The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 209

To see her, ye G.o.ds, a new Number perusing-- ART. 1.--"On the _Needle's_ variations," by Pl--ce;[1]

ART. 2.--By her Favorite Funblank[2]--"so amusing!

"Dear man! he makes Poetry quite a _Law_ case."

ART. 3.--"Upon Fallacies," Jeremy's own-- (Chief Fallacy being his hope to find readers);- ART. 4.--"Upon Honesty," author unknown;-- ART. 5.--(by the young Mr. Mill) "Hints to Breeders."

Oh, Sultan, oh, Sultan, tho' oft for the bag And the bowstring, like thee, I am tempted to call-- Tho' drowning's too good for each blue-stocking hag, I would bag this _she_ Benthamite first of them all!

And lest she should ever again lift her head From the watery bottom, her clack to renew-- As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, I would hang around her neck her own darling Review.

[1] A celebrated political tailor.

[2] This pains-taking gentleman has been at the trouble of counting, with the a.s.sistance of c.o.c.ker, the number of metaphors in Moore's "_Life of Sheridan_," and has found them to amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235-- and some _fractions_.

CORN AND CATHOLICS.

_utrum horum dirius_ borun? _Incerti Auctoris_.

What! _still_ those two infernal questions, That with our meals our slumbers mix-- That spoil our tempers and digestions-- Eternal Corn and Catholics!

G.o.ds! were there ever two such bores?

Nothing else talkt of night or morn-- Nothing _in_ doors or _out_ of doors, But endless Catholics and Corn!

Never was such a brace of pests-- While Ministers, still worse than either, Skilled but in feathering their nests, Plague us with both and settle neither.

So addled in my cranium meet Popery and Corn that oft I doubt, Whether, this year, 'twas bonded Wheat, Or bonded Papists, they let out.

_Here_, landlords, _here_ polemics nail you, Armed with all rubbish they can rake up; _Prices_ and _Texts_ at once a.s.sail you-- From Daniel _these_, and _those_ from Jacob,

And when you sleep, with head still torn Between the two, their shapes you mix, Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn-- Then Corn again seems Catholics.

Now Dantsic wheat before you floats-- Now Jesuits from California-- Now Ceres linkt with t.i.tus _Oats_, Comes dancing thro' the "Porta _Corn_ea."[1]

Oft too the Corn grows animate, And a whole crop of heads appears, Like Papists, _bearding_ Church and State-- Themselves, together _by the ears_!

In short these torments never cease, And oft I wish myself transferred off To some far, lonely land of peace Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.

Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole; For--if my fate is to be chosen 'Twixt bores and icebergs--on my soul, I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!

[1] The Horn Gate, through which the ancients supposed all true dreams (such as those of the Popish Plot, etc.) to pa.s.s.

A CASE OF LIBEL.

"The greater the truth, the worse the libel."

A certain Sprite, who dwells below, ('Twere a libel perhaps to mention where,) Came up _incog_. some years ago To try for a change the London air.

So well he lookt and drest and talkt, And hid his tail and horns so handy, You'd hardly have known him as he walkt From C----e, or any other Dandy.

(His horns, it seems, are made to unscrew; So he has but to take them out of the socket, And--just as some fine husbands do-- Conveniently clap them into his pocket.)

In short, he lookt extremely natty, And even contrived--to his own great wonder-- By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, To keep the sulphurous _hogo_ under.

And so my gentleman hoofed about, Unknown to all but a chosen few At White's and Crockford's, where no doubt He had many _post-obits_ falling due.

Alike a gamester and a wit, At night he was seen with Crockford's crew, At morn with learned dames would sit-- So past his time 'twixt _black_ and _blue_.

Some wisht to make him an M. P., But, finding Wilks was also one, he Swore, in a rage, "he'd be d.a.m.ned, if he "Would ever sit in one house with Johnny."

At length as secrets travel fast, And devils, whether he or she, Are sure to be found out at last, The affair got wind most rapidly.

The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers-- Miss Paton's soon as Beelzebub's, Fired off a squib in the morning papers:

"We warn good men to keep aloof "From a grim old Dandy seen about "With a fire-proof wig and a cloven hoof "Thro' a neat-cut Hoby smoking out."

Now,--the Devil being gentleman, Who piques himself on well-bred dealings,-- You may guess, when o'er these lines he ran, How much they hurt and shockt his feelings.

Away he posts to a Man of Law, And 'twould make you laugh could you have seen 'em, As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, And 'twas "hail, good fellow, well met," between 'em.

Straight an indictment was preferred-- And much the Devil enjoyed the jest, When, asking about the Bench, he heard That, of all the Judges, his own was _Best_.[1]

In vain Defendant proffered proof That Plaintiff's self was the Father of Evil-- Brought Hoby forth to swear to the hoof And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil.

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, And readers of virtuous Sunday papers) Found for the Plaintiff--on hearing which The Devil gave one of his loftiest capers.

For oh, 'twas nuts to the Father of Lies (As this wily fiend is named in the Bible) To find it settled by laws so wise, That the greater the truth, the worse the libel!

[1] A celebrated Judge, so named.