The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 32
There is he whom they call
Squire Brougham of Brougham Hall,
Who would pass for a man of condition;
In blood, to be sure,
He may match Peter Moore,
But the Hall is a mere imposition;
The fellow's a hack politician,
A tailor in all but ambition,
Who offer'd to bilk
For a gown of black silk
The Queen--and her whole Opposition.
There's Wilson--poor Bob,
Who headed a mob,
And in consequence lost his commission,
Considers it hard,
That haranguing the Guard
Should be voted an act of sedition;
Besides, 'twas his greatest ambition
To witness one real ignition;
To shot and to danger
His skin was a stranger,
Till the day of the Park Opposition.
There's Sefton, who drives
His ladies by fives,
In a gig of the latest edition;
Which looks like a cart
Of the Guards when they start
With their wives on a Dutch expedition:
He greases with anti-attrition--
Would his tongue had the same composition!--
For, whenever he speaks,
It hitches and squeaks
Like the drag of the Bath Opposition.
There's little Spring Rice,
Of Newport the Vice,
Who was painted in last Exhibition,
Was ready to swear
That Limerick and Clare
Were dying from pure inanition;
But how did he mend their condition?
Did he visit those scenes of perdition?
No!--Erin was undone,
While he talk'd in London,
And smirk'd with the fat Opposition.
There's stultified Hume,
Who (some people assume)
Is an excellent arithmetician,
Began as a Tory,--
But honour and glory
Soon gave such an ass his dismission;
Now Joe was a sort of physician,
But being no frequent practician,
For want of another
Dissected his brother,
Though the corps made a strong Opposition.
There's the new _rara avis_,
The once Colonel Davis,
Now Statesman as much as Tactician,
He seems to presume
To emulate Hume,
But, in truth, there is no competition;
For Davis sold out his commission--
But Hume's more plebeian ambition
Is cribbing the winnings
Of Constantine Jennings,
The hopes of the whole Opposition.
Lord Althorpe, who bent
His way beyond Trent
To challenge a hostile collision,
At Ferrybridge found
He might choose his own ground,
And therefore abandon'd his mission;
Then--aware of the force of derision,
He spoke on some turnpike petition,
And explain'd, without end,
How he and his friend
Return'd to rejoin Opposition.
There's that little thing Bennet--
Once turn'd from the Senate,
On poor Tyrwhit Jones's petition,
The quack, from whom they,
Doom'd to Botany Bay,
So justly expect manumission.
For think what would be his condition,
If laws were to have no remission;
For, if folks don't tell fibs,
Messrs. Howard and Gibbs
Have claims on this pure Opposition.
The Grosvenor-gate fillies
May rail at Achilles,
And blush at his naked condition,
But Nugent's tight dress,--
Which we can't well express,--
Is, to us, a more gross exposition.
But strange are the freaks of ambition;
Which, when a man once sets his wish on,
If his head chance to fail,
He must try how his tail
Can give weight to a light Opposition.
There's Williams and Scarlett,
Who spoke for "The Harlot,"
With airs like the Greek Rhetorician;
Williams knows some small Greek,
But Scarlett can't speak
Plain English, without much tuition:[26]
In Cambridge, his great erudition
Stands as high as Lord Byron's Politian!
"Naked feet, naked feet"
Will kick through the street
Fat Scarlett and his Opposition.
There's Wood, who, for hops,
Goes offering to shops
An excellent new composition,
And proves that the plant,
The staple of Kent,
Is a Tory and vile imposition;
But he gets very little commission,
The folks eye his drugs with suspicion;
The profit much less is
Than getting Addresses,
Or plate from the Queen's Opposition.
There's Creevey, the crawler,
That under-bred brawler,
Once Clerk to the Indian Commission,
He told us himself
That the mere love of pelf
Had placed him in such a position!
A Negro exposed to vendition
Would have blush'd to have made such admission;
Yet the bird who at best
Bewrays his own nest,
Is the Phœnix of this Opposition!
If we could take part in
Debates like Dick Martin,
And venture to tell our volition,
We should certainly pray,
By night and by day,
For men in their present position.
The country has made its decision,
Which needs neither change nor revision;
May the King, of his grace,
Keep out the whole race
Of this wonderful wise Opposition!
THE INVITATION.
(FROM ONE OF THE PATRONESSES OF THE LADIES' FANCY BALL.)
_Tune_--"Run, Neighbours, Run," &c.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd;
We, with French dances, will overcome French vapouring,
And with ice and Roman punch amaze the world:
There's I myself, and Lady L. you'll seldom meet a rummer set,
With Lady Grosvenor, Lady Foley, and her Grace of Somerset,
While Lady Jersey fags herself, regardless of the bustle, Ma'am,
With Lady Cowper, Lady Anne, and Lady William Russell, Ma'am.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.
Oh, such a treat--'twill be pleasant, past conception, Ma'am,
Such a crowd of patriot dames were never, never seen;
Most of them at Brandenburgh have met a warm reception, Ma'am,
And were boon companions of our gracious Queen!
In smiles array'd, my Lady Grey, with such a noble work elate,
The lemonade, and water-ice, will undertake to circulate,
With meat in slices, laid on bread, about the rooms to hand which, is
Of course the task of Lady S., the head of all the Sandwiches.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.
Then, Ma'am, for company!--there ne'er has been a rush in town
Half so great as there will be to this Whig thing:
Mrs. Brougham and Mrs. Wilde, the Doctor, Mrs. Lushington,
Mrs. Ellis, Mrs. Baring, Lord and Lady King;
The Duke of Gloucester, Mr. Forster, little Colonel Higgins, Ma'am,
Mrs. Barber Beaumont, Mrs. Byng, and Mrs. Figgins, Ma'am;
Lady Morgan, Lady Stanhope, old Sir Robert Baker, Ma'am,
And Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Frith, and Lord and Lady Dacre, Ma'am.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.
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