The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 259

Sweet metaphor!--and then the Epistle, Which bid the Saxon King go whistle,-- That tender letter to _"Mon Prince"_[1]

Which showed alike thy French and sense;-- Oh no, my Lord--there's none can do Or say _un-English_ things like you: And, if the schemes that fill thy breast Could but a vent congenial seek, And use the tongue that suits them best, What charming Turkish wouldst thou speak!

But as for _me_, a Frenchless grub, At Congress never born to stammer, Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub Fallen Monarchs, out of CHAMBAUD'S grammar-- Bless you, you do not, _can not_, know How far a little French will go; For all one's stock, one need but draw On some half-dozen words like toese-- _Comme ca--par-la--la-bas--ah ha_!

They'll take you all thro' France with ease.

Your Lordship's praises of the sc.r.a.ps I sent you from my Journal lately, (Enveloping a few laced caps For Lady C,) delight me greatly.

_Her_ flattering speech--"What pretty things "One finds in Mr. FUDGE's pages!"

Is praise which (as some poet sings) Would pay one for the toils of ages.

Thus flattered, I presume to send A few more extracts by a friend; And I should hope they'll be no less Approved of than my last MS.-- The former ones, I fear, were creased, As BIDDY round the caps _would_ pin them; But these will come to hand, at least Unrumpled, for there's--nothing in them.

_Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed to Lord C._

_August 10_.

Went to the Mad-house--saw the man[2]

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend Of Discord here full riot ran, _He_, like the rest, was guillotined;-- But that when, under BONEY'S reign, (A more discreet, tho' quite as strong one,) The heads were all restored again, He, in the scramble, got a _wrong one_.

Accordingly, he still cries out This strange head fits him most unpleasantly; And always runs, poor devil, about, Inquiring for his own incessantly!

While to his case a tear I dropt, And sauntered home, thought I--ye G.o.ds!

How many heads might thus be swopt, And, after all, not make much odds!

For instance, there's VANSITTART'S head-- ("Tam _carum_" it may well be said) If by some curious chance it came To settle on BILL SOAMES'S[3] shoulders, The effect would turn out much the same On all respectable cash-holders; Except that while, in its _new_ socket, The head was planning schemes to win A _zig-zag_ way into one's pocket, The hands would plunge directly in.

Good Viscount SIDMOUTH, too, instead Of his own grave, respected head, Might wear (for aught I see that bars) Old Lady WILHELMINA FRUMP'S-- So while the hand signed _Circulars_, The head might lisp out "What is trumps?"-- The REGENT'S brains could we transfer To some robust man-milliner, The shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on; And, _vice versa_, take the pains To give the PRINCE the shopman's brains, One only change from thence would flow, _Ribbons_ would not be wasted so.

'Twas thus I pondered on, my Lord; And, even at night, when laid in bed, I found myself, before I snored, Thus chopping, swopping head for head.

At length I thought, fantastic elf!

How such a change would suit _myself_.

'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one, With various pericraniums saddled, At last I tried your Lordship's on, And then I grew completely addled-- Forgot all other heads, od rot 'em!

And slept, and dreamt that I was--BOTTOM.

_August 21_.

Walked out with daughter BID--was shown The House of Commons and the Throne, Whose velvet cushion's just the same NAPOLEON sat on--what a shame!

Oh! can we wonder, best of speechers, When LOUIS seated thus we see, That France's "fundamental features"

Are much the same they used to be?

However,--G.o.d preserve the Throne, And _cushion_ too--and keep them free; From accidents, which _have_ been known To happen even to Royalty![4]

_August 28_.

Read, at a stall (for oft one pops On something at these stalls and shops, That does to _quote_ and gives one's Book A cla.s.sical and knowing look.-- Indeed, I've found, in Latin, lately, A course of stalls improves me greatly)-- 'Twas thus I read that in the East A monarch's _fat_'s a serious matter; And once in every year, at least, He's weighed--to see if he gets fatter:[5]

Then, if a pound or two he be Increased, there's quite a jubilee![6]

Suppose, my Lord--and far from me To treat such things with levity-- But just suppose the Regent's weight Were made thus an affair of state; And, every sessions, at the close,-- 'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is Heavy and dull enough, G.o.d knows-- We were to try how heavy _he_ is.

Much would it glad all hearts to hear-- That, while the Nation's Revenue Loses so many pounds a year, The PRINCE, G.o.d bless him! _gains_ a few.

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, I see the Easterns weigh their Kings;-- But, for the REGENT, my advice is, We should throw in much _heavier_ things: For instance-----'s quarto volumes, Which, tho' not spices, serve to wrap them; _Dominie_ STODDART'S Daily columns, "Prodigious!"--in, of course, we'd clap them-- Letters, that CARTWRIGHT'S[7] pen indites, In which, with logical confusion, The _Major_ like a _Minor_ writes, And never comes to a _Conclusion_:-- Lord SOMERS'S pamphlet--or his head-- (Ah! _that_ were worth its weight in lead!) Along with which we _in_ may whip, sly, The Speeches of Sir JOHN c.o.x HIPPISLY; That Baronet of many words, Who loves so, in the House of Lords, To whisper Bishops--and so nigh Unto their wigs in whispering goes, That you may always know him by A patch of powder on his nose!-- If this won?t do, we in must cram The "Reasons" of Lord BUCKINGHAM; (A Book his Lordship means to write, Ent.i.tled "Reasons for my Ratting":) Or, should these prove too small and light, His rump's a host--we'll bundle _that_ in!

And, _still_ should all these ma.s.ses fail To stir the REGENT'S pondrous scale, Why, then, my Lord, in heaven's name, Pitch in, without reserve or stint, The whole of RAGLEY'S beauteous Dame-- If _that_ won?t raise him, devil's in it!

_August 31_.

Consulted MURPHY'S TACITUS About those famous spies at Rome,[8]

Whom certain Whigs--to make a fuss-- Describe as much resembling us, Informing gentlemen, at home.

But, bless the fools, they _can't_ be serious, To say Lord SIDMOUTH'S like TIBERIUS!

What! _he_, the Peer, that injures no man, Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman!-- 'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to All sorts of spies--so doth the Peer, too.

'Tis true, my Lord's elect tell fibs, And deal in perjury--_ditto_ TIB's.

'Tis true, the Tyrant screened and hid His rogues from justice--_ditto_ SID.

'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib At moral speeches--_ditto_ TIB.

'Tis true the feats the Tyrant did Were in his dotage--_ditto_ SID.

So far, I own, the parallel 'Twixt TIB and SIB goes vastly well; But there are points in TIB that strike My humble mind as much more like _Yourself_, my dearest Lord, or him, Of the India Board--that soul of whim!

Like him, TIBERIUS loved his joke, On matters, too, where few can bear one; _E. g._ a man cut up, or broke Upon the wheel--a devilish fair one!

Your common fractures, wounds and fits, Are nothing to such wholesale wits; But, let the sufferer gasp for life, The joke is then, worth any money; And, if he writhe beneath a knife,-- Oh dear, that's something _quite_ too funny.

In this respect, my Lord, you see The Roman wag and ours agree: Now as to _your_ resemblance--mum-- This parallel we need not follow: Tho' 'tis, in Ireland, said by some Your Lordship beats TIBERIUS hollow; Whips, chains--but these are things too serious For me to mention or discuss; Whene'er your Lordship acts TIBERIUS, PHIL. FUDGE'S part is _Tacitus_!

_September 2_.

Was thinking, had Lord SIDMOUTH got Any good decent sort of Plot Against the winter-time--if not, Alas, alas, our ruin's fated; All done up and _spiflicated_!

Ministers and all their va.s.sals, Down from CASTLEREAGH to CASTLES,-- Unless we can kick up a riot, Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!

What's to be done?--Spa-Fields was clever; But even _that_ brought gibes and mockings Upon our heads--so, _mem._--must never Keep ammunition in old stockings; For fear some wag should in his curst head Take it to say our force was _worsted.

Mem._ too--when SID an army raises, It must not be "_incog._" like _Bayes's_: Nor must the General be a hobbling Professor of the art of cobbling; Lest men, who perpetrate such puns, Should say, with Jacobinic grin, He felt, from _soleing Wellingtons_,[9]

A _Wellington's_ great _soul_ within!

Nor must an old Apothecary Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, With (what these wags would call, so merry,) _Physical_ force and _phial_-ence!

No--no--our Plot, my Lord, must be Next time contrived more skilfully.

John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing So troublesomely sharp and knowing, So wise--in short, so Jacobin-- 'Tis monstrous hard to _take him in_.

_September 6_.

Heard of the fate of our Amba.s.sador In China, and was sorely nettled; But think, my Lord, we should not pa.s.s it o'er Till all this matter's fairly settled; And here's the mode occurs to _me_:-- As none of our n.o.bility, Tho' for their _own_ most gracious King (They would kiss hands, or--anything), Can be persuaded to go thro'

This farce-like trick of the _Ko-tou_; And as these Mandarins _won't_ bend, Without some mumming exhibition, Suppose, my Lord, you were to send GRIMALDI to them on a mission: As _Legate_, JOE could play his part, And if, in diplomatic art, The "_volto sciolto_"'s meritorius,[10]

Let JOE but grin, he has it, glorious!

A _t.i.tle_ for him's easily made; And, by the by, one Christmas time, If I remember right, he played Lord MORLEY in some pantomime:--[1]

As Earl of Morley then gazette him, If _t'other_ Earl of MORLEY'll let him, (And why should not the world be blest "With _two_ such stars, for East and West?) Then, when before the Yellow Screen He's brought--and, sure, the very essence Of etiquette would be that scene Of JOE in the Celestial Presence!--

He thus should say:--"Duke Ho and Soo, "I'll play what tricks you please for you, "If you'll, in turn, but do for me "A few small tricks you now shall see.

"If I consult _your_ Emperor's liking, "At least you'll do the same for _my_ King."

He then should give them nine such grins, As would astound even Mandarins; And throw such somersets before The picture of King GEORGE (G.o.d bless him!) As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er, Would, by CONFUCIUS, _much_ distress him!

I start this merely as a hint, But think you'll find some wisdom in't; And, should you follow up the job, My son, my Lord (you _know_ poor BOB), Would in the suite be glad to go And help his Excellency, JOE:-- At least, like n.o.ble AMHERST'S son, The lad will do to _practise_ on.

[1] The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, however, I believe, originally in English) in which his Lordship, professing to see "no moral or political objection" to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate King as "not only the most devoted, but the most favored, of Bonaparte's va.s.sals".

[2] This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicetre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that when the heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some other person's instead of his own.

[3] A celebrated pickpocket.

[4] I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident, which is well known to have happened to poor Louis le Desire, some years since, at one of the Regent's Fetes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

[5] "The third day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care,"--_F. Bernier's "Voyage to Surat," etc_.