The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume II Part 177

2

LINES TO THOMAS POOLE

[Quoted in a letter from Coleridge to John Thelwall, dated Dec. 17, 1796.]

. . . . Joking apart, I would to G.o.d we could sit by a fire-side and joke _viva voce_, face to face--Stella [Mrs. Thelwall] and Sara [Mrs. S.

T. Coleridge], Jack Thelwall and I!--as I once wrote to my dear _friend_ T. Poole,--

Repeating Such verse as Bowles, heart honour'd Poet sang, That wakes the Tear, yet steals away the Pang, Then, or with Berkeley, or with Hobbes romance it, Dissecting Truth with metaphysic lancet.

Or, drawn from up these dark unfathom'd wells, In wiser folly c.h.i.n.k the Cap and Bells.

How many tales we told! what jokes we made, Conundrum, Crambo, Rebus, or Charade; aenigmas that had driven the Theban mad, And Puns, these best when exquisitely bad; And I, if aught of archer vein I hit, With my own laughter stifled my own wit.

1796. First published in 1893.

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TO A WELL-KNOWN MUSICAL CRITIC, REMARKABLE FOR HIS EARS STICKING THROUGH HIS HAIR.

O ----! O ----! of you we complain For exposing those ears to the wind and the rain.

Thy face, a huge whitlow just come to a head, Ill agrees with those ears so raw and so red.

A Musical Critic of old fell a-pouting When he saw how his asinine honours were sprouting; But he hid 'em quite snug, in a full friz of hair, And the Barber alone smoked his donkeys [so] rare.

Thy judgment much worse, and thy _perkers_ as ample, O give heed to King Midas, and take his example.

Thus to _publish_ your fate is as useless as wrong-- You but prove by your ears, what we guessed from your tongue.

LABERIUS.

First published in the _Morning Post_, January 4, 1798. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, ii. 370.

4

TO T. POOLE

AN INVITATION

Plucking flowers from the Galaxy On the pinions of Abstraction, I did quite forget to ax 'e, Whether you have an objaction, With us to swill 'e and to swell 'e And make a pig-stie of your belly.

A lovely limb most dainty Of a _ci-devant_ Mud-raker, I makes bold to acquaint 'e We've trusted to the Baker: And underneath it satis Of the subterrene apple By the erudite 'clep'd _taties_-- With which, if you'ld wish to grapple, As sure as I'm a sloven, The clock will not strike twice one, When the said dish will be out of the oven, And the dinner will be a nice one.

P.S.

Besides we've got some cabbage.

You Jew-dog, if you linger, May the Itch in pomp of scabbage Pop out between each finger.

January, 1797.

First published (_minus_ the postscript) in _Thomas Poole and His Friends_, 1888, i. 211.

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SONG

TO BE SUNG BY THE LOVERS OF ALL THE n.o.bLE LIQUORS COMPRISED UNDER THE NAME OF ALE.

A.

Ye drinkers of Stingo and Nappy so free, Are the G.o.ds on Olympus so happy as we?

B.

They cannot be so happy!

For why? they drink no Nappy.

A.

But what if Nectar, in their lingo, Is but another name for Stingo?

B.

Why, then we and the G.o.ds are equally blest, And Olympus an Ale-house as good as the best!

First published in _Morning Post_, September 18, 1801. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 995-6. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii.

167.

6

DRINKING _VERSUS_ THINKING

OR, A SONG AGAINST THE NEW PHILOSOPHY

My Merry men all, that drink with glee This fanciful Philosophy, Pray tell me what good is it?

If _antient Nick_ should come and take, The same across the Stygian Lake, I guess we ne'er should miss it.

Away, each pale, self-brooding spark That goes truth-hunting in the dark, Away from our carousing!

To Pallas we resign such fowls-- Grave birds of wisdom! ye're but owls, And all your trade but _mousing_!

My merry men all, here's punch and wine, And spicy bishop, drink divine!

Let's live while we are able.

While Mirth and Sense sit, hand in glove, This Don Philosophy we'll shove Dead drunk beneath the table!