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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

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


Consulted MURPHY'S TACITUS
About those famous spies at Rome,[8]
Whom certain Whigs--to make a fuss--
Describe as much resembling us,
Informing gentlemen, at home.
But, bless the fools, they _can't_ be serious,
To say Lord SIDMOUTH'S like TIBERIUS!
What! _he_, the Peer, that injures no man,
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman!--
'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to
All sorts of spies--so doth the Peer, too.
'Tis true, my Lord's elect tell fibs,
And deal in perjury--_ditto_ TIB's.
'Tis true, the Tyrant screened and hid
His rogues from justice--_ditto_ SID.
'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib
At moral speeches--_ditto_ TIB.
'Tis true the feats the Tyrant did
Were in his dotage--_ditto_ SID.
So far, I own, the parallel
'Twixt TIB and SIB goes vastly well;
But there are points in TIB that strike
My humble mind as much more like
_Yourself_, my dearest Lord, or him,
Of the India Board--that soul of whim!
Like him, TIBERIUS loved his joke,
On matters, too, where few can bear one;
_E. g._ a man cut up, or broke
Upon the wheel--a devilish fair one!
Your common fractures, wounds and fits,
Are nothing to such wholesale wits;
But, let the sufferer gasp for life,
The joke is then, worth any money;
And, if he writhe beneath a knife,--
Oh dear, that's something _quite_ too funny.


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