I thought the best way, as a dutiful son,
Was to do as Old Royalty's self would have done.
So I sent word to say I would keep the whole batch in,
The same chest of tools without cleansing or patching;
For tools of this kind, like Martinus's sconce,
Would lose all their beauty if purified once;
And think-only think-if our father could find,
Upon graciously coming again to his mind,
That improvement had spoil'd any favourite adviser-
That R-se was grown honest, or W-stm-rel-nd wiser-
That R-d-r was, even by one twinkle the brighter-
Or L-v-rp-l's speeches but half a pound lighter-
What a shock to his old royal heart it would be!
No!-far were such dreams of improvement from me :
And it pleased me to find, at the house where, you know,
There's such good mutton cutlets and strong curaçoa, +
That the Marchioness call'd me a duteous old boy,
And my Y-rm-th's red whiskers grew redder for joy!
You know, my dear Freddy, how oft, if I would,
By the law of last session I might have done good.
I might have withheld these political noodles
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee doodles;
I might have told Ireland I pitied her lot,
Might have soothed her with hope-but you know I did not.
And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows
Should not on recovering have cause to be jealous,
But find that while he has been laid on the shelf,
We've been all of us nearly as mad as himself.
You smile at my hopes-but the Doctors and I
Are the last that can think the K-ng ever will die!
A new era 's arrived-though you'd hardly believe it-
And all things of course must be new to receive it.
New villas, new fetes (which even Waithman attends)——
New saddles, new helmets, and-why not new friends?
I repeat it, new friends "-for I cannot describe
The delight I am in with this P-rc-v-l tribe.
Such capering!-such vapouring!—such rigour !-such
vigour !
North, South, East and West, they have cut such a figure,
That soon they will bring the whole world round our ears,
And leave us no friends-but Old Nick and Algiers.
When I think on the glory they've beam'd on my chains,
'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains!
It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches,
But think how we furnish our Allies with breeches!
*The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, which, upon scouring, turned out to be only an old sconce.
†The letter writer's favourite luncheon.
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis granted,
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted,
To put the last lingering few who remain
Of the Walcheren warriors out of their pain.
Then how Wellington fights! and how squabbles his brother! For Papists the one, and with Papists the other;
One crushing Napoleon by taking a city,
While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'lic committee.
O deeds of renown! shall I boggle or flinch
With such prospects before me? by Jove, not an inch.
No-let England's affairs go to rack if they will,
We'll look after th' affairs of the Continent still,
And with nothing at home but starvation and riot,
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet.
I am proud to declare I have no predilections,
My heart is a sieve where some scatter'd affections
Are just danced about for a moment or two,
And the finer they are, the more sure to run through:
Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill
To mortals-except (now I think on 't) Beau Br-mm-ll,
Who threaten'd, last year, in a superfine passion,
To cut me, and bring the old K-ng into fashion.
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present;
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant,
So royally free from such troublesome feelings,
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings,
(And that I'm consistent the world will allow,
What I was at Newmarket, the same I am now,)
When such are my merits, (you know I hate cracking,)
I hope, like the vendor of best patent blacking,
"To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation
Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation."
By the by, ere I close this magnificent Letter,
(No man, except Pole, could have writ you a better,)
'Twould please me if those whom I've humbugg'd so long
With the notion (good men !) that I knew right from wrong,
Would a few of them join me-mind, only a few-
To let too much light in on me never would do;
But even Grey's brightness sha'n't make me afraid,
While I've C-md-n and Eld-n to fly to for shade;
Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us much harm,
While there's W-stm-rel-nd near him to weaken the charm.
As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it,
Sure joining with H-rtf-rd and Y-rın-th will do it!
Between R-d-r and Wh-rt-n let Sheridan sit,
And the fogs will soon quench even Sheridan's wit;
And against all the pure public feeling that glows
Even in Whitbread himself we've a host in G-rge R-se!
So, in short, if they wish to have places, they may,
And I'll thank you to tell all these matters to Grey,
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time to lose)
By the Twopenny Post to tell Granville the news;
And now, dearest Fred, (though I've no predilection,)
Believe me yours always with truest affection.
P.S.-A copy of this is to P-rc-1 going,
Good lack! how St Stephen's will ring with his crowing!
FINE and feathery artisan !
Best of plumists, if you can
With your art so far presume,
Make for me a P--e's plume-
Feathers soft and feathers rare,
Such as suits a Pe to wear!
First, thou downiest of men!
Seek me out a fine pea-hen;
Such a hen, so tall and grand,
As by Juno's side might stand,
If there were no cocks at hand!
Seek her feathers, soft as down,
Fit to shine on P--e's crown;
If thou canst not find them, stupid!
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.
Ranging these in order due,
Pluck me next an old cuckoo,
Emblem of the happy fates
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates.
Pluck him well-be sure you do-
Who would'nt be an old cuckoo,
Thus to have his plumage blest,
Beaming on a R-y-l crest?
Bravo, plumist!--now what bird
Shall we find for plume the third?
You must get a learned owl,
Bleakest of black-letter fowl-
Bigot bird, that hates the light,
Foe to all that's fair and bright!
Seize his quills, (so form'd to pen
Books that shun the search of men;
Books that, far from every eye,
In "swelter'd venom sleeping" lie!)
THROUGH M-nch-st-r Square took a canter just now-
Met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow.
This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,
But got such a look-oh, 'twas black as the devil!
How unlucky!—incog. he was travelling about,
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out!
Mem.--When next by the old yellow chariot I ride,
To remember there is nothing princely inside.
At Levee to-day made another sad blunder-
What can be come over me lately, I wonder?
The P e was as cheerful as if all his life
He had never been troubled with friends or a wife-
"Fine weather," says he-to which I, who must prate,
Answer'd, "Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late."
He took it, I fear, for he look'd somewhat gruff,
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough,
That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd come off,
And then how Geramb would triumphantly scoff!
Mem.-To buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers-sure road to promotion ! *
* England is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. "I remember," says Tavernier, "to have seen one of the king of Persia's porters, whose moustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension."
Last night a concert-vastly gay-
Given by Lady C-stl-r-gh.
My Lord loves music, and, we know,
Has two strings always to his bow.
In choosing songs, the R-g-t named
"Had I a heart for falsehood framed."
While gentle H-rtf-d begg'd and pray'd
For "Young I am, and sore afraid."
WHAT news to-day?" Oh! worse and worse-
M-c is the Pr- -e's privy purse!
-ce's purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Pr--ce's ridicule.
KING CRACK* AND HIS IDOLS.
WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOTIATION FOR A NEW M-N-STRY.
KING Crack was the best of all possible kings,
(At least, so his courtiers would swear to you gladly,) But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, And, at last, took to worshipping images sadly.
Some broken-down idols, that long had been placed
In his father's old Cabinet pleased him so much,
That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though-such was his taste!--
They were monstrous to look at and rotten to touch!
And these were the beautiful gods of king Crack!-
Till his people, disdaining to worship such things,
Cried aloud, one and all, "Come, your godships must pack-
You will not do for us, though you may do for kings."
Then, trampling the gross idols under their feet,
They sent Crack a petition, beginning-" Great Cæsar! We are willing to worship; but only entreat
That you'll find some decenter godships than these are."
* One of those antediluvian princes with whom Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately acquainted. If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled his history, we should find, I daresay, that Crack was only a regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was the last king of the antediluvian dynasty.
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