They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant To die for England-why then live?-for rent! The peace has made one general malcontent Of these high-market patriots; war was rent! Their love of country, millions all misspent, How reconcile? by reconciling rent! And will they not repay the treasures lent? No; down with everything, and up with rent! Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent, Being, end, aim, religion-rent, rent, rent! Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess; Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less; Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands. Such, landlords! was your appetite for war, And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar! What! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash? And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash? XV. Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks, And the world trembles to bid brokers break. Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less Two Jews, a chosen people, can command XVI. Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid Tartars; To furnish articles for the 'Débats ;' The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, mourn Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre through, Is offer'd and accepted? Could a slave XVIII. But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, This first you'll have, perhaps, a second 'Carmen.' THE BLUES: A LITERARY ECLOGUE. 1822. 'Nimium ne crede colori.-VIRGIL O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue, Though your hair were as red as your stockings are blue. ECLOGUE THE FIRST. London. Before the Door of a Lecture Room. Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel. Ink. YOU'RE too late. Tra. Ink. Is it over? Nor will be this hour. Tra. I know it too well, and have worn cut my patience With studying to study your new publications. Hold, my good friend, do you know But the benches are cramm'd like a garden in Whom you speak to? flower, [the fashion; With the pride of our belles, who have made it So, instead of 'beaux arts,' we may say 'la belle passion' Tra. Right well, boy, and so does the Row :' You're an author-a poet Ink. For learning, which lately has taken the lead in Count Neipperg chamberlain and second husband to And think you that i Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry Excuse me: I meant no offence To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence Tra. To their favours is such-but the subject to drop, Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that But we two will be wise. Pray, then, let us retire. Tra. I would, but―― I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop, So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with | A fair lady- [freshing. got such a threshing, nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know Our poor friend !—but I thought it would ter minate so, [it. Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket? Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others (Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,| Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? not room for a spectre. retreat Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd- To the torrent of trash which around him he such labour, Ink. A spinster? Tra. Miss Lilac ! Tra. The angel Ink. The devil! why, man, She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician. Say rather an angle. Tra. Apropos Will you write me a song now and then? Ink. To what purpose? Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose, Ink. For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; To slip into her hand at the very next rout. Tra. Why, Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as soon As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon [wits), (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, [Muse. To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my the 'Blues.' Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider- I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. Tra. I but used the expression in haste. Tra. That metal's attractive.' But let us proceed; for I think by the hum-- can come, Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levée, On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. [drone Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the A Table prepared. Tra. 'Tis the English Journal de Trevoux,' An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebotte A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Have you never yet seen it? Ink. Tra. Sir Richard Bluebottle solus. Ink. That pleasure's to come. Tra. Make haste then. Was there ever a man who was married so sorry' Why so? Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. I have heard peop.e say My life is reversea, and my quiet destroy'd; That it threaten'd to give up the ghost t'other My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a vod Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit. [day. Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ', Tra. No doubt. The twelve, do I say?—of the whole twenty-four. Shall you be at, the Countess of Fiddlecome's | Is there one which I dare call my own any more rout? Southey and Sotheby are meant. What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining, What with learning, and teaching, and scrit bling, and shining In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know Myself from my wife; for although we are two, Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done more In a style which proclaims us eternally one. But the thing of all things which distresses me [me sore) Than the bills of the week (though they trouble Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue, [costWho are brought to my house as an inn, to my For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host[pains, No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews, By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they call 'BLUES;' A rabble who know not-But soft, here they come ! [dumb. Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, Lady Bluemount, Mr Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lectarer, &c., &c. Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I've brought you some friends. Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside). If friends, they're the first, Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends, pray ye be seated, sans cérémonie.' Mr Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there next me. [They all sit. Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: There his works will appear- Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges. Ink. I shan't go so far-I can have them at Grange's.* Lady Bluem. Oh fie! Miss Lil. And for shame! Lady Bluem. Both. Lady Bluem. How good? Lady Bluem. You're too bad. Very good! [phrase. Lady Blueb. He means nought 'tis his He grows rude. Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him. Lady Bluem. Pray, sir! did you mean What you say? Ink. Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir! Ink. I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. 'Twas in your defence. The very walls shook. Both. If you please, with submission, I can make out my own. Ink. It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend. Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly. |