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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"


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 classical 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, God 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, God 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 COX 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,
Entitled "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 masses 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_.


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