The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 189

So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to _nem. con_., And my Lord Castlereagh, having so often shone In the _fettering line_, is to buckle them on.

I shall drive to your door in these _Vetoes_ some day, But, at present, adieu!-I must hurry away To go see my Mamma, as I'm suffered to meet her For just half an hour by the Queen's best repeater.

CHARLOTTE.

[1] This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, had lately made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the Princess.

[2] Mr. Addington, so nicknamed.

[3] Alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather.

[4] The question whether a Veto was to be allowed to the Crown in the appointment of Irish Catholic Bishops was, at this time, very generally and actively agitated.

LETTER II.

FROM COLONEL M'MAHON TO GOULD FRANCIS LECKIE, ESQ.

DEAR SIR-- I've just had time to look Into your very learned Book, Wherein--as plain as man can speak.

Whose English is half modern Greek-- You prove that we can ne'er intrench Our happy isles against the French, Till Royalty in England's made A much more independent trade;-- In short until the House of Guelph Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf, And boldly sets up for itself.

All that can well be understood In this said Book is vastly good; And as to what's incomprehensible, I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible.

But to your work's immortal credit The Prince, good Sir, the Prince has read it (The only Book, himself remarks, Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's).

Last levee-morn he lookt it thro', During that awful hour or two Of grave tonsorial preparation, Which to a fond, admiring nation Sends forth, announced by trump and drum, The best-wigged Prince in Christendom.

He thinks with you, the imagination Of _partnership_ in legislation Could only enter in the noddles Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, Whose heads on _firms_ are running so, They even must have a King and Co., And hence most eloquently show forth On _checks_ and _balances_ and so forth.

But now, he trusts, we're coming near a Far more royal, loyal era; When England's monarch need but say, "Whip me those scoundrels, Castlereagh!"

Or, "Hang me up those Papists, Eldon,"

And 'twill be done--ay, faith, and well done.

With view to which I've his command To beg, Sir, from your travelled hand, (Round which the foreign graces swarm)[1]

A Plan of radical Reform; Compiled and chosen as best you can, In Turkey or at Ispahan, And quite upturning, branch and root, Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot.

But, pray, whate'er you may impart, write Somewhat more brief than Major Cartwright: Else, tho' the Prince be long in rigging, 'Twould take at least a fortnight's wigging,-- Two wigs to every paragraph-- Before he well could get thro' half.

You'll send it also speedily-- As truth to say 'twixt you and me, His Highness, heated by your work, Already thinks himself Grand Turk!

And you'd have laught, had you seen how He scared the Chancellor just now, When (on his Lordship's entering puft) he Slapt his back and called him "Mufti!"

The tailors too have got commands To put directly into hands All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, With Sashes, Turbans and Paboutches, (While Yarmouth's sketching out a plan Of new _Moustaches a l'Ottomane_) And all things fitting and expedient To _turkify_ our gracious Regent!

You therefore have no time to waste-- So, send your System.-- Yours in haste.

POSTSCRIPT.

Before I send this scrawl away, I seize a moment just to say There's some parts of the Turkish system So vulgar 'twere as well you missed 'em.

For instance--in _Seraglio_ matters-- Your Turk whom girlish fondness flatters, Would fill his Haram (tasteless fool!) With t.i.ttering, red-cheekt things from school.

But _here_ (as in that fairy land, Where Love and Age went hand in hand;[2]

Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, And Grandams were worth any money,) _Our_ Sultan has much riper notions-- So, let your list of _she_-promotions Include those only plump and sage, Who've reached the _regulation_-age; That is, (as near as one can fix From Peerage dates) full fifty-six.

This rule's for _favorites_--nothing more-- For, as to _wives_, a Grand Signor, Tho' not decidedly _without_ them, Need never care one curse about them.

[1] "The truth indeed seems to be, that having lived so long abroad as evidently to have lost, in a great degree, the use of his native language, Mr. Leckie has gradually come not only to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner."--_Edinburgh Review_.

[2] The learned Colonel must allude here to a description of the Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla, Son of Hanif, where such inversions of the order of nature are said to have taken place.--"A score of old women and the same number of old men played here and there in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat or at c.o.c.kles."--And again, "There is nothing, believe me, more engaging than those lovely wrinkles."--See "_Tales of the East_," vol. iii. pp. 607, 608.

LETTER III.

FROM GEORGE PRINCE REGENT TO THE EARL OF YARMOUTH.[1]

We missed you last night at the "h.o.a.ry old sinner's,"

Who gave us as usual the cream of good dinners; His soups scientific, his fishes quite _prime_-- His _pates_ superb, and his cutlets sublime!

In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a Stomachic o.r.g.a.s.m in my Lord Ellenborough, Who _set to_, to be sure, with miraculous force, And exclaimed between mouthfuls, "a _He-Cook_, of course!-- "While you live--(what's there under that cover? pray, look)-- "While you live--(I'll just taste it)--ne'er keep a She-Cook.

"'Tis a sound Salic Law--(a small bit of that toast)-- "Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast; "For Cookery's a secret--(this turtle's uncommon)-- "Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!"

The dinner you know was in gay celebration Of _my_ brilliant triumph and Hunt's condemnation; A compliment too to his Lordship the Judge For his Speech to the Jury--and zounds! who would grudge Turtle soup tho' it came to five guineas a bowl, To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul?

We were all in high gig--Roman Punch and Tokay Travelled round till our heads travelled just the same way; And we cared not for Juries or Libels--no--damme! nor Even for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner!

More good things were eaten than said--but Tom Tyrrhitt In quoting Joe Miller you know has some merit; And hearing the st.u.r.dy Judiciary Chief Say--sated with turtle--"I'll now try the beef"-- Tommy whispered him (giving his Lordship a sly hit) "I fear 'twill be _hung_-beef, my Lord, if you _try_ it!"

And Camden was there, who that morning had gone To fit his new Marquis's coronet on; And the dish set before him--oh! dish well-devised!-- Was what old Mother Gla.s.se calls, "a calf's head surprised!"

The _brains_ were near Sherry and _once_ had been fine, But of late they had lain so long soaking in wine, That tho' we from courtesy still chose to call These brains very fine they were no brains at all.

When the dinner was over, we drank, every one In a b.u.mper, "the venial delights of Crim. Con.;"

At which Headfort with warm reminiscences gloated, And Ellenb'rough chuckled to hear himself quoted.

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new, For we drank--and you'll own 'twas benevolent too-- To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons or peers, Whom we've any time honored by courting their dears: This museum of wittols was comical rather; Old Headfort gave Ma.s.sey, and _I_ gave your father.

In short, not a soul till this morning would budge-- We were all fun and frolic, and even the Judge Laid aside for the time his juridical fashion, And thro' the whole night wasn't _once_ in a pa.s.sion!

I write this in bed while my whiskers are airing, And Mac[2] has a sly dose of jalap preparing For poor Tommy Tyrrhitt at breakfast to quaff-- As I feel I want something to give me a laugh, And there's nothing so good as old Tommy kept close To his Cornwall accounts after taking a dose.

[1] This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner given by the Marquis of Headfort.

[2] Colonel M'Mahon.