The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 207

COTTON AND CORN.

A DIALOGUE.

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day, As they met and exchanged a salute-- (Squire Corn in his carriage so gay, Poor Cotton half famished on foot):

"Great Squire, if it isn't uncivil "To hint at starvation before you, "Look down on a poor hungry devil, "And give him some bread, I implore you!"

Quoth Corn then in answer to Cotton, Perceiving he meant to make _free_-- "Low fellow, you've surely forgotten "The distance between you and me!

"To expect that we Peers of high birth "Should waste our ill.u.s.trious acres, "For no other purpose on earth "Than to fatten curst calico-makers!--

"That Bishops to bobbins should bend-- "Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity, "Great dealers in _lawn_, to befriend "Such contemptible dealers in dimity!

"No--vile Manufacture! ne'er harbor "A hope to be fed at our boards;-- "Base offspring of Arkwright the barber, "What claim canst _thou_ have upon Lords?

"No--thanks to the taxes and debt, "And the triumph of paper o'er guineas, "Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet, "May defy your whole rabble of _Jennys_!"

So saying--whip, crack, and away Went Corn in his chaise thro' the throng, So headlong, I heard them all say, "Squire Corn will be _down_ before long."

THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT b.u.t.tERWORTH.

"A Christian of the best edition."--RABELAIS.

Canonize him!--yea, verily, we'll canonize him, Tho' Cant is his hobby and meddling his bliss, Tho' sages may pity and wits may despise him, He'll ne'er make a bit the worse Saint for all this.

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet spread The dominion of Humbug o'er land and o'er sea, Descend on our b.u.t.terworth's biblical head, Thrice-Great, Bibliopolist, Saint, and M. P.

Come, shade of Joanna, come down from thy sphere.

And bring little s.h.i.+loh--if 'tisn't too far-- Such a sight will to b.u.t.terworth's bosom be dear, _His_ conceptions and _thine_ being much on a par.

Nor blush, Saint Joanna, once more to behold A world thou hast honored by cheating so many; Thou'lt find still among us one Personage old, Who also by tricks and the _Seals_[1] makes a penny.

Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother Lee![2]

Thy smiles to beatified b.u.t.terworth deign; Two "lights of the Gentiles" are thou, Anne, and he, _One_ hallowing Fleet Street, and _t'other_ Toad Lane![3]

The heathen, we know, made their G.o.ds out of wood, And Saints may be framed of as handy materials;-- Old women and b.u.t.terworths make just as good As any the Pope ever _bookt_ as Ethereals.

Stand forth, Man of Bibles!--not Mahomet's pigeon, When perched on the Koran, he dropt there, they say, Strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion Such glory as b.u.t.terworth sheds every day.

Great Galen of souls, with what vigor he crams Down Erin's idolatrous throats, till they crack again, Bolus on bolus, good man!--and then d.a.m.ns Both their stomachs and souls, if they dare cast them back again.

How well might his shop--as a type representing The creed of himself and his sanctified clan-- On its counter exhibit "the Art of Tormenting,"

Bound neatly, and lettered "Whole Duty of Man!"

Canonize him!--by Judas, we _will_ canonize him; For Cant is his hobby and twaddling his bliss; And tho' wise men may pity and wits may despise him, He'll make but the better _shop_-saint for all this.

Call quickly together the whole tribe of Canters, Convoke all the _serious_ Tag-rag of the nation; Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jumpers and Ranters To witness their b.u.t.terworth's Canonization!

Yea, humbly I've ventured his merits to paint, Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray, And they form a sum-total for making a Saint.

That the Devil's own advocate could not gainsay.

Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters all roar, While b.u.t.terworth's spirit, upraised from your eyes, Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory shall soar, With a long tail of rubbish behind, to the skies!

[1] A great part of the income of Joanna Southcott arose from the Seals of the Lord's protection which she sold to her followers.

[2] Mrs. Anne Lee, the "chosen vessel" of the Shakers, and "Mother of all the children of regeneration."

[3] Toad Lane, in Manchester, where Mother Lee was born. In her "Address to Young Believers," she says, that "it is a matter of no importance with them from whence the means of their deliverance come, whether from a stable in Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Manchester."

AN INCANTATION.

SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT.

Air.--_Come with me, and we will go Where the rocks of coral grow_.

Come with me and we will blow Lots of bubbles as we go; Bubbles bright as ever Hope Drew from fancy--or from soap; Bright as e'er the South Sea sent From its frothy element!

Come with me and we will blow Lots of bubbles as we go.

Mix the lather, Johnny Wilks, Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks;[1]

Mix the lather--who can be Fitter for such tasks than thee, Great M. P. for _Suds_bury!

Now the frothy charm is ripe, Puffing Peter,[2] bring thy pipe,-- Thou whom ancient Coventry Once so dearly loved that she Knew not which to her was sweeter, Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter;-- Puff the bubbles high in air, Puff thy best to keep them there.

Bravo, bravo, Peter More!

Now the rainbow humbugs[3] soar.

Glittering all with golden hues Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;-- Some reflecting mines that lie Under Chili's glowing sky, Some, those virgin pearls that sleep Cloistered in the southern deep; Others, as if lent a ray From the streaming Milky Way, Glistening o'er with curds and whey From the cows of Alderney.

Now's the moment--who shall first Catch the bubbles ere they burst?

Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, Brogden, Teynham, Palmerston;-- John Wilks junior runs beside ye!