The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 228

[3] "Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid." POPE.

THE DANCE OF BISHOPS;

OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUADRILLE.[1]

A DREAM.

1833.

"Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, admitted among the primitive Christians, in which even the Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. Scaliger says, that the first Bishops were called _praesules_[2] for other reason than that they led off these dances."--"_Cyclopaedia_," art. _Dances_.

I've had such a dream--a frightful dream-- Tho' funny mayhap to wags 'twill seem, By all who regard the Church, like us, 'Twill be thought exceedingly ominous!

As reading in bed I lay last night-- Which (being insured) is my delight-- I happened to doze off just as I got to The singular fact which forms my motto.

Only think, thought I, as I dozed away, Of a party of Churchmen dancing the hay!

Clerks, curates and rectors capering all With a neat-legged Bishop to open the ball!

Scarce had my eyelids time to close, When the scene I had fancied before me rose-- An Episcopal Hop on a scale so grand As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand.

For Britain and Erin clubbed their Sees To make it a Dance of Dignities, And I saw--oh brightest of Church events!

A quadrille of the two Establishments, Bishop to Bishop _vis-a-vis_, Footing away prodigiously.

There was Bristol capering up to Derry, And Cork with London making merry; While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so, Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe.

There was Chester, hatched by woman's smile, Performing a _chaine des Dames_ in style; While he who, whene'er the Lords' House dozes, Can waken them up by citing Moses,[3]

The portly Tuam, was all in a hurry To set, _en avant_, to Canterbury.

Meantime, while pamphlets stuft his pockets, (All out of date like spent skyrockets,) Our Exeter stood forth to caper, As high on the floor as he doth on paper-- like a dapper Dancing Dervise, Who pirouettes his whole church-service-- Performing, midst those reverend souls, Such _entrechats_, such _cabrioles_, Such _balonnes_, such--rigmaroles, Now high, now low, now this, that, That none could guess what the devil he'd be at; Tho', watching his various steps, some thought That a step in the Church was all he sought.

But alas, alas! while thus so gay.

These reverend dancers friskt away, Nor Paul himself (not the saint, but he Of the Opera-house) could brisker be, There gathered a gloom around their glee-- A shadow which came and went so fast, That ere one could say "'Tis there," 'twas past-- And, lo! when the scene again was cleared, Ten of the dancers had disappeared!

Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept From the hallowed floor where late they stept, While twelve was all that footed it still, On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille!

Nor this the worst:--still danced they on, But the pomp was saddened, the smile was gone; And again from time to time the same Ill-omened darkness round them came-- While still as the light broke out anew, Their ranks lookt less by a dozen or two; Till ah! at last there were only found Just Bishops enough for a four-hands-round; And when I awoke, impatient getting, I left the last holy pair _poussetting_!

N.B.--As ladies in years, it seems, Have the happiest knack at solving dreams, I shall leave to my ancient feminine friends Of the _Standard_ to say what _this_ portends.

[1] Written on the pa.s.sing of the memorable Bill, in the year 1833, for the abolition of ten Irish Bishoprics.

[2] Literally, First Dancers.

[3] "And what does Moses say?"--One of the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns with which this eminent prelate enlivened his famous speech on the Catholic question.

d.i.c.k * * * *

A CHARACTER.

Of various sc.r.a.ps and fragments built, Borrowed alike from fools and wits, d.i.c.k's mind was like a patchwork quilt, Made up of new, old, motley bits-- Where, if the _Co_. called in their shares, If petticoats their quota got And gowns were all refunded theirs, The quilt would look but shy, G.o.d wot.

And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking, Reversed ventriloquism's trick, For, 'stead of d.i.c.k thro' others speaking, 'Twas others we heard speak thro' d.i.c.k.

A Tory now, all bounds exceeding, Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats; One day with Malthus, foe to breeding, The next with Sadler, all for brats.

Poor d.i.c.k!--and how else could it be?

With notions all at random caught, A sort of mental frica.s.see, Made up of legs and wings of thought-- The leavings of the last Debate, or A dinner, yesterday, of wits, Where d.i.c.k sate by and, like a waiter, Had the sc.r.a.ps for perquisites.

A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME LATE SPEECHES.

1834.

"Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that saint,"

St. Sinclair rose and declared in smooth, That he wouldn't give sixpence to Maynooth.

He had hated priests the whole of his life, For a priest was a man who had no wife,[1]

And, having no wife, the Church was his mother, The Church was his father, sister and brother.

This being the case, he was sorry to say That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant lay,[2]

So deep and wide, scarce possible was it To say even "how d' ye do?" across it: And tho' your Liberals, nimble as fleas, Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 'Twas a jump that naught on earth could make Your proper, heavy-built Christian take.

No, no,--if a Dance of Sects _must_ be, He would set to the Baptist willingly,[3]

At the Independent deign to smirk, And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk; Nay even, for once, if needs must be, He'd take hands round with all the three; But as to a jig with Popery, no,-- To the Harlot ne'er would he point his toe.

St. Mandeville was the next that rose,-- A saint who round as pedler goes With his pack of piety and prose, Heavy and hot enough, G.o.d knows,-- And he said that Papists were much inclined To extirpate all of Protestant kind, Which he couldn't in truth so much condemn, Having rather a wish to extirpate _them_; That is,--to guard against mistake,-- To extirpate them for their doctrine's sake; A distinction Churchman always make,-- Insomuch that when they've prime control, Tho' sometimes roasting heretics whole, They but cook the body for sake of the soul.

Next jumpt St. Johnston jollily forth, The spiritual Dogberry of the North,[4]

A right "wise fellow, and what's more, An officer," like his type of yore; And he asked if we grant such toleration, Pray, what's the use of our Reformation?

What is the use of our Church and State?

Our Bishops, Articles, t.i.the and Rate?

And still as he yelled out "what's the use?"

Old Echoes, from their cells recluse Where they'd for centuries slept, broke loose, Yelling responsive, "_What's the use_?"

[1] "He objected to the maintenance and education of clergy _bound by the particular vows of celibacy, which as it were gave them the Church as their only family, making it fill the places of father and mother and brother_."--Debate on the Grant to Maynooth College, _The Times_, April 19.