The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 198

OCCASIONAL ADDRESS

FOR THE OPENING OF THE NEW THEATRE OF ST. STEPHEN,

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE PROPRIETOR IN FULL COSTUME, ON THE 24TH OF NOVEMBER, 1812.

This day a New House for your edification We open, most thinking and right-headed nation!

Excuse the materials--tho' 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, tragicomical set; And considering they all were but clerks t'other day, It is truly surprising how well they can play.

Our Manager,[1] (he who in Ulster was nurst, 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 _G.o.d 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 on.

We had to engage (as a block to rehea.r.s.e on) One Mr. Vansittart, a good sort of person, Who's also employed for this season to play, In "Raising the Wind," and "the Devil to Pay."[2]

We expect too--at least we've been plotting and planning-- To get that great actor from Liverpool, Canning; 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 Popham, Get up new _diversions_ and Canning 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.

His powers poor Ireland will never forget, And the widows of Walcheren weep o'er them yet.

So much for the actors;--for secret machinery, Traps, and deceptions, and s.h.i.+fting of scenery, Yarmouth and c.u.m are the best we can find, To transact all that trickery business behind.

The former's employed too to teach us French jigs, Keep the whiskers in curl and look after the wigs.

In taking my leave now, I've only to say, A few _Seats in the House_, not as yet sold away, May be had of the Manager, Pat Castlereagh.

[1] Lord Castlereagh.

[2] He had recently been appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer.

THE SALE OF THE TOOLS.

_Instrumenta regni_.--TACITUS.

Here's a choice set of Tools for you, Ge'mmen and Ladies, They'll fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is; (Except it be _Cabinet-making_;--no doubt, In that delicate service they're rather worn out; Tho' their owner, bright youth! if he'd had his own will, Would have bungled away with them joyously still.) You see they've been pretty well _hackt_--and alack!

What tool is there job after job will not hack?

Their edge is but dullish it must be confest, And their temper, like Ellenborough's, none of the best; But you'll find them good hardworking Tools, upon trying, Were't but for their _bra.s.s_ they are well worth the buying; They're famous for making _blinds_, _sliders_, and _screens_, And are some of them excellent _turning_ machines.

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a _Chancellor_), Heavy concern to both purchaser _and_ seller.

Tho' made of pig iron yet worthy of note 'tis, 'Tis ready to _melt_ at a half minute's notice.[1]

Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou shapest; 'Twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a Papist; Or else a cramp-iron to stick in the wall Of some church that old women are fearful will fall; Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at random,) A heavy _drag-chain_ for some Lawyer's old _Tandem_.

Will n.o.body bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir-- Once, twice,--going, going,--thrice, gone!--it is yours, Sir.

To pay ready money you sha'n't be distrest, As a _bill_ at _long date_ suits the Chancellor best.

Come, where's the next Tool?-- Oh! 'tis here in a trice-- This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was a _Vice_; (A tenacious and close sort of tool that will let Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get;) But it since has received a new coating of _Tin_, Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in.

Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on, We'll the sooner get rid of it--going--quite gone.

G.o.d be with it, such tools, if not quickly knockt down, Might at last cost their owner--how much? why, a _Crown_!

The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or Trial as yet and is _also_ a Chancellor-- Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross; Yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to _shave close_, And like _other_ close shavers, some courage to gather, This _blade_ first began by a flourish on _leather_.[2]

You shall have it for nothing--then, marvel with me At the terrible _tinkering_ work there must be, Where a Tool such as this is (I'll leave you to judge it) Is placed by ill luck at the top of _the Budget_!

[1] An allusion to Lord Eldon's lachrymose tendencies.

[2] Of the taxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, that princ.i.p.ally opposed in Parliament was the additional duty on leather."--_Ann.

Register_.

LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL.

A BALLAD.

_To the tune of "There was a little man, and he wooed a little maid."_

DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CHARLES ABBOT.

_arcades ambo et cantare pares_

1813.

There was a little Man and he had a little Soul, And he said, "Little Soul, let us try, try, try.

"Whether it's within our reach "To make up a little Speech, "Just between little you and little I, I, I, "Just between little you and little I!"

Then said his little Soul, Peeping from her little hole, "I protest, little Man, you are stout, stout, stout, "But, if it's not uncivil, "Pray tell me what the devil, "Must our little, little speech be about, bout, bout, "Must our little, little speech be about?"

The little Man lookt big, With the a.s.sistance of his wig, And he called his little Soul to order, order, order, Till she feared he'd make her jog in To jail, like Thomas Croggan, (As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward her, ward her, ward her, As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her.

The little Man then spoke, "Little Soul, it is no joke, "For as sure as Jacky Fuller loves a sup, sup, sup, "I will tell the Prince and People "What I think of Church and Steeple.

"And my little patent plan to prop them up, up, up, "And my little patent plan to prop them up."

Away then, cheek by jowl, Little Man and little Soul Went and spoke their little speech to a t.i.ttle, t.i.ttle, t.i.ttle, And the world all declare That this priggish little pair Never yet in all their lives lookt so little, little, little.