Chapter D: L. Ramsbottom (2)

If we could take part in
Debates like Dick Martin,
And venture to tell our volition,
We should certainly pray,
By night and by day,
For men in their present position.
The country has made its decision,
Which needs neither change nor revision;
May the King, of his grace,
Keep out the whole race
Of this wonderful wise Opposition!

THE INVITATION.

(FROM ONE OF THE PATRONESSES OF THE LADIES' FANCY BALL.)

_Tune_--"Run, Neighbours, Run," &c.

Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd;
We, with French dances, will overcome French vapouring,
And with ice and Roman punch amaze the world:
There's I myself, and Lady L. you'll seldom meet a rummer set,
With Lady Grosvenor, Lady Foley, and her Grace of Somerset,
While Lady Jersey fags herself, regardless of the bustle, Ma'am,
With Lady Cowper, Lady Anne, and Lady William Russell, Ma'am.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

Oh, such a treat--'twill be pleasant, past conception, Ma'am,
Such a crowd of patriot dames were never, never seen;
Most of them at Brandenburgh have met a warm reception, Ma'am,
And were boon companions of our gracious Queen!
In smiles array'd, my Lady Grey, with such a noble work elate,
The lemonade, and water-ice, will undertake to circulate,
With meat in slices, laid on bread, about the rooms to hand which, is
Of course the task of Lady S., the head of all the Sandwiches.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

Then, Ma'am, for company!--there ne'er has been a rush in town
Half so great as there will be to this Whig thing:
Mrs. Brougham and Mrs. Wilde, the Doctor, Mrs. Lushington,
Mrs. Ellis, Mrs. Baring, Lord and Lady King;
The Duke of Gloucester, Mr. Forster, little Colonel Higgins, Ma'am,
Mrs. Barber Beaumont, Mrs. Byng, and Mrs. Figgins, Ma'am;
Lady Morgan, Lady Stanhope, old Sir Robert Baker, Ma'am,
And Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Frith, and Lord and Lady Dacre, Ma'am.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

Then for amusement, so charmingly diversified;
Poets, painters, patriots, peers, will all be there,
Wilson's wise letter, by Tommy Campbell versified,
Cammy Hob will give us to an old Greek air;
Lord Nugent, in silk pantaloons, will dance a grand bolero,
And little Moore, to patriot words, will sing us Lil'bulero,
And Doctor Hume, his spirits raised by half a pint of Farintosh,
Will stump a Highland _pas de deux_ with Gerald's Jemmy Macintosh.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

The supper will be Pic-nic--I'm sure I scarce can pen it, Ma'am,
But calf's-head soup I know is sent by Doctor Hume;
Syllabubs and trifles from Mr. Henry Bennet, Ma'am;
And lamb in various shapes and ways by Mr. Brougham.
The Maberlys' send mushrooms and saddles two of mutton, Ma'am;
A cod's head and shoulders Sefton volunteers to put on, Ma'am;
Chicken-pies from Taylor come, and lobsters from Sir Ronald, Ma'am,
And gooseberry fool in Scottish pints from Mr. James Macdonald,
Ma'am.
Come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

Silly Billy volunteer'd to get a royal stag shot,
To treat the Whigs with venison, but it would not do;
His Highness was unlucky--so he sent a goose from Bagshot,
While little Rice has furnish'd us with Irish stew;
Lord Nugent sends a round of beef with cucumber and mustard, Ma'am,
And Lady Anne from Holkham sends us up a fine old bustard, Ma'am,
Peter Moore finds pipes and punch, while Lambton makes the gravies,
Ma'am,
And many little nameless items come from Colonel Davies, Ma'am.
Run, ladies, run, 'tis now the time for capering,
Freedom's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

As for the Spaniards, the Cortes, or King Ferdinand,
I hope, dear Ma'am, you'll not suppose I care one pin,
A motley ball at Almack's is consider'd quite "a bird in hand"
By those, who on the decent nights cannot get in!
Then come yourself, I hope you will, and bring your eldest daughter,
Ma'am,
And Susan Smith, who ran away, if Mr. Smith has caught her, Ma'am;
Our husbands wish it, and they pay for every-thing to cram us with,
The principle's the same as that which took us all to Hammersmith.
Come, madam, come, 'tis now the time for capering,
Pleasure's flag, at Willis's, is just unfurl'd.

[Music: THE BEGGARS.

A NEW SONG.

Of all the trades a - go - ing, sure a
beg - gar is the best, So said a good old
Eng - lish song, which spoke the truth in jest; and a-
beg - ging we will go, will go, will
go, and a - beg - ging we will go.]

Of all the beggars going, who prey on public pence,
The Whig excels in wants and woes, in tricks and impudence;
So a begging we will go, will go, will go, so a begging
we will go.

The beggar in the public ways, his ills, as merits shews,
Is lame, or blind, or idiot-struck, or wants his hands or toes;
When a begging he will go, will go, will go, when a begging
he will go.

So, by their faults, the starving Whigs attempt to raise the wind,
In Council, fools--in action, lame--in understanding, blind;
And a begging they do go, do go, do go, and a begging
they do go.

Old Charles was the leader, the Bampfylde Moore Carew,
Of that audacious, lying, tricking, filthy, drunken crew;
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

This cunning Fox, he pray'd, and whined, and swore from door to door,
That fall'n from a good estate, his virtues kept him poor;
So a begging he did go, did go, did go, so a begging
he did go.

In fact, the rogue play'd, wench'd, and drank two sinecures away,
And only begg'd to have the means to wench, and drink, and play;
So a begging he did go, did go, did go, so a begging
he did go.

And all the Club at Brookes's, most generous of men--
Gave readily, what they were sure of--winning back again.
When a begging he did go, did go, did go, when a begging
he did go.

Scots Gerald next went begging, a sufferer by the law;
He sent the French red cap about, sedition's alms to draw;
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

But, whether this subscription succeeded ill or well,
We never heard; but some folks say that Mackintosh could tell;
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

When bloody Bellingham destroy'd a man he ne'er had known,
On the lamented felon's grave their sanguine alms were strown;
And a begging they did go, did go, did go, and a begging
they did go.

To take man's life, by law or war, Whigs count a horrid thing,
But this was an assassin of a servant of the King;
So a begging they did go, did go, did go, so a begging
they did go.

When vulgar Hone to market brought his pointless parody,
And season'd his sedition with a spice of blasphemy,
Then a begging he did go, did go, did go, then a begging
he did go.

His graceless Grace of Bedford the bold example sets,
And pays his mite to comfort him--I wish he'd pay his debts;
For a begging they do go, do go, do go, for a begging
they do go.

And by his sire's example led, my Lord of Tavistock,
Subscribes ten pounds, to prove himself--a chip of the old block:
And a begging they did go, did go, did go, and a begging
they did go.

And Sefton on his death-bed, as it was thought to be,
Encouraged the blasphemer, just to vex the Ministry;
When a begging he did go, did go, did go, when a begging
he did go.

When Cobbett stole the bones of Paine, it was with the intent
To raise a penny rate, to buy a seat in Parliament;
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

But the pure Whigs of Coventry had quite another sense,
And much preferred receiving pounds to giving him their pence;
For a begging they do go, do go, do go, for a begging
they do go.

When guilty of a libel, the bold Burdett was found,
And sentenced by a Tory Judge to pay two thousand pound,
A begging he did go, did go, did go, a begging
he did go.

He afterwards refused the aid; but not till the account
Had shewn him that they ne'er could raise a quarter the amount,
Though a begging they did go, did go, did go, though a begging
they did go.

From begging for the poor they took to begging for the Great,
And begg'd that they might buy the Queen annuities and plate;
And a begging they did go, did go, did go, and a begging
they did go.

We have not heard if their success in this was bad or good,
But hope it was the latter, for the sake of Matthew Wood;
For a begging he did go, did go, did go, for a begging
he did go.

A begging he did go indeed, this patriot and sage,
But 'twas for his own profit when the Queen went off the stage;
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

But we have reason to suspect that this subscription pines,
And is about as profitable as his Cornish mines;
So a begging he will go, will go, will go, so a begging
he will go.

And next, lest any class of crime, unhonour'd, should escape,
The tender Waithman recommends the case of Mr. Snape;
And a begging he does go, does go, does go, and a begging
he does go.

We know not whether Brougham has yet subscribed, but think he must,
The crime being only forgery--a petty breach of trust;
So a begging they will go, will go, will go, so a begging
they will go.

When Captain Romeo ran away from Naples, in a funk,
With nothing but a pound of maccaroni in his trunk,
A begging he did go, did go, did go, a begging
he did go.

To keep this pilot of the cause of Italy afloat,
Enthusiast Bennett's generous hand subscribes--a one-pound note!
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

We have not breath to spend on all the vicious or the vile--
On Wooler, Watson, Waddington, Hunt, Honey, and Carlile,
But a begging they all go, all go, all go, but a begging
they all go.

From all the jails, in all the land, their begging-boxes spread,
And e'en the grave, at Faction's call, delivers up its dead;
And a begging they do go, do go, do go, and a begging
they do go.

But lastly comes a beggar-man, who would be knighthood's shame,
But that the title he assumes is only a false name;
When a begging he does go, does go, does go, when a begging
he does go.

The soldier, or the sailor, who accosts one in the street,
Can shew the scars he got, or tell the enemy he beat;
When a begging he does go, does go, does go, when a begging
he does go.

But here's a bold impostor, the sauciest of the batch,
Who never won a fight at all, and never got a scratch;
Yet a begging he does go, does go, does go, and a begging
he does go.

He has not dealt in blows and blood as silly people think,
But is a very hero,--in the way of pen and ink;
But a begging he does go, does go, does go, but a begging
he does go.

And thus he can produce us, of the battles he has seen,
Certificates on paper--having none upon his skin,
When a begging he does go, does go, does go, when a begging
he does go.

While other soldiers Paris took, and France at freedom set,
This rival hero storm'd a jail, and rescued Lavalette.
And a begging he did go, did go, did go, and a begging
he did go.

So as from no French foeman's head he ere won laurel leaf,
He hires a French advocate to praise him from his brief;
And a begging he does go, does go, does go, and a begging
he does go.

Thus we have seen subscriptions which disgrace our factious times,
For every shade, both light and deep, of follies and of crimes;
When a begging they do go, do go, do go, when a begging
they do go.

For drunkards, gamblers, libellers, thieves, smugglers, defamators,
For forgers and blasphemers, and for murderers and traitors,
A begging they do go, do go, do go, a begging
they do go.

To Wilson's list we wish success; because we hope the money
Will go to the poor families of Francis and of Hopney;
Since a begging they do go, do go, do go, since a begging
they do go.

For all folks must agree, else differ how they may,
That they were kill'd upon the field, whence Wilson sneak'd away;
Though a begging he does go, does go, does go, though a begging
he does go.

BUBBLES OF 1825.

_Tune_--"Run, Neighbours, run."

Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share,
In all the famous projects that amuse John Bull;
Run, take a peep on 'Change, for anxious crowds beset us there,
Each trying which can make himself the greatest gull.
No sooner are they puff'd, than an universal wish there is
For shares in mines, insurances, in foreign loans, and fisheries:
No matter where the project lies, so violent the mania,
In Africa, New Providence, Peru, or Pennsylvania!
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

Few folks for news very anxious at this crisis are,
For marriages, and deaths, and births, no thirst exists;
All take the papers in, to find out what the prices are
Of shares in this or that, upon the brokers' lists.
The doctor leaves his patient, the pedagogue his Lexicon,
For mines of Real Monte, or for those of Anglo-Mexican:
E'en Chili bonds don't cool the rage, nor those still more romantic,
sir,
For new canals to join the seas, Pacific and Atlantic, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

At home we have projects too for draining surplus capital,
And honest Master Johnny of his cash to chouse;
Tho' t'other day, Judge Abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all,
And Eldon launch'd his thunder from the Upper House.
Investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone--
Proposals for assurance--there's no end of that in London;
And one amongst the number, who in Parliament now press their Bills,
For lending cash at eight per cent. on coats and inexpressibles.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

No more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works,
A Company must serve you now with milk and cream;
Perhaps they've some connection with the advertising water-works,
That promise to supply you from the limpid stream.
Another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get,
By selling fish at Hungerford, and knocking up old Billingsgate;
Another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir,
And brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

When Greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir,
How pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line;
And ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir,
Shall cross from Bristol's Channel to the Tweed or Tyne.
And Dame Speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends,
Will give us docks at Bermondsey, St. Saviour's, and St. Catherine's;
While side-long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder,
sir,
And lamp-light tunnels all day long, convey Cockneys under, sir.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

A tunnel underneath the sea, from Calais straight to Dover, sir,
That qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come over,
sir,
Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous
bore.
Amongst the many scheming folks, I take it he's no ninny, sir,
Who bargains with the Ashantees to fish the coast of Guinea, sir.
For, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has,
Of lighting up the famous town of Timbuctoo with oil gas.
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

Then a company is form'd, though not yet advertising,
To build, upon a splendid scale, a large balloon,
And send up tools and broken stones for fresh Mac-Adamizing
The new discover'd turnpike-roads which cross the moon.
But the most inviting scheme of all, is one proposed for carrying
Large furnaces to melt the ice which hems poor Captain Parry in;
They'll then have steam-boats twice a week to all the newly-seen
land,
And call for goods and passengers at Labrador and Greenland!
Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

THE GRAND REVOLUTION!

_Tune_--"The Tight Little Island."

"Ye Whigs, now attend, and list to a friend,
If you value a free Constitution,
Every nerve let us strain for the patriots of Spain,
And cry up their brave Revolution.
Huzza! for the brave Revolution!
Success to the brave Revolution!
We'll all to a man, bawl as loud as we can,
Huzza! for the brave Revolution!

"When Boney invaded their country, and waded
Through oceans of blood to make Joe king,
We ne'er made a push, and cared not a rush
If Spain had a king, or had no king:
But then there was no Revolution!
No enlightening, wise Revolution!
They only fought then, for their king back again,
And not for a brave Revolution!

"We once made a rout, most valiant and stout,
For Naples to throw off her yoke, sirs,
But Tories so wary, vow'd base Carbonari
Were thieves, and their valour all smoke, sirs!
To nought came their grand Revolution!
Upset was their grand Revolution!
Poor, thick-headed calves, they were rebels by halves
And made nought of their grand Revolution!

"Then we spouted for weeks, in aid of the Greeks,
But they proved rather lax in their works, sirs,
For the brave Parguinotes, in cutting of throats,
Excell'd e'en the murderous Turks, sirs;
So we gave up the Greek Revolution,
None thought of the Greek Revolution,
Folks cared not a straw whether Turkish Bashaw
Ruled the roast--or the Greek Revolution.

"But Spain, with true bravery, spurning her slavery,
Vows she'll have freedom, or die now,
And all that she'll need will be trifles indeed,
Such as arms, ammunition, and rhino!
Success to her brave resolutions!
And just to collect contributions,
At dinner we'll meet in Bishopsgate-street,
In aid of her brave resolutions!"

So to feasting they went, on a Friday in Lent,
And muster'd what forces they could, sirs;
There was Duke San Lorenzo, with plenty of friends, O,
Great Sussex, and Alderman Wood, sirs!
The Spaniards push'd hard their petition
For money to buy ammunition,
But they met with a balk, for Whigs are all talk,
With nought else would they help their petition.

They didn't ask Hume, for fear, in a fume,
At the cost of the war he'd be nibbling,
So they left him to fight in the Commons all night,
With Palmerston's estimates quibbling.
He there with much circumlocution,
Moved many a wise resolution,
While the still wiser Whigs were feasting like pigs,
In the cause of the grand Revolution!

Don Holland of Kensington, while his Whig friends in town,
Grand tavern-speeches were planning,
Wrote a note just to tell the brave Arguelles
How much wiser the Whigs are than Canning.
"All England one feeling displays, sir,
Never mind what the Minister says, sir!
At him you may hoot--and the Council to boot,
For England is all in a blaze, sir!"

As the Whigs had for years rung peace in our ears,
When for war the whole nation did burn, sirs,
'Twould surely be hard, if they now were debarr'd
From crying for war in their turn, sirs!
So Mackintosh made an oration,
As bold as a war proclamation,
Then finish'd his boast, with this apposite toast,
"May peace be preserved to the nation!"

Then leave 'em to prate, and spout, and debate,
We all know there's nought but a show meant;
Let 'em blow hot and cold--be shy, or be bold,
As the humour prevails at the moment:
Let 'em cry up the grand Revolution!
The gallant and brave Revolution!
And all to a man--bawl as loud as they can,
"Huzza! for the brave Revolution!"

THIS IMITATION OF BUNBURY'S "LITTLE GREY MAN,"

Preserved among the Tales of Wonder, is, without permission, inscribed to a Major-General of the British Army, Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath, Agent for the Ionian Islands, and a Pensioner of the present Administration, &c., &c., &c.

Oh! deep was the sorrow, and sad was the day,
When death took our gracious old Monarch away,
And gave us a Queen, lost to honour and fame,
Whose manners are folly, whose conduct is shame;
Who with aliens and vagabonds long having stroll'd,
Soon caught up their morals, loose, brazen, and bold.

She had traversed the globe in all quarters, to show
To what depth of debasement a Princess could go;
And with front unabash'd, when her guilt was display'd,
The altar insulted with impious parade;
Whilst sick with disgust at a scene so profane,
Not one decent female would move in her train.

She paid a vile rabble to shout round her car,
Her teachers, so pious, were Fellowes and Parr;
Her councillors, Aldermen Waithman and Wood,
Could she find nothing worse? She might try if she could.
Abroad there was nothing more low than her groom,
At home there are Wilson, Moore, Hobhouse, and Hume.

Oh! what will the rancour of party not do!
Ye Howards and Russells, this sigh is for you!
To an union so base can ye bend your proud will?
Yes, great though the peril, unmeasured the ill,
Through the country delusion and clamour must ring,
And your rivals to strike, you must menace your King.

In Suffolk, to aid in so loyal a plan,
From Mildenhall upstarts a little dark man;
His hue it was bilious, his eyes they were ghast,
Long and pale were his fingers that held a quill fast,
And grimly he scowl'd, whilst his rancour and spleen
Distill'd in a spurious Address to the Queen.

How spotless and pure was this paragon shown!
How safe, through its friends, an attack on the Throne,
Their motives were wicked, their actions were base;--
Some wonder'd, no doubt, at so alter'd a case,
Who cannot forget, though 'tis plain that _he_ can,
The favours they heap'd on this dark little man.

From childhood the imp in the Palace was rear'd,
Its bounties his parents, his kindred all shared;
With rapid advancement, too rapid by half,
He outstripp'd the foremost of line or of staff;
But soon from the chances of service withdrew,
With the profits and safety of office in view.

To Liverpool, Bathurst, and colleagues he bow'd;
He courted their smiles, and attachment he vow'd;
Obtain'd a snug place, with the means to do ill,
To some who despised, but remember it still:
He was fearlessly trusted, and laugh'd in his sleeve--
"Those you mean to betray you must ever deceive."

Indulged by his patrons, the confident elf,
No talent imagined except in himself;
Of the merits of others a censor severe,
Even Wellington might not escape from his sneer;
But they trusted him still, not suspecting his plan,
Ah, little they knew of the dark little man!

Next a General's apparel he put on, so new,
The coat of fine scarlet, the facings of blue,
With gold all embroider'd so costly; and last
The loop with the plume that waved high in the blast,
'Twould have vex'd you at heart, if such sights ever can,
To have gazed on the dizen'd-out little dark man.

That Order, of Heroes the dying bequest,
Its ribbon that blush'd as it cover'd his breast;
The Star and the Badge that tried valour should wear,
As if he had earn'd them, he took to his share:
Like a pigmy he climb'd up on Honour's high tree,
And blazon'd his name with a large K. C. B.

Now the battle of battles was won!!--O'er his foes
Triumphant the lion of England arose,
And gave peace to the world.--No longer, 'twas plain,
The little dark man could his office retain;
Reluctant he went, but he pocketed clear,
In pension and place, fifteen hundred a year.

He growl'd and intrigued but in vain--he is gone!
Soon forgotten by most, and regretted by none:
But to sink in oblivion he cannot endure,
The moment seems tempting, the victims secure.
Strike! strike at your friends! The foul blow it was sped,
And with terrible justice recoil'd on his head.

The little dark man then he set up a yell,
And the Hundred of Lackford was roused by the spell;
He raised up his head, and he raised up his chin,
And he grinn'd, and he shouted a horrible grin,
And he laugh'd a faint laugh, and his cap up he cast;
But pension and sinecure still he holds fast.

When a score and three days make the age of the year,
To St. Stephen's, the Lords and the Commons repair:
E'er a score and three more, so the King might decree
The country another election may see.
But the brave men of Suffolk have seen through his plan,
And will baffle the arts of the little dark man.

HUMPTY-DUMPTY.

Rich and furr'd was the robe he wore,
And a bright gold chain on his breast he bore;
But, och! his speaking was far beyond
Waithman himself, with his snow-white wand.

"Humpty! do'st thou not fear to stray
With the Lady, so far from the King's highway?
Are Britain's sons so dull or so cold,
As still to be cheated with tinsel for gold?"

"Mistress Dumpty! I feel not the least alarm--
No placemen ever dare do me harm;
For though they vote her and me a bore,
They love their own heads, and their places more."

On he went--in her coach to ride,
While he cozen'd the Lady who sat by his side
And lost for ever was she who was led
By Humpty's honour--and Dumpty's head!

PARODY.

While Johnny Gale Jones the memorial was keeping,
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But oh, what a grin on his visage shone bright,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame--
'Midst his _soi-disant_ betters,
In vilely-form'd letters,
The Doctor beheld little Waddington's name!

"Hail, imp of sedition!" he cried, while he nodded
His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes,
"Magnanimous pigmy! since Carlile's been quodded,
We wanted some shopman, about of your size!
For, though many we've had, yet unbless'd was their lot,
When Murray and Sharpe with the constables came,
And for want of good bail
They were sent off to jail,
And their mittimus sign'd with an Alderman's name."

Then come, the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard-board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!
High perch'd on that counter, where Carlile once stood,
Issue torrents of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,
Well secur'd with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little Waddington's name.

"THE YOUNG MAY MOON."

(A PARODY.)

The Old Whig Club is meeting, Duke,
'Tis now the time for eating, Duke,
How sweet to joke,
To sing and smoke,
While these foolish men stand treating, Duke!
Then harangue, and not in vain, my Duke,
At them again and again, my Duke!
The best of all ways
To speak in these days,
Is to steal a few thoughts from Tom Paine, my Duke!

Now all the Whigs are sleeping, Duke,
But the mob, through the casement peeping, Duke,
At you and your star,
Which we really are
Surpris'd at your meanness in keeping, Duke!
Go home, your task is done, my Duke,
The watchmen's boxes shun, my Duke,
Or, in watching the flight
Of traitors by night,
They may happen to take you for one, my Duke!

DISAPPOINTMENT.

Ye Aldermen! list to my lay--
Oh, list, ere your bumpers ye fill--
Her Majesty's dead!--lack-a-day!
She remember'd me not in her will.
Oh, folly! oh baneful ill-luck!
That I ever to court her begun;
She was Queen, and I could not but suck--
But she died, and poor Matty's undone!

Perhaps I was void of all thought,
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a Queen so complete would be sought
By a courtier more knowing than me.
But self-love each hope can inspire,
It banishes _wisdom_ the while;
And I thought she would surely admire
My countenance, whiskers, and smile.

She is dead though, and I am undone!
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Oh let me instruct you to shun
What I cannot instruct you to cure:
Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of a higher degree;
It is not for me to explain
How fair and how fickle they be.

Alas! that her lawyers e'er met,
They alone were the cause of my woes;
Their tricks I can never forget--
Those lawyers undid my repose.
Yet the _Times_ may diminish my pain,
If the _Statesman_ and _Traveller_ agree--
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain--
Yes, the _Times_ shall have comfort for me.

Mrs. W--d, ope your doors then apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I must hide my poor woe-begone face.
I must vanish from every eye.
But my sad, my deplorable lay,
My reed shall resound with it still:--
How her Majesty died t'other day,
And remember'd me not in her will.

=A= my bad knee.
=B= my beard.
=C= my crural tendon,
" or muscle--
" or artery--
" or something,--as big as your fist.
=D= my well leg.
=E= the place where my hair was when I was young.]

TENTAMEN.

1820.

TENTAMEN;

OR,

AN ESSAY TOWARDS THE HISTORY

OF

WHITTINGTON,

Some Time

LORD MAYOR OF LONDON.

BY

VICESIMUS BLINKINSOP, L.L.D., F.R.S., A.S.S., &c.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM WRIGHT,
46, FLEET-STREET.

1820.

"Hook had returned to England penniless; but he brought with him
stores, the result of increased knowledge of the world and of an
observation active under every vicissitude of fortune, which,
with his singular facility in composition, were readily reducible
to current coin. According, notwithstanding the harassing and
protracted business at the Audit-office, he found time to strike
off a succession of papers and pamphlets, the proceeds of which
for some months formed his sole income. These, for obvious
reasons, were published anonymously; and from this fact, and that
of their being for the most part mere hits at the politics of the
day, they have, with scarcely an exception, been swept from the
face of the literary globe, and are only to be met with in the
museums of such curious collectors as Tom Hill and the like.

"One of these _jeux d'esprit_, entitled '_Tentamen_; or, an
Essay towards the History of Whittington, some time Lord Mayor
of London, by Dr. Vicesimus Blinkinsop,' produced no little
sensation, and ran rapidly through two or three editions.
Hook, however, we believe, was not suspected to be the author.
This _opusculum_, which is now extremely rare, and a copy of
which would fetch quadruple its original price, was an attack,
conducted in a strain of elaborate irony, equal to the happiest
efforts of Martinus Scriblerus, upon the worthy Alderman Wood
(a portrait of whom adorned the title-page), and his royal
_protégée_."--_Barham._

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

AUGUSTUS FREDERICK, DUKE OF SUSSEX,

_Earl of Inverness, and Baron Arklow_:

President of the Society of Arts; Grand Master of the United Grand Lodge of the Ancient Masons of England; Colonel of the Honourable Artillery Company; Colonel Commandant of the Loyal North Britain Volunteers; Vice President of the Bible Society; of the Infirmary for Asthma, Union Street, Bishopsgate; of the London Dispensary, Artillery Street, Bishopsgate; and of the Public Dispensary, Bishop's Court, Chancery Lane; of the Universal Medical Institution, Ratcliff Highway; of the _Original_ Vaccine Pock Institution, Broad Street, Golden Square; of the Free Masons' Charity, St. George's Fields, and one of the Trustees of the same; Patron of the Mile End Philanthropic Society; Vice Patron of the Westminster General Dispensary, 32, Gerrard Street, Soho; of the Society for the Relief of the Ruptured Poor; of the Universal Dispensary for Children, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons; of the Lancasterian School Society, Borough Road; Patron of the Choral Fund, and of the Northern Dispensary, Duke's Road, New Road; Vice President of Queen Charlotte's Lying-in Hospital, Lisson Green; of the Benevolent Institution for delivering Married Women at their own Habitations, Hungerford Coffee House, Strand; and of the General Central Lying-in Charity, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields; Knight of the Garter; President of the Beef Steak Club; One of His Majesty's _most_ Honourable Privy Council; and a FISHMONGER.[27]

SIR,--Your connexion with the fine arts and the city of London so honourably celebrated in the preceding enumeration of your titles, is a combination of merits wholly unexpected and unprecedented. You alone, Sir, among the members of scientific bodies, can glory in being a Fishmonger; and you alone, among Fishmongers, can boast of being President of the Society of Arts.

Glorious, and more truly honourable, than rank or ribbons, is the list of the numerous charities of which your Royal Highness is the ostensible head. It may seem, at first sight, inconsistent with the Christian precepts to give so much notoriety to benevolent actions; but, even in this view, your Royal Highness's conduct is above all imputation: that precept applies to the hand, and not to the head; and though your Royal Highness gives your great personal weight to the chair of those associations, your worst enemy cannot say that you were ever known to give any thing else. Your left hand (which, agreeably to the scriptural suggestion, is as discerning as your Royal Highness's intellect) does certainly not know of any particular charity, performed by your Royal Highness's right hand.

You are thus enabled, Sir, to extend the sphere of your utility and beneficence. Actual donations must have had a limit; but the charity which costs nothing, may, as we see in your Royal Highness's case, be indefinitely extended, to the great encouragement and increase of the contributions of others.

To all the above mentioned distinctions, equally high, equally honourable, and equally deserved, your Royal Highness, on the principle just stated,--that you have still countenance enough to bestow on meritorious institutions,--has intimated your gracious intention of succeeding Sir Joseph Banks as President of the Royal Society. Amongst your many and obvious claims to this situation, the first is, that you are a _fishmonger_; for thus your Royal Highness will be in a condition to solve that celebrated problem propounded to the Society by its Royal Founder Charles the Second, and which has not been yet satisfactorily explained, relative to the respective gravities of fish, dead or alive. Nor if the late President had been a fishmonger, would the Society have been involved in the failure and disgrace of that experiment which the indignant poet has immortalized by the line

"Fleas are not lobsters--Damn their souls!"

But though I could not avoid touching upon these matters, it is as a citizen of London, and as the condescending friend of our most patriotic magistrates--our modern Whittingtons--that I presume to address your Royal Highness, and to solicit your favour to an essay towards the history of that great man, the honour of which cannot fail to be reflected on his successors; and in addition to this gracious patronage for myself, I am charged by others to solicit your Royal Highness, to be pleased to lend your name as President to a new literary and most useful association, held in Bearbinder Lane, at the back of the Mansion House, called "The Whittington Institution, for teaching Aldermen to read, write, cypher, and dance, on Mr. Lancaster's system."

In humble hope of your Royal Highness's most gracious condescension, I have the honour to remain, Sir,

Your Royal Highness's
Most devoted and obedient Servant,
VICESIMUS BLINKINSOP.

TENTAMEN, &c.

In looking at the propensities of the age we live in, comparatively with those of times past, one cannot fail to observe a laudable love for the noble science of antiquities: of which it may be truly said, that it is conversant with peaceful and unoffending yesterdays, while the idle votaries of the world are busied about to-day, and the visionaries of ambition are dreaming of to-morrow.

Connected with this grave and useful pursuit is the general inclination to search into the minutiæ of history, which never before prevailed amongst us in so ardent a degree. The smallest information upon traditional points is received with an avidity more salutary and commendable than that which is the result of a commonplace love of novelty; and the smaller the information, the greater the merit of the painstaking author; who, like a skilful clock-maker, or other nice handy-craftsman, is lauded in proportion to the minuteness of his work.

Such are, for instance, the valuable discoveries which that excellent philosopher and novelist Mr. Godwin hath made and edited, of and concerning the great poet Chaucer; and, inasmuch as the nice and small works of clock-makers, which we have mentioned, are carefully placed in huge towers and steeples, beyond malicious or impertinent curiosity, so this prudent philosopher hath disposed his small facts in two tall volumes, equally out of the reach of the vulgar.

Such also are those valuable illustrations of the private lives of public men which have issued from the Press under the titles of "Ana," "Remains," and "Memoirs," and which have so admirably answered the purposes for which they were put forth--namely, that of being sold--while they at the same time maintain a discreet silence on all matters which the ingenious subject of the biography might wish to conceal, agreeably to that excellent maxim, _de mortuis nil nisi bonum_: by these means, such treatises become a delectable kind of reading, wherein nothing is admitted which can hurt the feelings of any of the worthy persons mentioned in the course of the work, particularly if they be deceased. This mode of writing conduces to good humour and charity amongst men, and manifestly tends, as Dr. Johnson observes on another occasion, to raise the general estimate of human nature.

On these principles and considerations have I been induced, at no small cost of time and labour, to endeavour to throw a new light upon the life of Matthew Whittington, some time Mayor (or Lord Mayor, as the courtesy goeth) of this worthy City of London,--a man, whose fame needs no addition, but only to be placed in a proper point of view, to challenge the admiration of a grateful posterity of Mayors and Aldermen.

In humble imitation of my aforesaid friend Mr. Godwin, and of divers other well-reputed authors, I have written this life in one hundred and seventy-eight quires of foolscap paper, in a small and close, but neat hand; which by my computation, having counted the number of words therein contained, as well as the number of words in the learned Bishop Watson's life of himself (which made my excellent friend Dr. Snodgrass, who lent me the same, facetiously declare, that I was the only man he ever knew who could get through it); I say, having counted all these words, I find that my life of Mr. Whittington (including thirteen quires on the general history of Cats) would, if duly printed after the manner of Mr. Davison, who never puts more than sixteen lines into a quarto page, make or constitute five volumes of a similar size and shape to Dr. Watson's life, which, with cuts by Mr. John Britton, author of several curious topographical works, might be sold for the reasonable sum of £31 10_s._, being only six guineas the volume; and if it should please the Legislature, in its wisdom, to repeal the Copy-right Bill (by which costly books are made accessible to poor students at the Universities, who have no business with such sort of works), my said work might be furnished at the reduced price of £31 4_s._ 6_d._

But small as this sum is, it is with grief I say, that such is the badness of the times, occasioned by the return of peace, and the late long succession of plentiful harvests, that I find booksellers strangely reluctant to embark in this transaction with me.[28] They offer indeed to print my work if I can get it previously praised in the _Edinburgh Review_; and the Reviewers say, that they are not unwilling to praise it, but that it must, of a necessity, be previously printed.

I have observed to Mr. Jeffrey in my seventh letter to him on this subject, that this condition is not only new and injurious to me, but, by his own showing, clearly gratuitous and unnecessary; because, for aught that appears in the generality of his articles, he may never have read the work which is the subject-matter of them; nay, it hath sometimes been proved from the context, that he never hath even seen the work at all; and as this little accident hath not hindered his writing an excellent essay under colour of such work, so I contended, that he need not now make the preliminary _sine quâ non_, as to having my work printed; for "de non impressis et de non lectis eadem est ratio."

But I grieve to say, that all my well-grounded reasoning hath been unavailing; and as neither party will give up his notion, I stand at a dead lock between the booksellers and reviewers.

In this dilemma, I should--like Aristotle's celebrated ass--have starved till doomsday; but that, through the kindness and prudent advice of my learned friends Mr. Jonas Backhouse, Jun. of Pocklington, and the Rev. Doctor Snodgrass of Hog's-Norton, I have been put upon a mode of extricating myself, by publishing, in a small form, a tentamen, specimen, or abridgement of part of my great work, which I am told Mr. Jeffrey will not object to review, he being always ready to argue "à particulari ad universale:" so that, in future time, the learned world may have hope of seeing my erudite labours at full length, whereof this dissertation is a short and imperfect sample or pattern.

* * * * *

The whole history of the illustrious Whittington is enveloped in doubt. The mystery begins even before he is born; for no one knows who his mother, and still less who his father, was. We are in darkness as to where he first saw the light, and though it is admitted that he most probably had a Christian name, _adhuc sub judice lis est_, as to what that Christian name was.

This important point, however, my revered friend, the Rev. Dr. Snodgrass of Hog's-Norton hath enabled me to decide.

Tradition has handed down to us that Whittington was a charity boy, as it is called, and received the rudiments of letters at the parish school of Hog's-Norton aforesaid; this clue directed the Doctor's researches, and by that enlightened zeal for which he was conspicuous, he has been so fortunate as to discover rudely carved on the wainscot by some fellow-pupil,