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your own office is forestalled, 0 Vigors ! Your proper Sirname having but one single Appropriate jingle,
Where is your gardening volume ! like old Mawe’s ! Containing rules for cultivating brutes,
Through April, May, or June,
Your Tigers' claws;
Choose shady walls for Owls,
Water your Fowls,
In some warm sheltered place,
Leaving them room to swell ;
And “destroy all vermin."
Oh, tell me, Mr. Vigors ! for the fleas
Of curiosity begin to tease –
But if a man may ask,
What is the task
If from your title one may guess your ends,
Beg you to write to ma'.
To ask papa
To send him a new suit to wear on Sunday ?
Has got a head on this day's pole,
And skillful craftsman,
Does Doctor Bennett never come and trouble
you To break the death of Wolf to Mrs. W. ? To say poor Buffalo his last has puffed, And died quite suddenly, without a will, Soothing the widow with a tender quill, And gently hinting—" would she like him stuffed ?"? Does no old sentimental Monkey weary Your hand at times to vent his scribbling itch ? And then your pen must answer to the query Of Dame Giraffe, who has been told her deary Died on the spot—and wishes to know which? New candidates meanwhile your help are waitingTo fill up cards of thanks, with due refinement, For Missis 'Possum, after her confinement; To pen a note of pretty Poll's dictatingOr write how Charles the Tenth's departed reign Disquiets the crowned Crane, And all the royal Tigers ; To send a bulletin to brother Asses Of Zebra's health, what sort of night he passes :Is this your duty, Secretary Vigors ?
Or are your brutes but Garden-brutes indeed,
Of the old shrubby breed,
But no—I've seen your book,
And let the wealthy crowd,
The noble and the proud, Learn of brute beasts to patronise the Arts. So may your Household flourish in the Park, And no long Boa go to his long home, No Antelope give up the vital spark, But all, with this your scientific tome, Go on as swimmingly as old Noah's Ark !
ODE TO JOSEPHI IIUME, ESQ., M. P.2
“I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came."
Oh, Mr. Hume, thy name
Is travelling post upon the road to fame, With four fast horses and two sharp postillions ;
Has friends by numeration,
They drink to thee
Nine and One are Ten;
Insists on four times four
In Parliament no star shines more or bigger,
Equally art thou eloquent and able,
Or laying its petitions on the Table
You seldom carry one.
But never blench,
You make some factions
Vulgar as certain fractions, Almost reduced unto their lowest terms. Go on, reform, diminish, and retrench;
Go on, for ridicule not caring;
And only in thy saving be unsparing;
Allow the tin mines no tin tax,
Cut off the Great Seal's wax;
And crop their horses' tails.
And those who found th' Artillery compel To forge twelve pounders for a five pound note. Watch Sandhurst too, its debts and its Cadets
Those Military pets.