DICK * * * *
A CHARACTER.
Of various scraps and fragments built,
Borrowed alike from fools and wits,
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt,
Made up of new, old, motley bits--
Where, if the _Co_. called in their shares,
If petticoats their quota got
And gowns were all refunded theirs,
The quilt would look but shy, God wot.
And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking,
Reversed ventriloquism's trick,
For, 'stead of Dick thro' others speaking,
'Twas others we heard speak thro' Dick.
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding,
Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats;
One day with Malthus, foe to breeding,
The next with Sadler, all for brats.
Poor Dick!--and how else could it be?
With notions all at random caught,
A sort of mental fricassee,
Made up of legs and wings of thought--
The leavings of the last Debate, or
A dinner, yesterday, of wits,
Where Dick sate by and, like a waiter,
Had the scraps for perquisites.
A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME LATE SPEECHES.
1834.
"Then I heard one saint speaking, and
another saint said unto that saint,"
St. Sinclair rose and declared in smooth,
That he wouldn't give sixpence to Maynooth.
He had hated priests the whole of his life,
For a priest was a man who had no wife,[1]
And, having no wife, the Church was his mother,
The Church was his father, sister and brother.
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