!'

Tol de rol.

He's a corn doctor also, of wonderful skill, --No cutting, no rooting-up, purging, or pill-- You're merely to take, 'stead of walking or riding, The sweet schoolboy exercise--innocent sliding.

Tol de rol.

There's no advice gratis. If high ladies send His legitimate fee, he's their soft-spoken friend.

At the great public counter with one hand behind him, And one in his waistcoat, they're certain to find him.

Tol de rol.

He has only to add he's the real Doctor Flam, All others being purely fict.i.tious and sham; The house is a large one, tall, slated, and white, With a lobby; and lights in the pa.s.sage at night.

Tol de rol: Diddle doll: Tol de rol, de dol, Diddle doll Tol de rol doll.

W.

III.--SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS

SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS

(AFTER PETER PINDAR)

To you, SIR MARTIN,[1] and your co. R.A.'s, I dedicate in meek, suggestive lays, Some subjects for your academic palettes; Hoping, by dint of these my scanty jobs, To fill with novel thoughts your teeming n.o.bs, As though I beat them in with wooden mallets.

To you, MACLISE, who Eve's fair daughters paint With Nature's hand, and want the maudlin taint Of the sweet Chalon school of silk and ermine: To you, E. LANDSEER, who from year to year Delight in beasts and birds, and dogs and deer, And seldom give us any human vermin: --To all who practise art, or make believe, I offer subjects they may take or leave.

Great Sibthorp and his butler, in debate (_Arcades ambo_) on affairs of state, Not altogether 'gone,' but rather funny; Cursing the Whigs for leaving in the lurch Our d----d good, pleasant, gentlemanly Church, Would make a picture--cheap at any money.

Or Sibthorp as the Tory Sec.--at-War, Encouraging his mates with loud 'Yhor! Yhor!

From Treas'ry benches' most conspicuous end; Or Sib.'s mustachios curling with a smile, As an expectant Premier without guile Calls him his honourable and gallant friend.

Or Sibthorp travelling in foreign parts, Through that rich portion of our Eastern charts Where lies the land of popular tradition; And fairly wors.h.i.+pp'd by the true devout In all his comings-in and goings-out, Because of the old Turkish superst.i.tion.

Fame with her trumpet, blowing very hard, And making earth rich with celestial lard, In puffing deeds done through Lord Chamberlain Howe; While some few thousand persons of small gains, Who give their charities without such pains, Look up, much wondering what may be the row.

Behind them Joseph Hume, who turns his pate To where great Marlbro' House in princely state Shelters a host of lacqueys, lords and pages, And says he knows of dowagers a crowd, Who, without trumpeting so very loud, Would do so much, and more, for half the wages.

Limn, sirs, the highest lady in the land, When Joseph Surface, fawning cap in hand, Delivers in his list of patriot mortals; Those gentlemen of honour, faith, and truth, Who, foul-mouthed, spat upon her maiden youth, And dog-like did defile her palace portals.

Paint me the Tories, full of grief and woe, Weeping (to voters) over Frost and Co., Their suff'ring, erring, much-enduring brothers.

And in the background don't forget to pack, Each grinning ghastly from its b.l.o.o.d.y sack, The heads of Thistlewood, Despard, and others.

Paint, squandering the club's election gold, Fierce lovers of our Const.i.tution old, Lords who're that sacred lady's greatest debtors; And let the law, forbidding any voice Or act of Peer to influence the choice Of English people, flourish in bright letters.

Paint that same dear old lady, ill at ease, Weak in her second childhood, hard to please, Unknowing what she ails or what she wishes; With all her Carlton nephews at the door, Deaf'ning both aunt and nurses with their roar, --Fighting already, for the loaves and fishes.

Leaving these hints for you to dwell upon, I shall presume to offer more anon.

W.

PROLOGUE TO WESTLAND MARSTON'S PLAY 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

1842

PROLOGUE TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

_The Patrician's Daughter_ was the t.i.tle bestowed upon a play, in the tragic vein, by a then unknown writer, J. Westland Marston, it being his maiden effort in dramatic authors.h.i.+p. d.i.c.kens took great interest in the young man and indicated a desire to promote the welfare of his production by composing some introductory lines. To Macready he wrote: 'The more I think of Marston's play, the more sure I feel that a prologue to the purpose would help it materially, and almost decide the fate of any ticklish point on the first night. Now I have an idea (not easily explainable in writing, but told in five words) that would take the prologue out of the conventional dress of prologues, quite. Get the curtain up with a dash, and begin the play with a sledge-hammer blow. If, on consideration, you should agree with me, I will write the prologue, heartily.' Happily for the author, his little tragedy was the first new play of the season, and it thus attracted greater attention. Its initial representation took place at Drury Lane Theatre on December 10, 1842, and the fact that d.i.c.kens's dignified and vigorous lines were recited by Macready, the leading actor of his day, undoubtedly gave _prestige_ to this performance; but the play, although it made a sensation for the moment, did not enjoy a long run, its motive being for some reason misunderstood. As explained by the Editors of _The Letters of Charles d.i.c.kens_, it was (to a certain extent) an experiment in testing the effect of a tragedy of modern times and in modern dress, the novelist's Prologue being intended to show that there need be no incongruity between plain clothes of the nineteenth century and high tragedy.

_The Patrician's Daughter: A Tragedy in Five Acts_, appeared in pamphlet form during the year prior to its being placed upon the boards. The Prologue was printed for the first time in the _Sunday Times_, December 11, 1842, and then in _The Theatrical Journal and Stranger's Guide_, December 17, 1842. By the kind permission of Miss Hogarth, the lines are here reproduced from the revised and only correct version in _The Letters of Charles d.i.c.kens_.

In the preface to the second edition of the play (1842), the author thus acknowledges his indebtedness to d.i.c.kens for the Prologue, which, however, does not appear in the book: 'How shall I thank Mr. d.i.c.kens for the spontaneous kindness which has furnished me with so excellent a letter of introduction to the audience? The simplest acknowledgment is perhaps the best, since the least I might say would exceed _his_ estimate of the obligation; while the most I could say would fail to express _mine_.'

PROLOGUE TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

(SPOKEN BY MR. MACREADY)

No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright Dwells on the poet's maiden harp to-night; No trumpet's clamour and no battle's fire Breathes in the trembling accents of his lyre; Enough for him, if in his lowly strain He wakes one household echo not in vain; Enough for him, if in his boldest word The beating heart of MAN be dimly heard.

Its solemn music which, like strains that sigh Through charmed gardens, all who hearing die; Its solemn music he does not pursue To distant ages out of human view; Nor listen to its wild and mournful chime In the dead caverns on the sh.o.r.e of Time; But musing with a calm and steady gaze Before the crackling flames of living days, He hears it whisper through the busy roar Of what shall be and what has been before.