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He sent such hints through Viscount This,
To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing. The same it was in science, arts,
The drama, books, MS. and printedKean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts,
And Scott's last work by him was hinted. Childe Harold in the proofs he read,
And, here and there, infused some soul in 'tNay, Davy's lamp, till seen by Ned,
Had-odd enough-a dangerous hole in 't. 'T was thus, all doing and all knowing,
Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, singer, Whatever was the best pie going,
In that Ned-trust him-had his finger.
“Courage!" however in she goes,
With her best sweeping country grace; When, ah! too true, her worst of foes,
Quadrille, there meets her, face to face. Oh for the lyre, or violin,
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, To sing the rage these nymphs were in,
Their looks and language, airs and trickery! There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face
(The beau ideal of French beauty,) A band-box thing, all art and lace,
Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie.
Her flounces, fresh from Victorine
From Hippolyte her rouge and hairHer poetry, from Lamartine
Her morals from-the Lord knows where.
And, when she danced-s0 slidingly,
So near the ground she plied her art, You'd swear her mother-earth and she
Had made a compact ne'er to part. Her face the while, demure, sedate,
No signs of life or motion showing, Like a bright pendule's dial-plate
So still, you'd hardly think ’t was going.
COUNTRY-DANCE AND QUADRILLE. One night, the nymph call's Country-Dance
Whom folks, of late, have used so ill, Preferring a coquette from France,
A mincing thing, Mamselle QuadrilleHaving been chased from London down
To that last, humblest haunt of all She used to grace-a country-town
Went smiling to the new year's ball. “Here, here, at least," she cried, “though driven
From London's gay and shining tracksThough, like a Peri cast from heaven,
I've lost, for ever lost Almack's-“Though not a London Miss alive
Would now for her acquaintance own me; And spinsters, even of forty-five,
Upon their honours ne'er have known me: “Here, here, at least, I triumph still,
And-spite of some few dandy lancers, Who vainly try to preach quadrille
See nought but true-blue country-dancers. “Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms,
My throne, like Magna Charta, raise, 'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms,
That scorn the threaten'd chaine Anglaise." 'T was thus she said, as, 'mid the din
Of footmen, and the town sedan, She lighted at the King's-Ilead Inn,
And up the stairs triumphant ran. The squires and the squiresses all,
With young squirinas, just come out, And my lord's daughters from the Hall
(Quadrillers, in their hearts, no doubt,) Already, as she tripp'd up stairs,
She in the cloak-room saw assemblingWhen, hark! some new outlandish airs,
From the first fiddle, set her trembling. She stops-she listens—can it be?
Alas! in vain her ears would 'scape itIt is “Di tanti palpiti,”
As plain as English bow can scrape it.
Full fronting her stond Country-Dance
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know For English, at a single glance
English all o'er, from top to toe. A little gauche, 't is fair to own,
And rather given to skips and bounces; Endangering thereby many a gown,
And playing oft the devil with flounces. Unlike Mamselle—who would prefer
(As morally a lesser ill) A thousand flaws in character,
To one vile rumple of a frill. No rouge did she of Albion wear;
Let her but run that two-heat race She calls a Set--not Dian e'er
Came rosier from the woodland chase.
And such the nymph, whose soul had in 't
Such anger now-whose eyes of blue (Eyes of that bright victorious tint
Which English maids call “ Waterloo,"') Like summer lightnings, in the dusk
Of a warm evening, flashing broke, While-to the tune of “Money Musk,"
Which struck up now-she proudly spoke "Heard you that strain—that joyous strain ?
'T was such as England loved to hear, Ere thou, and all thy frippery train,
Corrupted both her foot and ear“ Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands,
Presumed, in sight of all beholders,
1 An old English couptry-danca
THE following Fugitive Pieces, which have appeared from time to time in the most popular London journas (THE TIMES,) are very generally attributed to Mr. Moore, and, though not acknowledged by that Gentleтап, their wit, grace, variety, and spirit, sufficiently attest the truth of the report, and sanction their insertion in a complete collection of his Poetical Works.
ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES
AN AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN
BANK AND GOVERNMENT.
BY SIR T-SL-E.
“Legiferæ Cereri Phæboque."-Virgil. Is all then forgotten ?-those amorous pranks You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know play'd
(Among other odd whims of those comical boWhen you call'd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, dies) And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made. Adorn'd with somniferous poppies to show
Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's When-left to do all, unmolested and free,
Benold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee,
Great Queen of Mark-lane (if the thing does n't bore And is it then vanish'd ?--that "hour (as Othello
thee,) So happily calls it) of Love and Direction,”
Thou 'lt read o'er the last of his-never-last And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow,
speeches. Grow good in our old age, and cut the connection ?
Ah! Ceres, thou know'st not the slander and scorn GOVERNMENT.
Now heap'd upon England's 'Squirearchy so boastEven so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be,
Improving on Hunt's scheme, instead of the Corn, This paying in cashplays the devil with wooing
'T is now the Corn-growers, alas! that are roasted! We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee There must soon be a stop to our bill-ing and In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack uscooing.
Reviewers, economists--fellows, no doubt,
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bacchus, Propagation in reason—a small child or two
And Gods of high fashion, know little about. Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to : The issue of some folks is moderate and few- There's B-nth-m, whose English is all his own But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no end
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking So,-hard as it is on a pair who 've already
(What he, himself, calls) his“ post-prandial vibra. Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence; And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy, Who d, even in famine, cry “D-n the expense!" There are two Mr.M—s, too, whom those that like
reading The day is at hand, my Papyria* Venus,
Through all that's unreadable, call very clever ;When, high as we once used to carry our capers, And, whereas M- Senior makes war on good Those soft billels-dout we're now passing between us breeding,
Will serve but to keep Mrs. C—tts in curl-papers; M-Junior makes war on all breeding whatever! And when--if we still must continue our love, In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided After all that is past--our amour, it is clear
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages ;(Like that which Miss Danao managed with Jove,) With which of these classes we, landlords, have sided, Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear!
Thou'll find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few
pages An hour
For therein I ve prov'd, to my own satisfaction, of love, of worldly matter and direction."
And that of all 'Squires l've the honour of meeting, 2 It appears that Ovid, however, was a friend to the re- That 't is the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detracfumption of payment in specie:-
To say that poor people are found of cheap eating
Met. l. xv. v. 743. 3 Hon. F. Robinson.
1 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner 4 To distinguish her from the “ Aurea."
On the contrary, such the chaste notions of food
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart,
than thou art !
And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day,
“In vain are laws pass'd,
There's nothing holds you fast,
At the smallest hint in life,
You forsake your lawful wife,
"I flirt with Silver, true
But what can ladies do,
And as to falsehood, stuff!
I shall soon be false enough,
The Sovereign, smiling on her,
Now swore, upon his honour,
But, within an hour or two,
Why-I sold him to a Jew,
Long life to the Minister !--no matter who,
Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified spirit, he Keeps the ports shut-and the people's mouths, too,
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity. As for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn
To hate the whole crew who would take our rents
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn,
That last honest Uni-corn' would be-Sir Th-s!
AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING.
“Quein dus finem, Rex magne, laboruin?"-Virgil. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND A ONE POUND NOTE.
How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their “() ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres
corn,' Aguu lupos, caprerque leones.''-- Hor.
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,
"T is hardly worth while being very high born! Said a Sovereign to a Note, In the pocket of my coat,
Why bore them so rudely, cach night of your life, Where they met, in a neat purse of leather,
On a question, Lord, there is so much to abhor “How happens it, I prithee,
in? That though I'm wedded with thee, A question-like asking one, “How is your wife?”— Fair Pound, we can never live together ?
At once so confounded domestic and foreign. “Like your sex, fond of change,
As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast, With silver you can range,
But Peers, and such animals fed up for show, And of lots of young sixpences be mother;
(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceased) While with me-on my word,
Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know. Not my Lady and my Lord
You might sce, my dear Baron, how bored and disOf Wrth see so little of each other!"
trest The indignant Note replied
Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale, (Lying crumpled by his side,)
When the force of the agony wrung e'en a jest “Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir
From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord 1-d-le !2 One cannot look askance,
Bright Peer! to whom Nature and Berwickshire gavo But, whip! you're off to France, Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir.
A humour, endow'd with effects so provoking,
That, when the whole llouse looks unusually grave, “Your scampering began
You may always conclude that Lord 1-d-le's From the moment Parson Van,
joking! Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter,
And then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth“For better or for worse'
Not to know the vast difference Providence dooms Is the usual marriage curse :
Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth, But ours is all “worse' and no 'better.'
"Twixt those who have heir-looms, and those
who've but looms! 1 " Road to Ruin." Dicta Fames Cereris (quamvis contraria semper
1 See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1 Illius est operi) peragit.--Ocid.
when Lord King was severely reproved by several of the 2 This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to noble Peers, for making so many speeches against the Corn the natural history of the unicorn, which is supposed to be Laws. something between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees 2 This noble Earl said, that “when be heard the petition Cyclopædia tells us, has a particular liking for any thing came from ladies' boot and shoe-makers, he thought it mus chaste.
bo against the corns which thov inflicted on the fair sex