The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 35
Don Holland of Kensington, while his Whig friends in town,
Grand tavern-speeches were planning,
Wrote a note just to tell the brave Arguelles
How much wiser the Whigs are than Canning.
"All England one feeling displays, sir,
Never mind what the Minister says, sir!
At him you may hoot--and the Council to boot,
For England is all in a blaze, sir!"
As the Whigs had for years rung peace in our ears,
When for war the whole nation did burn, sirs,
'Twould surely be hard, if they now were debarr'd
From crying for war in their turn, sirs!
So Mackintosh made an oration,
As bold as a war proclamation,
Then finish'd his boast, with this apposite toast,
"May peace be preserved to the nation!"
Then leave 'em to prate, and spout, and debate,
We all know there's nought but a show meant;
Let 'em blow hot and cold--be shy, or be bold,
As the humour prevails at the moment:
Let 'em cry up the grand Revolution!
The gallant and brave Revolution!
And all to a man--bawl as loud as they can,
"Huzza! for the brave Revolution!"
THIS IMITATION OF BUNBURY'S "LITTLE GREY MAN,"
Preserved among the Tales of Wonder, is, without permission,
inscribed to a Major-General of the British Army, Knight Commander of
the Order of the Bath, Agent for the Ionian Islands, and a Pensioner
of the present Administration, &c., &c., &c.
Oh! deep was the sorrow, and sad was the day,
When death took our gracious old Monarch away,
And gave us a Queen, lost to honour and fame,
Whose manners are folly, whose conduct is shame;
Who with aliens and vagabonds long having stroll'd,
Soon caught up their morals, loose, brazen, and bold.
She had traversed the globe in all quarters, to show
To what depth of debasement a Princess could go;
And with front unabash'd, when her guilt was display'd,
The altar insulted with impious parade;
Whilst sick with disgust at a scene so profane,
Not one decent female would move in her train.
She paid a vile rabble to shout round her car,
Her teachers, so pious, were Fellowes and Parr;
Her councillors, Aldermen Waithman and Wood,
Could she find nothing worse? She might try if she could.
Abroad there was nothing more low than her groom,
At home there are Wilson, Moore, Hobhouse, and Hume.
Oh! what will the rancour of party not do!
Ye Howards and Russells, this sigh is for you!
To an union so base can ye bend your proud will?
Yes, great though the peril, unmeasured the ill,
Through the country delusion and clamour must ring,
And your rivals to strike, you must menace your King.
In Suffolk, to aid in so loyal a plan,
From Mildenhall upstarts a little dark man;
His hue it was bilious, his eyes they were ghast,
Long and pale were his fingers that held a quill fast,
And grimly he scowl'd, whilst his rancour and spleen
Distill'd in a spurious Address to the Queen.
How spotless and pure was this paragon shown!
How safe, through its friends, an attack on the Throne,
Their motives were wicked, their actions were base;--
Some wonder'd, no doubt, at so alter'd a case,
Who cannot forget, though 'tis plain that _he_ can,
The favours they heap'd on this dark little man.
From childhood the imp in the Palace was rear'd,
Its bounties his parents, his kindred all shared;
With rapid advancement, too rapid by half,
He outstripp'd the foremost of line or of staff;
But soon from the chances of service withdrew,
With the profits and safety of office in view.
To Liverpool, Bathurst, and colleagues he bow'd;
He courted their smiles, and attachment he vow'd;
Obtain'd a snug place, with the means to do ill,
To some who despised, but remember it still:
He was fearlessly trusted, and laugh'd in his sleeve--
"Those you mean to betray you must ever deceive."
Indulged by his patrons, the confident elf,
No talent imagined except in himself;
Of the merits of others a censor severe,
Even Wellington might not escape from his sneer;
But they trusted him still, not suspecting his plan,
Ah, little they knew of the dark little man!
Next a General's apparel he put on, so new,
The coat of fine scarlet, the facings of blue,
With gold all embroider'd so costly; and last
The loop with the plume that waved high in the blast,
'Twould have vex'd you at heart, if such sights ever can,
To have gazed on the dizen'd-out little dark man.
That Order, of Heroes the dying bequest,
Its ribbon that blush'd as it cover'd his breast;
The Star and the Badge that tried valour should wear,
As if he had earn'd them, he took to his share:
Like a pigmy he climb'd up on Honour's high tree,
And blazon'd his name with a large K. C. B.
Now the battle of battles was won!!--O'er his foes
Triumphant the lion of England arose,
And gave peace to the world.--No longer, 'twas plain,
The little dark man could his office retain;
Reluctant he went, but he pocketed clear,
In pension and place, fifteen hundred a year.
He growl'd and intrigued but in vain--he is gone!
Soon forgotten by most, and regretted by none:
But to sink in oblivion he cannot endure,
The moment seems tempting, the victims secure.
Strike! strike at your friends! The foul blow it was sped,
And with terrible justice recoil'd on his head.
The little dark man then he set up a yell,
And the Hundred of Lackford was roused by the spell;
He raised up his head, and he raised up his chin,
And he grinn'd, and he shouted a horrible grin,
And he laugh'd a faint laugh, and his cap up he cast;
But pension and sinecure still he holds fast.
When a score and three days make the age of the year,
To St. Stephen's, the Lords and the Commons repair:
E'er a score and three more, so the King might decree
The country another election may see.
But the brave men of Suffolk have seen through his plan,
And will baffle the arts of the little dark man.
HUMPTY-DUMPTY.
Rich and furr'd was the robe he wore,
And a bright gold chain on his breast he bore;
But, och! his speaking was far beyond
Waithman himself, with his snow-white wand.
"Humpty! do'st thou not fear to stray
With the Lady, so far from the King's highway?
Are Britain's sons so dull or so cold,
As still to be cheated with tinsel for gold?"
"Mistress Dumpty! I feel not the least alarm--
No placemen ever dare do me harm;
For though they vote her and me a bore,
They love their own heads, and their places more."
On he went--in her coach to ride,
While he cozen'd the Lady who sat by his side
And lost for ever was she who was led
By Humpty's honour--and Dumpty's head!
PARODY.
While Johnny Gale Jones the memorial was keeping,
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But oh, what a grin on his visage shone bright,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame--
'Midst his _soi-disant_ betters,
In vilely-form'd letters,
The Doctor beheld little Waddington's name!
"Hail, imp of sedition!" he cried, while he nodded
His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes,
"Magnanimous pigmy! since Carlile's been quodded,
We wanted some shopman, about of your size!
For, though many we've had, yet unbless'd was their lot,
When Murray and Sharpe with the constables came,
And for want of good bail
They were sent off to jail,
And their mittimus sign'd with an Alderman's name."
Then come, the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard-board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!
High perch'd on that counter, where Carlile once stood,
Issue torrents of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,
Well secur'd with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little Waddington's name.
"THE YOUNG MAY MOON."
(A PARODY.)
The Old Whig Club is meeting, Duke,
'Tis now the time for eating, Duke,
How sweet to joke,
To sing and smoke,
While these foolish men stand treating, Duke!
Then harangue, and not in vain, my Duke,
At them again and again, my Duke!
The best of all ways
To speak in these days,
Is to steal a few thoughts from Tom Paine, my Duke!
Now all the Whigs are sleeping, Duke,
But the mob, through the casement peeping, Duke,
At you and your star,
Which we really are
Surpris'd at your meanness in keeping, Duke!
Go home, your task is done, my Duke,
The watchmen's boxes shun, my Duke,
Or, in watching the flight
Of traitors by night,
They may happen to take you for one, my Duke!
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