Oh! mid the praises and the trophies
Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis;
Mid all the tributes to thy fame,
There's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased at--
That Ireland gives her snuff thy name,
And CASTLEREAGH'S the thing now sneezed at!
But hold, my pen!--a truce to praising--
Tho' even your Lordship will allow
The theme's temptations are amazing;
But time and ink run short, and now,
(As _thou_ wouldst say, my guide and teacher
In these gay metaphorie fringes,
I must _embark_ into the _feature_
On which this letter chiefly _hinges_;)
My Book, the Book that is to prove--
And _will_, (so help ye Sprites above,
That sit on clouds, as grave as judges,
Watching the labors of the FUDGES!)
_Will_ prove that all the world, at present,
Is in a state extremely pleasant;
That Europe--thanks to royal swords
And bayonets, and the Duke commanding--
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's,
Passeth all human understanding:
That France prefers her go-cart King
To such a coward scamp as BONEY;
Tho' round, with each a leading-string.
There standeth many a Royal crony,
For fear the chubby, tottering thing
Should fall, if left there _loney-poney_;--
That England, too, the more her debts,
The more she spends, the richer gets;
And that the Irish, grateful nation!
Remember when by _thee_ reigned over,
And bless thee for their flagellation,
As HELOISA did her lover![2]--
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch
Upon the sideboard, snug reposes:
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch,
And Norway "on a bed of roses!"
That, as for some few million souls,
Transferred by contract, bless the clods!
If half were strangled--Spaniards, Poles,
And Frenchmen--'twouldn't make much odds,
So Europe's goodly Royal ones
Sit easy on their sacred thrones;
So FERDINAND embroiders gayly,[3]
And Louis eats his _salmi_ daily;
So time is left to Emperor SANDY
To be _half_ Caesar and _half_ Dandy;
And GEORGE the REGENT (who'd forget
That doughtiest chieftain of the set?)
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new,
For dragons, after Chinese models,
And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo
Might come and nine times knock their noddles!--
All this my Quarto'll prove--much more
Than Quarto ever proved before:--
In reasoning with the _Post_ I'll vie,
My facts the _Courier_ shall supply,
My jokes VANSITTART, PEELE my sense,
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence!
My Journal, penned by fits and starts,
On BIDDY'S back or BOBBY'S shoulder,
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts,
Who longs to be a small placeholder,)
Is--tho' _I_ say't, that shouldn't say--
Extremely good; and, by the way,
_One_ extract from it--_only_ one--
To show its spirit, and I've done.
Pages:
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349