Though famed for his rules Aristotle may be, In but half of this Sage any merit I see,
For, as honest Joe Hume says, the "tottle" 199 for me!
For instance, while others discuss and debate, It is thus about Bishops I ratiocinate.
In England, where, spite of the infidel's laughter, "Tis certain our souls are look'd very well after, Two Bishops can well (if judiciously sunder'd) Of parishes manage two thousand two hundred,- Said number of parishes, under said teachers, Containing three millions of Protestant creatures,― So that each of said Bishops full ably controls One million and five hundred thousands of souls. And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland we're told, Half a million includes the whole Protestant fold; If, therefore, for three million souls 'tis conceded Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is needed, "Tis plain, for the Irish half million who want 'em, One third of one Bishop is just the right quantum. And thus, by old Cocker's sublime Rule of Three, The Irish Church question's resolved to a T; Keeping always that excellent maxim in view, That, in saving men's souls, we must save money
It has been suggested,-lest that Church Should, all at once, be left in the lurch, For want of reverend men endued With this gift of ne'er requiring food,- To try, by way of experiment, whether There couldn't be made, of wood and leather, (Howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,) Jointed figures not lay,202 but clerical, Which, wound up carefully once a week, Might just like parsons look and speak, Nay even, if requisite, reason too, As well as most Irish parsons do.
Th' experiment having succeeded quite, (Whereat those Lords must much delight, Who've shown, by stopping the Church's food, They think it isn't for her spiritual good To be served by parsons of flesh and blood,) The Patentees of this new invention Beg leave respectfully to mention, They now are enabled to produce An ample supply, for present use, Of these reverend pieces of machinery, Ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery, Or any such-like post of skill That wood and leather are fit to fill.
N. B.-In places addicted to arson, We can't recommend a wooden parson: But, if the Church any such appoints, They'd better, at least, have iron joints. In parts, not much by Protestants haunted, A figure to look at's all that's wanted- A block in black, to eat and sleep, Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap
P. S. Should the Lords, by way of a treat, Permit the clergy again to eat,
The Church will, of course, no longer need Imitation-parsons that never feed; And these wood creatures of ours will sell For secular purposes just as well- Our Beresfords, turn'd to bludgeons stout, May, 'stead of beating their own about, Be knocking the brains of Papists out; While our smooth O'Sullivans, by all means, Should transmigrate into turning machines
HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A PEER,
ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, AS DISCLOSED IN
Does some marriage, in days near the Flood, interfere
With his one sublime object of being a Peer? Quick the shears at once nullify bridegroom and bride,
CHOOSE Some title that's dormant-the Peerage No such people have ever lived, married, or died!
Having dwelt on such classical musings awhile, I set-off, by a steamboat, for this happy isle, (A conveyance you ne'er, I think, sail'd by, my Tully,
And therefore, per next, I'll describe it more fully,) Having heard, on the way, what distresses me
That England's o'errun by idolaters lately, Stark, staring adorers of wood and of stone, Who will let neither stick, stock, or statue alone. Such the sad news I heard from a tall man in black, Who from sports continental was hurrying back, To look after his tithes ;-seeing, doubtless, 'twould follow,
That, just as, of old, your great idol, Apollo, Devour'd all the Tenths,207 so the idols in question, These wood and stone gods, may have equal diges- tion,
Were it even, my dear TULLY, your Hebes and Graces,
And such pretty things, that usurp'd the Saints' places,
I should'nt much mind,—for, in this classic dome, Such folks from Olympus would feel quite at home. But the gods they've got here!—such a queer omnium gatherum
Of misbegot things, that no poet would father 'em ;— Britannias, in light, summer-wear for the skies, Old Thames, turn'd to stone, to his no small sur- prise,-
Father Nile, too, a portrait, (in spite of what's
That no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of his head,)210 And a Ganges, which India would think somewhat
Unless 'twas some full-grown Director had sat for't;-
Not to mention th' et cæteras of Genii and Sphinxes,
Fame, Victory, and other such semi-clad minxes;— Sea Captains,2"-the idols here most idolized; And of whom some, alas, might too well be com- prised
Among ready-made Saints, as they died cannon- ized;-
With a multitude more of odd cockneyfied deities, Shrined in such pomp that quite shocking to see it 'tis;
And th' idolatrous crew, whom this Rector de- Nor know I what better the Rector could do
This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly,
So, in went the pair, and (what none thought surprising)
Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising; While not a grim phiz in that realm but was lighted
With joy to see spirits so twin-like united— Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather, In one mess of venom thus spitted together. Here a flashy imp rose-some connection, no doubt, Of the young lord in question-and, scowling about,
"Hoped his fiery friend, Stanley, would not be left out;
"As no schoolboy unwhipp'd, the whole world must agree,
"Loved mischief, pure mischief, more dearly than he."
But, no-the wise hag wouldn't hear of the whipster;
Not merely because, as a shrew, he eclipsed her, And nature had given him, to keep him still young, Much tongue in his head and no head in his tongue; But because she well knew that, for change ever ready,
He'd not even to mischief keep properly steady; That soon even the wrong side would cease to delight,
And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails and stood And, for want of a change, he must swerve to the
While, on each, so at random his missiles he threw, That the side he attack'd was most safe of the two.- This ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf, There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself. "And now," quoth the hag, as her caldron she eyed, And the titbits so friendlily rankling inside, "There wants but some seasoning;-so, come, ere I stew 'em,
"By way of a relish, we'll throw in '+ John Tuam.' "In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish "Like your meddling High Priest, to add zest to the dish."
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand LamaWhich great event ends the First Act of the Drama.
THOUGH famed was Mesmer, in his day, Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet,
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