« PreviousContinue »
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; I'm like (with respect to the fair be it said,) I'm like a young lady just bringing to bed. If you ask why the 11th of June I remember, Much better than April, or May, or November, On that day, my Lords, with truth, I assure ye, My sainted progenitor set up his brewery; On that day, in the morn, he began brewing beer: On that day, too, began his connubial career; On that day he received and he issued his bills; On that day he cleared out all the cash from his tills; On that day he died, having finished his summing, And the angels all cried, “ Here's old Whitbread a-coming!" So that day still I hail with a smile and a sigh, For his beer with an E, and his bier with an I; And still on that day, in the hottest of weather, The whole Whitbread family dine all together. So long as the beams of this house shall support The roof which o'ershades this respectable court, Where Hastings was tried for oppressing the Hindoos : So long as the sun shall shine in at those windows, My name shall shine bright as my ancestor's shines, Mine recorded in journals, his blazon'd on signs!
The Right Hon. George Canning.
KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS.
Written after the late negotiation for a new ministry. KING CRACK was the best of all possible kings,
(At least so his courtiers would swear to you gladly,) But Crack now and then would do het’rodox things,
And, at last, took to worshipping images sadly.
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 pack
You'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
“I'll try,” says King Crack—so they furnish'd him models
Of better shaped gods, but he sent them all back; Some were chisellid 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.
THE PILOT THAT WEATHERED THE STORM
If hush'd the loud whirlwind that ruffled the deep,
The sky if no longer dark tempests deform,
No-here's to the pilot that weather'd the storm :
At the footstool of Power let Flattery fawn;
Let Faction her idol extol to the skies; To Virtue in humble retirement withdrawn,
Unblamed may the accents of gratitude rise !
And shall not his memory to Britain be dear,
Whose example with envy all nations behold? A Statesman unbiass'd by interest or fear,
By power uncorrupted, untainted by gold ! Who, when terror and doubt thro' the universe reigned,
When rapine and treason their standards unfurl'd, The hearts and the hopes of his country maintained,
And our kingdom preserved midst the wreck of the world ! Unheeding, unthankful, we bask in the blaze,
While the beams of the sun in full majesty shine: When he sinks into twilight with fondness we gaze,
And mark the mild lustre that gilds his decline.
Thy talents, thy virtues, we fondly recall;
Admired in thy zenith, but loved in thy fall.
For evils by courage and constancy braved, O take, for the throne by thy counsels upheld,
The thanks of a people thy firmness has saved.
The dawning of peace should fresh darkness deform;
Right Hon. George Canning.
MARS DISARMED BY LOVE.
AYE, bear it hence, thou blessed child,
Though dire the burthen be,
Or drown it in the sea :
So let him swear and pray ;
And take the sword away.
We've had enough of fleets and camps,
Guns, glories, odes, gazettes,
Huzzas and epaulettes ;
Another leaf of bay;
Yes, take the sword away.
That pleased our patriot throngs: We've long been dull to Gooch's toasts,
And tame to Dibdin's songs;
Without a great display;
But take the sword away.
Play up a favourite air;
More ugly than they were;
We loathe the charger's bray;
Do take the sword away.
Let Portugal have rulers twain;
Let Greece go on with none;
While we enjoy the fun;
Let Algiers lose her Dey;
Bah! take the sword away.
Our honest friends in Parliament
Are looking vastly sad;
It's all immensely bad;
But now it's time to pay;
So take the sword away.
And O, the bitter tears we wept,
In those our days of fame, --
With every post that came, --
In every far-off fray,
Ah! take the sword away.
Or mount the dangerous breach;
That wanders round our beach.
We'll fight another day:
Winthrop M. Praed.
VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP
IN HIS CHAIR DURING ONE OF THE