The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 226

A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN.

--risum _tenaetis, amici_

"The longer one lives, the more one learns,"

Said I, as off to sleep I went, Bemused with thinking of t.i.the concerns, And reading a book by the Bishop of FERNS,[1]

On the Irish Church Establishment.

But lo! in sleep not long I lay, When Fancy her usual tricks began, And I found myself bewitched away To a goodly city in Hindostan-- A city where he who dares to dine On aught but rice is deemed a sinner; Where sheep and kine are held divine, And accordingly--never drest for dinner.

"But how is this?" I wondering cried-- As I walkt that city fair and wide, And saw, in every marble street, A row of beautiful butchers' shops-- "What means, for men who don't eat meat, "This grand display of loins and chops?"

In vain I askt--'twas plain to see That n.o.body dared to answer me.

So on from street to street I strode: And you can't conceive how vastly odd The butchers lookt--a roseate crew, Inshrined in _stalls_ with naught to do; While some on a _bench_, half dozing, sat, And the Sacred Cows were not more fat.

Still posed to think what all this scene Of sinecure trade was _meant_ to mean, "And, pray," askt I--"by whom is paid The expense of this strange masquerade?"-- "The expense!--oh! that's of course defrayed (Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers) "By yonder rascally rice-consumers."

"What! _they_ who mustn't eat meat!"-- No matter-- (And while he spoke his cheeks grew fatter,) "The rogues may munch their _Paddy_ crop, "But the rogues must still support _our_ shop, "And depend upon it, the way to treat "Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, "Is to burden all that won't eat meat, "With a costly MEAT ESTABLISHMENT."

On hearing these words so gravely said, With a volley of laughter loud I shook, And my slumber fled and my dream was sped, And I found I was lying snug in bed, With my nose in the Bishop of FERNS'S book.

[1] An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholic pamphlets.

THE BRUNSWICK CLUB.

A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished personage, requesting him to become the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy.

_Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828_.

_Private_,--Lord Belzebub presents To the Brunswick Club his compliments.

And much regrets to say that he Can not at present their Patron be.

In stating this, Lord Belzebub a.s.sures on his honor the Brunswick Club, That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack Of zeal or fire he thus holds back-- As even Lord _Coal_ himself is not[1]

For the Orange party more red-hot: But the truth is, still their Club affords A somewhat decenter show of Lords, And on its list of members gets A few less rubbishy Baronets, Lord Belzebub must beg to be Excused from keeping such company.

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know, Are Lord Glandine, and Lord Dunlo?

Or who, with a grain of sense, would go To sit and be bored by Lord Mayo?

What living creature--_except his nurse_-- For Lord Mountcashel cares a curse, Or think 'twould matter if Lord Muskerry Were 'tother side of the Stygian ferry?

Breathes there a man in Dublin town, Who'd give but half of half-a-crown To save from drowning my Lord Rathdowne, Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in Lords Roden, Bandon, Cole and Jocelyn?

In short, tho' from his tenderest years, Accustomed to all sorts of Peers, Lord Belzebub much questions whether He ever yet saw mixt together As 'twere in one capacious tub.

Such a mess of n.o.ble silly-bub As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club.

'Tis therefore impossible that Lord B.

Could stoop to such society, Thinking, he owns (tho' no great prig), For one in his station 'twere _infra dig_.

But he begs to propose, in the interim (Till they find some properer Peers for him), His Highness of c.u.mberland, as _Sub_ To take his place at the Brunswick Club-- Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub Their obedient servant, BELZEBUB.

It luckily happens, the Royal Duke Resembles so much, in air and look, The head of the Belzebub family, That few can any difference see; Which makes him of course the better suit To serve as Lord B.'s subst.i.tute.

[1] Usually written Cole.

PROPOSALS FOR A GYNAECOCRACY.

ADDRESSED TO A LATE RADICAL MEETING.

--"_quas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla delegit pacisque bonas bellique ministras_."

VERGIL.

As Whig Reform has had its range, And none of us are yet content, Suppose, my friends, by way of change, We try a _Female Parliament_; And since of late with _he_ M.P.'s We've fared so badly, take to she's-- Petticoat patriots, flounced John Russells, Burdetts in _blonde_ and Broughams in _bustles_.

The plan is startling, I confess-- But 'tis but an affair of dress; Nor see I much there is to choose 'Twixt Ladies (so they're thorough-bred ones) In ribands of all sorts of hues, Or Lords in only blue or red ones.

At least the fiddlers will be winners, Whatever other trade advances As then, instead of Cabinet dinners We'll have, at Almack's, Cabinet dances; Nor let this world's important questions Depend on Ministers' digestions.

If Ude's receipts have done things ill, To Weippert's band they may go better; There's Lady **, in one quadrille, Would settle Europe, if you'd let her: And who the deuce or asks or cares When Whigs or Tories have undone 'em, Whether they've _danced_ thro' State affairs, Or simply, dully, _dined_ upon 'em?

Hurrah then for the Petticoats!

To them we pledge our free-born votes; We'll have all _she_, and only _she_-- Pert blues shall act as "best debaters,"

Old dowagers our Bishops be, And termagants our agitators.

If Vestris to oblige the nation Her own Olympus will abandon And help to prop the Administration, It _can't_ have better legs to stand on.

The famed Macaulay (Miss) shall show Each evening, forth in learned oration; Shall move (midst general cries of "Oh!") For full returns of population: And finally to crown the whole, The Princess Olive, Royal soul,[1]

Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, Descend to bless her faithful lieges, And mid our Union's loyal chorus Reign jollily for ever o'er us.

[1] A personage so styled herself who attained considerable notoriety at that period.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *.

Sir,

Having heard some rumors respecting the strange and awful visitation under which Lord Henley has for some time past been suffering, in consequence of his declared hostility to "anthems, solos, duets,"[1] etc., I took the liberty of making inquiries at his Lords.h.i.+p's house this morning and lose no time in transmitting to you such particulars as I could collect. It is said that the screams of his Lords.h.i.+p, under the operation of this nightly concert, (which is no doubt some trick of the Radicals), may be heard all over the neighborhood. The female who personates St. Cecilia is supposed to be the same that last year appeared in the character of Isis at the Rotunda. How the cherubs are managed, I have not yet ascertained.

Yours, etc.