Obrazy na stronie

But this comes, Master Ben, of your curst foreign notions,
Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace, and lotions;
Your Noyaus, Curaçoas, and the Devil knows what-
(One swig of Blue Kuin is worth the whole lot !)
Your great and small crosses—(my eyes, what a brood!
A cross-buttock from me would do some of them good!)
Which have spoilt you, till hardly a drop, my old porpoise,
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus;

And (as Jim says) the only one trick, good or bad,
Of the Fancy you're up to, is fibbing, my lad.
Hence it comes, -Boxiana, disgrace to thy page!-
Having floor'd, by good luck, the first swell of the age,
Having conquer'd the prime one, that mill'd us all round,
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on the ground!
Ay--just at the time to show spunk, if you'd got any-
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'd him to Botany!
Oh, shade of the Cheesemonger! you, who, alas!
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in brass,
On that great day of milling, when blood lay in lakes,
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe the stakes,
Look down upon Ben-see him, dunghill all o'er,
Insult the fall'n foe, that can harm him no more.
Out, cowardly spooney!-again and again,

By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben.

To show the white feather is many men's doom,

But, what of one feather?-Ben shows a whole Plume.



Is all then forgotten?-those amorous pranks

You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, played

When you called me the fondest, the truest of Banks,

And enjoyed the endearing advances I made.

When left to do all, unmolested and free,

That a dashing, expensive young couple should do,

A law against paying was laid upon me,

But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you?

And is it then vanished?-that 'hour (as Othello
So happily calls it) of Love and Direction;'
And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow,
Grow good in our old age, and cut the connexion?


Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be,

This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing—


We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee
There must soon be a stop to our bill-ing and cooing.
Propagation in reason-a small child or two-

Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to;
The issue of some folks is moderate and few-

But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no end to! So,-hard as it is on a pair who've already

Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence ; And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy, Who'd even in famine cry, D-n the expense !'— The day is at hand, my Papyrial Venus,

When, high as we once used to carry our capers, Those soft billets-doux we're now passing between us Will serve but to keep Mrs. C-tts in curl-papers; And when-if we still must continue our love

After all that is past-our amour, it is clear (Like that which Miss Danaë managed with Jove), Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear!



Legiferæ Cereri Phoeboque.'-Virgil.

DEAR Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies), Adorned with somniferous poppies, to show

Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Goddess!

Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee,

An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches,
Great Queen of Mark Lane (if the thing doesn't bore thee),
Thou'lt read o'er the last of his-never-last speeches
Ah! Ceres, thou knowest not the slander and scorn
Now heaped upon England's 'Squirearchy so boasted;
Improving on Hunt's scheme, instead of the Corn,

"Tis now the Corn-growers, alas! that are roasted!
In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us-
Reviewers, economists-fellows, no doubt,
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus,
And Gods of high fashion, know little about.

There's B-nth-m, whose English is all his own making,—
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation

As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking (What he himself calls) his post-prandial vibration."2

To distinguish her from the 'Aurea'

The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk.

There are two Mr. M——s, too, whom those that like reading
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever;-
And, whereas M- Senior makes war on good breeding,
M- Junior makes war on all breeding whatever!

In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages ;-
With which of these classes we landlords have sided,
Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few pages.

For therein I've proved, to my own satisfaction,

And that of all 'Squires I've the honour of meeting,
That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouthed detraction,
To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating.

On the contrary, such the chaste notions of food
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart,
They would scorn any law, be it ever so good,

That would make thee dear Goddess, less dear than thou art!

And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day,

When the Land and the Silk shall, in fond combination,

(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play),

Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and Starvation !1

Long life to the Minister!--no matter who,

Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he,
Keeps the ports shut-and the people's mouths, too, -
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity.

As for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn

To hate the whole crew who would take our rents from us,
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn,

That last honest Uni-corn2 would be-Sir Th―s!


1 Road to Ruin

'O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres
Agna lupos, capreæque leones.'-Hor.

SAID a Sovereign to a Note,

In the pocket of my coat,

Where they met, in a neat purse of leather,
How happens it, I prithee,

That though I'm wedded with thee,
Fair Pound, we can never live together?

allusion to the natural history of the unicorn,

Dicta Fames Cereris (quamvis contraria which is supposed to be something between the


Illius est operi) peragit.-Ovid.

Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees clopædia tells us, has a particular liking for anything

2 This is meant not so much for a pun, as in chaste.

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Like your sex, fond of change,

With silver you can range,
And of lots of young sixpences be mother;

While with me on my word,

Not my Lady and my Lord
Of W th see so little of each other !'

The indignaut Note replied

(Lying crumpled by his side),
• Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir,

One cannot look askance,

But, whip! you're off to France,
Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir!

* Your scampering began

From the moment Parson Van,
Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter.

“ For better or for worse

Is the usual marriage curse :
But ours is all “worse" and no better.”

• In vain are laws passed,

There's nothing holds you fast,
Though you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you,

At the smallest hint in life,

You forsake your lawful wife,
As other Sovereigns did before you.

'I flirt with Silver, true

But what can ladies do,
When disowned by their natural protectors ?

And as to falsehood, stuff!

I shall soon be false enough,
When I get among those wicked Bank Directors.'

The Sovereign, smiling on her,

Now swore, upon his honour,
To be henceforth domestic and loyal

But, within an hour or two,

Why-I sold him to a Jew,
And he's now at No. 10, Palais Royal.


Quem das finem, Rex magne, laborum ?'—Virgil.
How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all

The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,

'Tis hardly worth while being very high born!

i See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1, when Lord King was severely reproved by several of the noble Peers for making so many speeches against the Corn Laws.

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life,
On a question, my Lord, there's so much to abhor in?
A question-like asking one, 'How is your wife?'-
At once so confounded domestic and foreign.

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast,
But Peers and such animals fed up for show,
(Like the well-physicked elephant, lately deceased),
Take a wonderful quantuni of cramming, you know.

You might see, my dear Baron, how bored and distrest
Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale,
When the force of the agony wrung even a jest
From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord L-d- -le !!

Bright Peer! to whom Nature and Berwickshire gave
A humour, endowed with effects so provoking,
That, when the whole House looks unusually grave,
You may always conclude that Lord L-d-le's joking!

And then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth

Not to know the vast difference Providence dooms
Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth,

"Twixt those who have heir-looms, and those who've but looms

To talk now of starving, as great At-1 said2

(And the nobles all cheered, and the bishops all wondered) When, some years ago, he and others had fed

Of these same hungry devils about fifteen hundred ?

It follows from hence-and the Duke's very words

Should be published wherever poor rogues of this craft are
That weavers, once rescued from starving by Lords,
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever after.

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians
Made Bread and the Circus' a cure for each row:
But not so the plan of our noble physicians,

'No Bread and the Tread-mill's' the regimen now.

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose,
As I shall my poetry-neither convinces;
And all we have spoken and written but shows,
When you tread on a nobleman's corn,3 how he winces.

1 This noble Earl said, that when he heard the petition came from ladies' boot and shoe makers, he thought it must be against "the corns which they inflicted on the fair sex."'

2 The Duke of Athol said, that at a former period, when these weavers were in great dis

tress, the landed interest of Perth had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for these very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them.'

3 An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s joke.

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