« EelmineJätka »
A thief, who cometh in the night,
With whole boots and net pantaloons, Like sorne one whom it were not right To mention ;-or the luckless wight,
From whom he steals nine silver spoons
But in this case he did appear
Like a slop-merchant from Wapping, And with smug face, and eye severe, On every side did perk and peer
Till he saw Peter dead or napping.
He had on an upper Benjamin
(For he was of the driving schism) In the which he wrapt his skin From the storm he travelled in,
For fear of rheumatism.
He called the ghost out of the corse ;
It was exceedingly like Peter,
Its dress too was a little neater.
The Devil knew not his name and lot
Peter knew not that he was Bell: Each had an upper stream of thought, Which made all seem as it was not;
Fitting itself to all things well
Peter thought he had parents dear,
Brothers, sisters, cousins, cronies,
Had he gone and boldly shown his
Solemn phiz in his own village ;
Where he thought oft when a boy He'd clomb the orchard walls to pillage The produce of his neighbour's tillage,
With marvellous pride and joy.
And the Devil thought he had,
'Mid the misery and confusion
The world is full of strange delusion
That he had a mansion planned
In a square like Grosvenor-square,
To see what was romantic there.
And all this, though quite ideal,
a state not more unreal Than the peace he could not feel,
Or the care he could not banish.
After a little conversation,
The Devil told Peter, if he chose, He'd bring him to the world of fashion By giving him a situation
In his own service and new clothes.
And Peter bowed, quite pleased and proud,
And after waiting some few days For a new livery-dirty yellow Turned
with black-the wretched fellow Was bowled to Hell in the Devil's chaise.
HELL is a city much like London-
re are all sorts of people undone, And there is little or no fun done ;
Small justice shown, and still less pity.
There is a Castles, and a Canning,
A Cobbett, and a Castlereagh ;
Corpses less corrupt than they.
There is a * * *, who has lost
His wits, or sold them, none knows which; He walks about a double ghost, And though as thin as Fraud almost,
Ever grows more grim and rich.
There is a Chancery Court; a King;
A manufacturing niob; a set
An army; and a public debt,
Which last is a scheme of paper money,
And means—being interpreted “Bees, keep your wax-give us the honey, And we will plant, while skies are sunny,
Flowers, which in winter serve instead.”
There is great talk of revolution
And a great chance of despotism; German soldiers-camps--confusionTumults-lotteries-rage—delusion
Taxes too, on wine and bread,
And meat and beer, and tea, and cheese; From which those patriots pure are fed, Who gorge before they reel to bed
The tenfold essence of all these,
There are mincing women, mewing,
(Like cats, who amant miserè, *) Of their own virtue, and pursuing Their gentler sisters to that ruin,
Without which—what were chastity ?
Are there ; bailiffs-chancellors
Men of glory in the wars,—
Things whose trade is, over ladies
To lean, and flirt, and stare, and simper,
Crucified 'twixt a smile and whimper ;
Thrusting, toiling, wailing, moiling,
Frowning, preaching such a riot!
* One of the attributes in Linnæus's description of the Cat. To a similar cause the caterwauling of more than one species of this genus is to be referred ;except, indeed, that the poor quadruped is compelled to quarrel with its own pleasures, whilst the biped is supposed only to quarrel with those of cthers.
† What would this husk and excuse for a virtue be without its kernel prostitution, or the kernel prostitution without this busk of a virtue? I wonder the women of the town do not form an association, like the Society for the Suppression of Vice, for the support of what may be called the “ King, Church, and Constitution" of their order. But this subject is almost too horrible for e joke.