WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS.
HITHER, FLORA, Queen of Flowers!
Haste thee from Old Brompton's bowers-
Or (if sweeter that abode),
From the King's well-odour'd Road,
Where each little nursery bud
Breathes the dust and quaffs the mud!
Hither come, and gaily twine
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine
Into wreaths for those who rule us-
Those who rule and (some say) fool us :
FLORA, sure, will love to please
England's HOUSEhold Deities!*
First you must then, willy-nilly,
Fetch me many an orange lily-
* The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or Household Gods.-See Juvenal, sat. 9. v. 138. Plutarch too tells us that Household Gods were then, as they are now, "much given to War and penal Statutes." gvvvwders xai ποινικές δαίμονας.
Orange of the darkest dye
Irish G-FF-RD can supply!
Choose me out the longest sprig,
And stick it in old ELD-N's wig!
Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy,
Garland gaudy, dull and cool,
For the head of L-V-RP-L!-
"Twill console his brilliant brows
For that loss of laurel boughs
Which they suffer'd (what a pity!)
On the road to Paris City.
Next, our C-STL-RGH to crown,
Bring me, from the County Down,
Wither'd Shamrocks, which have been
Gilded o'er to hide the green-
(Such as H-DF-T brought away
From Pall-Mall last Patrick's-Day).*
* Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock, which are distributed by the servants of C-n House every Patrick's-Day.
And kindly invent him more Christian-like shapes
For his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory capes?
Ah! no-here his ardour would meet with delays,
For the Duke had been lately pack'd up in new Stays,
So complete for the winter, he saw very plain
"Twould be devilish hard work to unpack him again!
So, what's to be done?-there's the MINISTERS, bles 'em!
As he made the puppets, why shouldn't he dress 'em? "An excellent thought!-call the tailors-be nimble"Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and H-RTF-RD her thimble "While Y-RM-TH shall give us, in spite of all quizzers “The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissars.”
So saying, he calls C-STL-R-GH, and the rest
Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be dress'd
While Y-RM-TH, with snip-like and brisk expedition,
all at once, a large Cath'lic Petition
Cuts up,
In long tailors' measures (the P-E crying" Well done!"
And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor ELD-N.
For the Opening of the New Theatre of St. St-ph-n, intended to have been spoken by the Proprietor, in full Costume, on the 24th of November.
THIS day a New House, for your edification,
We open, most thinking and right-headed nation!
Excuse the materials-though rotten and bad,
They're the best that for money just now could be had;
And, if echo the charm of such houses should be,
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T.
As for actors, we've got the old Company yet,
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set:
And, considering they all were but clerks t'other day,
It is truly surprising how well they can play.
Our Manager (he who in Ulster was nursed,
And sung Erin go Bragh for the galleries first,
But, on finding Pitt-interest a much better thing,
Changed his note, of a sudden, to God save the King!)
Still wise as he's blooming, and fat as he's clever,
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever,
Here offers you still the full use of his breath,
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death!
You remember, last season, when things went perverse
We had to engage (as a block to rehearse on)
One Mr. V-NS-TT-RT, a good sort of person,
Who's also employ'd for this season to play
In "Raising the Wind," and " the Devil to Pay.”
We expect too at least we've been plotting and plan-
To get that great actor from Liverpool, C-NN-NG;
And, as at the Circus there's nothing attracts
Like a good single combat brought in 'twixt the acts,
If the Manager should, with the help of Sir P-PH-M,
Get up new diversions, and C-NN-NG should stop 'em,
Who knows but we'll have to announce in the papers,
"Grand fight-second time-with additional capers."
Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or sad,
There is plenty of each in this House to be had;
Where our Manager ruleth, there weeping will be,
For a dead hand at tragedy always was he;
And there never was dealer in dagger and cup,
Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up.
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