CXCVII. FRAGMENT OF AN ORATION. Part of Mr. Whitbread's speech on the trial of Lord Melville, put into verse by Canning at the time it was delivered. I'm like Archimedes for science and skill, I'm like a young prince going straight up a hill; On that day, in the morn, he began brewing beer: On that day he cleared out all the cash from his tills; And the angels all cried, "Here's old Whitbread a-coming!" The Right Hon. George Canning. CXCVIII. KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS. Written after the late negotiation for a new ministry. KING CRACK was the best of all possible kings, 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, tho'-such was his taste! They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch. And these were the beautiful gods of King Crack!— But his People, disdaining to worship such things, Cried aloud, one and all, "Come, your godships must packYou'll not do for us, tho' you may do for Kings." Then, trampling these images under their feet, They sent Crack, a petition, beginning "Great Cæsar! We're willing to worship; but only entreat That you'll find us some decenter godheads than these are. "I'll try," says King Crack-so they furnish'd him models Of better shaped gods, but he sent them all back; Some were chisell'd too fine, some had heads 'stead of noddles, In short they were all much too godlike for Crack. So he took to his darling old idols again, And, just mending their legs and new bronzing their faces, In open defiance of gods and of men, Set the monsters up grinning once more in their places. Thomas Moore, CXCIX. THE PILOT THAT WEATHERED THE STORM IF hush'd the loud whirlwind that ruffled the deep, At the footstool of Power let Flattery fawn; And shall not his memory to Britain be dear, By power uncorrupted, untainted by gold! Who, when terror and doubt thro' the universe reigned, Unheeding, unthankful, we bask in the blaze, While the beams of the sun in full majesty shine: O take then, for dangers by wisdom repell❜d, And oh! if again the rude whirlwind should rise, CC. MARS DISARMED BY LOVE. AYE, bear it hence, thou blessed child, Though dire the burthen be, And hide it in the pathless wild, Or drown it in the sea: The ruthless murderer prays and swears; So let him swear and pray; Be deaf to all his oaths and prayers, And take the sword away. We've had enough of fleets and camps, We could not bear upon our head That horrid Buonaparte's dead ;- We're weary of the noisy boasts That pleased our patriot throngs: We're known to be extremely brave; We give a shrug, when fife and drum We think our barracks are become Let Portugal have rulers twain; Let Turkey tremble at the knout; Our honest friends in Parliament And O, the bitter tears we wept, In those our days of fame, The dread, that o'er our heart-strings crept - The home-affections, waged and lost In every far-off fray,— The price that British glory cost! We've plenty left to hoist the sail, Or mount the dangerous breach; But till we know a reason why, CCI. Winthrop M. Praed. VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR DURING ONE OF THE DEBATES OF THE FIRST REFORMED PARLIAMENT. SLEEP, Mr. Speaker, 'tis surely fair If you mayn't in your bed, that you should in your chair; Tory and Radical, Aye and No; Talking by night and talking by day: Sleep, Mr. Speaker-sleep while you may! Sleep, Mr. Speaker; slumber lies Light and brief on a Speaker's eyes. Fielden or Finn in a minute or two Sleep, Mr. Speaker-sleep while you may! |