T would still keep a taste for Hell's music alive, To think that Religion should make it her own. So, having sent down for the original notes Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir, With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats Of myself and some others, who sing it "with fire," Though I "if the Marseillois Hymn could command Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing To serve for our times quite as well as the Peer;To bring thus to light, not the wisdom alone Of our ancestors, such as we find it on shelves, But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown, To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves! Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth and send him safe home,Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way; With his wisdom kept snug, from the light let him come, And our Tories will hail him with "Hear" and "Hurra!" Such audience, though yell'd by a Sans-culotte What a God-send to them-a good-obsolete man, crew, What wonders shall we do, who 've men in our band, Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader; That not only wear breeches, but petticoats too." Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, as fast as you can, Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, your Highness, And the L-nsd-les and H-rtf-rds shall chuse him for leader. Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their Chosen ; And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men, I'm forced to confess-be the cause what it will, Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shy-To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen, ness, Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill. The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key, The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee At the York music-meeting, now think it precarious. Even some of our Reverends might have been war mer But one or two capital roarers we've had; The next opportunity shan't be let slip, I'm, in haste, your most dutiful MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. DEVIL. TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. SIR,-Living in a remote part of Scotland, and having but just heard of the wonderful resurrection of Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where he had remained, bien frappe, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject. Yours, etc. LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI. WHAT a lucky turn-up!-just as Eld-n's withdrawing, To find thus a gentleman, frozen in the year 1 Con fuoco-a music-book direction. So alter'd, thou hardly canst know it again. And Eld-n will weep o'er each sad innovation Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he Has been also laid up in a long congelation, And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee THE MILLENNIUM. A MILLENNIUM at hand!-I'm delighted to hear it- Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags A city, where wine and cheap corn' shall abound,— As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves! Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian,2 Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each ;Thanks, thanks for the hope thou hast given us, that we May, even in our own times, a jubilee share, Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee, And so often has fail'd, we began to despair. 1 "A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny."-Rev. c. 6. 2 See the oration of this reverend gentleman, where he 2 This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the describes the connubial joys of paradise, and paints the Reading election. | angels hovering around "each happy fair." There was Whiston,' who learnedly took Prince Eugene For the man who must bring the Millennium about; There's Faber, whose pious predictions have been All belied, ere his book's first edition was out;— There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat, And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh !2 There was also-but why should I burden my lay With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less deserving, When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way sconce, Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself once ! Dr. Eady, less bold, I confess, Attacks but his maid of all work.' Dr. S-they, for his grand attack, Both a laureate and senator is; While poor Dr. Eady, alack, Has been had up to Bow-street, for his! And truly, the law does so blunder, That, though little blood has been spilt, he May probably suffer as, under The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. So much for the merits sublime (With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) Of the three greatest lights of our time, Doctor Eady and S-they and Slop! Should you ask me, to which of the three Great Doctors the preference should fall, As a matter of course, I agree Dr. Eady must go to the wall. But, as S-they with laurels is crown'd, THE THREE DOCTORS. Doctoribus lætamur tribus. THOUGH many great Doctors there be, Dr. S-they, and dear Doctor Slop. Dr. Slop, in no merit outdone By his scribbling or physicking brother, Can dose us with stuff like the one, Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other. Dr. Eady good company keeps With "No Popery" scribes on the walls; Dr. S--they as gloriously sleeps With "No Popery" scribes, on the stalls. Dr. Slop, upon subjects divine, Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, Seven millions of Papists, no less, Dr. S-they attacks, like a Turk ;* EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. LAMENT, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd A Viscount to a Marquis yet. Beside him place the God of Wit, Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, Apollo for a star he'd quit, And Love's own sister for an Earl's. Did niggard fate no peers afford, He took, of course, to peers' relations; And, rather than not sport a lord, Put up with even the last creations. Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em With "Lord" and "Duke," were sweet to call. And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum Was better than no Lord at all. Heaven grant him now some noble nook, THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN OF IRELAND. 1 When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay To the People of England, the humble Petition in which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks with revelation, the Prince is said to have replied that "he was not aware he had ever had the honour of being known to St. John." Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing every irreligious and seditious journalist, every open aut 2 Mr. Dobbs was a Member of the Irish Parliament, and, every insidious enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity." on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible per- 1 See the late accounts in the newspapers of the appear. son. He chose Armagh as the scene of the Millennium, onance of this gentleman at one of the police-offices, in conse account of the name Armageddon, mentioned in Revelation! quence of an alleged assault upon his "maid of all work." 3 This Seraphic Doctor, in the preface to his last work 2 A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to per (Vindicia Ecclesia Anglicana,) is pleased to anathema-sons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon wallstize not caly all Catholics, but all advocates of Catholics :-such as scaling them, battering them, etc. No doubt, "They have for their immediate allies (he says) every fac-writing upon them, to the extent that Dr. Eady does, would tion that is banded against the State, every demagogue, equally establish a claim to the honour. hat sad, very sad, is our present condition;— That our jobs are all gone, and our noble selves going; That, forming one seventh-within a few fractionsOf Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, We hold it the basest of all base transactions To keep us from murdering the other six parts ; That, as to laws made for the good of the many, That much it delights every true Orange brother faint, That we love to behold, while Old England grows Messrs. Southey and Butler near coming to blows, To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied saint, Ever truly and really pull'd the devil's nose; Whether t' other saint, Dominic, burnt the devil's paw Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mother And many such points, from which Southey doth draw Conclusions most apt for our hating each other. That 't is very well known this devout Irish nation Has now, for some ages gone happily on, Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, One party in Trans, and the other in Con;2 That relying on England, whose kindness already pay "T is, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know That to Orangemen's pockets 't will all find its way. For which your petitioners ever will pray, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc A VISION. BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL One hasty orison whirl'd me away Above or below, in earth or air; All glimmering o'er with a doubtful light, Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right night, Around on a point of law were spinning; Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for Or balanced aloft, twixt Bill and Answer, Trans; Lead at each end-like a tight-rope dancer.- These," said the Spirit, "you plainly see, At an amateur concert scream'd in score:- 1 To such important discussions as these the greater part of Dr. Southey's Vindicia Ecclesie Anglicane is devoted. 2 Consubstantiation-the true reformed belief; at least, Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of Melanc-Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook, thon also. 3 When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the To cry all night, till life's last dregs, time the dispute between "ex" and "per" was going on,) "Give us our legs!-give us our legs!" he found the Turks, we are told, "laughing at the Chris- Touch'd with the sad and sorrowful scene, tians for being divided by two such insignificant particles." I ask'd what all this yell might mean? When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee, "T is the cry of the suitors in Chancery 4 The Arian controversy.-Before that time, says Hooker, "in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used." look'd, and I saw a wizard rise, With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes. In his aged hand he held a wand, Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band, And they moved, and moved, as he waved it o'er, But they never got on one inch the more ; And still they kept limping to and fro, Like Ariels round old ProsperoSaying, "Dear Master, let us go;" But still old Prospero answer'd, "No." And I heard the while, that wizard elf, Muttering, muttering spells to himself, While over as many old papers he turn'd, As Hume ere moved for, or Omar burn'd. He talk'd of his Virtue, though some, less nice, (He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his ViceAnd he said, "I think"-"I doubt"—" I hope," Call'd God to witness, and damn'd the Pope; With many more sleights of tongue and hand I could n't, for the soul of me, understand. Amazed and posed, I was just about To ask his name, when the screams without, The merciless clack of the imps within, And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, That, startled, I woke—leap'd up in my bedFound the Spirit, the imps, and the conjurer fled, And bless'd my stars, right pleased to see That I was n't as yet, in Chancery. NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. DEAR COZ, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper, But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends As you chance to pick up from political friendsBeing one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down, To transmit you the last newest news that's in town. As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things could n't look better His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster) Had just taken Rhodes, and despatch'd off a letter To Daniel O'Connel, to make him Grand Master; Engaging to change the old name, if he can, From the Knights of St. John to the Knights of St. Or, if Dan should prefer, as a still better whim, In N. lat. 21.)-and his Highness Burmese, Being very hard prest to shell out the rupees, This is all for the present,-what vile pens and paper! AN INCANTATION. SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. AIR" Come with me, and we will go Where the rocks of coral grow." COME with me, and we will blow Now the frothy charm is ripe, Puff the bubbles high in air, 1 This Potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Gold en Fout. 2 Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when On all the distinguish'd old ladies now going. (While I write, an arrival from Riga-"the Bro-he wrote "Sir Edward Sutton, The foolish knight who rhymes to mutton.” 3 An humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who in a poem against war, after describing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, apostrophizes him-thou rainhow ruffian !" Others, as if lent a ray Now's the moment--who shall first Down his swallowlye and all ! But hark, my time is out-- Here the stage darkens,--a discordant crash is heard from the orchestra-the broken bubbles descend in a a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the heads of A goodly man, with an eye so merry, As made the turtle squeak with glee, Waving his hand, as he took farewell, Are the English forms of Diplomacy! A VOICE FROM MARATHON. the Dramatis Persona, and the scene drops, leaving O For a voice, as loud as that of Fame, the bubble hunters-all in the suds.] A DREAM OF TURTLE. BY SIR W. CURTIS. "T WAS evening time, in the twilight sweet When I spied him first, in the twilight dim, But, no-'t was, indeed, a turtle, wide Ah, much did it grieve my soul to see But now," a change came o'er my dream," 1 "Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 2 So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the cà, in the word "Chairman." 3 We are told that the passport of the late grand diplomatic turtle described him as "on his Majesty's service." dapibus supremi Grata testudo Jovis To breathe the word-Arise! Let every Greek arise! Ye who have hearts to strike a single blow, Ye who have hands to immolate one foe, From the dim fields of Asphodel beneath, Upborne by cloudy sighs Of those who love their country still in death,-E'en I-e'en I-arise! These are not hands for earthly wringing-these!- Yet here I stand, untomb'd MILTIADES, Hear ye the groans that heave this burial-field ?— Cry from the dust-" Fight on! nor DARE to yield! "Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear! Break it within your breast; Then come, brave Greek! and join your brothers here In our immortal rest!" Shall modern DATIS, swoln with Syrian pride, Cover the land with slaves?— Ay-let them cover it, both far and wide, Cover it with their graves! Much has been done-but more remains to do- The trump that, on the Egean, glory blew, Asia's grim tyrant shudder'd at the sound, He leap'd upon his throne! Murmur'd his horse-tail'd chieftainry around— "Another Marathon!" |