They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant To die for England-why then live?-for rent! 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 All states, all things, all sovereigns they control, in the minister, received a handsome compliment at Verona And waft a loan from Indus to the pole.' The banker-broker-baron-brethren, speed To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. • Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author from a literary sovereign: Ah! Monsieur C., are you related to that Chateaubriand who-who-who has written something ?' (écrit quelque chose ) It is said that the author of Atala repented him for a moment of his legitimacy. + The Duke de Reichstadt, Napoleon's son. 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 sceptr: through, Is offer'd and accepted? Could a slave 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 out my patience With studying to study your new publications. There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co. With their damnableInk. 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. And think you that I Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry For learning, which lately has taken the lead in Count Neipperg chamberlain and second husband to Tra. Excuse me: I meant no offence To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence To their favours is such but the subject to drop, Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many. 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, That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely 'reWhat a beautiful word! Ink. Very true; 'tis so soft And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; And the papers have got it at last-but no So they've cut up our friend, then? [matter. Tra. Not left him a tatterNot a rag of his present or past reputation, Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know Our poor friend !—but I thought it would terminate 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 brother's) All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps, Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre. Ink. retreat Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurdTra. How can you know that till you hear him? I heard Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my [heat. Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the Tra. I have had no great loss, then? Ink. Loss!-such a palaver! I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours [pours, To the torrent of trash which around him he Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, Ink. A spinster? Tra. The angel Ink. The devil! why, man, Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition: She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician. Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? [alliance Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. [cerning She's so learned in all things, and fond of conHerself in all matters connected with learning, That Tra. What? Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong. [Jew. Tra. You forget Lady Lac's as rich as a Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue? Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with yousomething of both. The girl's a fine girl. Ink. And you feel nothing loth To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet. Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand (and hand. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen. 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; copy them out, In my name. I will To slip into her hand at the very next rout. Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this? Tra. Why, sublime? Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme [eye, What I've told her in prose, at the least, as [Muse. Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the Blues.' [to say. Ink. As sublime !-Mr Tracy-I've nothing Stick to prose-As sublime ! !—But I wish you good day. Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-considerI'm wrong; I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. Ink. As sublime!! Tra. I but used the expression in haste. Ink. That may be, Mr Tracy, but shows damn'd bad taste. [what Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge itCan I say to you more? Ink. I see what you'd be at: You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, Till you think you can turn them best to your own use. Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them? To be sure makes a difference. To a man of—but come-let us shake hands. Ink. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale; Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.* Tra. [view.' 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, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: 'Tis a sort of re-union for Scamp, on the days Tra. That metal's attractive.' But let us proceed; for I think by the hum- A Table prepared. Tra. "Tis the English 'Journal de Trevoux, An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Have you never yet seen it? Sir Richard Bluebottle solus. Was there ever a man who was married so sorry? What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining [pains, Lady Bluem. As a footman? Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master; Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my 'BLUES;' A rabble who know not-But soft, here they Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, Lady Blue- Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morn- Lady Blueb. 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. Lady Bluem. Oh fie! And for shame! Miss Lil. Oh, my dear Lady, Lady Bluem. Both. Lady Bluem. How good? Lady Bluem. Lady Blueb. Mr Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye; Tra. Both. 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. Pray, sir! did you mean Ink. Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir! Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'Twas in your defence. 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. |