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There Paddy brogued By Jasus —'What's your! The rest,' quoth Michael: “Who may be so graced wull?
As to speak first ? there 's choice enough-who
shall The temperate Scot exclaim'd: the French ghost
It be? Then Satan answer'd, “There are many;
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any."
A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite
Upon the instant started from the throng.
Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite;
By people in the next world; where unite From Otaheite's isle to Salisbury Plain,
All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong, Of all climes and professions, years and trades,
From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat,
Assembled, and exclaim'd, My friends of all
The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale,
clouds; As angels can; next, like Italian twilight,
So let's to business: why this general call ? He turn d all colours--as a peacock's tail,
If those are freeholders I sec in shrouds, Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight
And 'tis for an election that they bawl, In some old abbey, or a trout not stale,
Behold a candidate with unturn'd coat ! Or distant lightning on the horizon by night,
Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote?' Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review
LXVIII. of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue.
'Sir,' replied Michael, you mistake; these things LXII.
Are of a former life, and what we clo Then he address d himself to Satan : Why,
Above is more august; to judge of kings My good old friend--for such I cleem you, though
Is the tribunal met: so now you know.' Our different parties make us fight so shy,
. Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,' I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe :
Said Wilkes, are cherubs; and that soul below Our difference is political, and I
Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind Trust that, whatever may occur below,
A good deal older-Bless me! is he blind ?' You know my great respect for you: and this
LXIX. Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss
'He is what you behold him, and his doom LXIII.
Depends upon his deeds,'the Angel said.
If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse
Gives licence to the humblest beggar's head
To lift itself against the loftiest.'--Some,
Said Wilkes, don't wait to see them laid in lead 'Tis even superfluous, since two honest, clean, True testimonies are enough: we lose
For such a liberty; and I, for one, Our time, nay, our eternity, between
Have told them what I thought beneath the sun.' The accusation and defence: if we
LXX. Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality.'
'dbove the sun repeat, then, what thou hast I.XIV.
To urge against him,' said the Archangel. Why.' Satan replied, 'To me the matter is
Replied the spirit, since old scores are past,
Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I.
Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,
With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky Already; and I merely argued his
I don't like ripping up old stories, since Late Majesty of Britain's case with you
His conduct was but natural in a prince. Upon a point of form: you may dispose
LXXI. Of him; I've kings enough below, God knows!'
• Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress LXV.
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling; Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd 'multifaced'
But then I blame the man himself much less By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'll call
Than Bute and Grafton ;* and shall be unwilling One or two persons of the myriads placed Around our congress, and dispense with all
• George III.'s Ministers.
To see him punish'd here for their excess,
LXXVIII. Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still in The moment that you had pronounced hiin one, Their place below : for me, I have forgiven,
Presto! his face changed, and he was another : And vote his habeas corpus into heaven.'
And when that change was hardly well put on,
It varied, till I don't think his own mother
(If that he had a mother) would her son Wilkes,' said the devil, ‘I understand all this;
Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other ; You turn'd to half a courtier ere you died, Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task, And seem to think it would not be amiss
At this epistolary 'Iron Mask.' To grow a whole one on the other side of Charon's ferry; you forget that his
LXXIX. Reign is concluded : whatsoe'er betide,
For sometimes he like Cerberus would seem He won't be sovereign more: you've lost your 1: • Three gentlemen at once' (as sagely says bour,
Good Mrs. Malaprop) : then you might deem For at the best he will but be your neighbour.
That he was not even one. Now many rays
Were flashing round him; and now a thick steam LXXIII
Hid him from sight---like fogs on London days : However, I knew what to think of it,
Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's When I beheld you in your jesting way,
fancies, Flitting and whispering round about the spit And certes often like Sir Philip Francis.
Where Belial, upon duty for the day, With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt,
LXXX. His pupil; I knew what to think, I say :
I've an hypothesis-'tis quite my own; That fellow even in hell breeds further ills;
I never let it out til now, for fear
And injuring some minister or peer,
On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown: 'Call Junius ! From the crowd a shadow stalk'd,
It is—my gentle public, lend thine ear ! And at the name there was a general squeeze,
'Tis that what Junius we are wont to call So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd
Was really, truly, nobody at all.
I don't see wherefore letters should not be Like wind compress'd and pent within a bladder,
Written without hands, since we daily view Or like a human colic, which is sadder.
Them written without heads; and books, we see,
Are filled as well without the latter too:
And really till we fix on somebody
For certain sure to claim them as his due, That look'r as it had been a shade on earth;
Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour,
The world to say if there be mouth or author
For that you may consult my title-page,' Changed every instant-to what, none could say.
Replied this mighty shadow of a shade: 1.XXVI.
'If I have kept my secret half an age,
I scarce shall tell it now.' 'Canst thou upbraid, The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less
Continued Michael, 'George Rex, or allege Could they distinguish whose the features were; The Devil himself seem'd puzzled even to guess;
Aught further ? Junius answer'd, “You had better
First ask him for his answer to my letter:
'My charges upon record will outlast Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother :
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb.'
Repent'st thou not,' said Michael, of some past LXXVII.
Exaggeration? Something which may doom Another, that he was a duke, or knight,
Thyself if false, as him if true? Thou wast An orator, a lawyer, or a priest,
Too bitter-is it not so ?-in thy gloom A nabob, a man-midwife; but the wight
Of passion l' 'Passion l' cried the phantom dim, Mysterious changed his countenance at least 'I loved my country, and I hated him, As oft as they the minds: though in full sight He stood, the puzzle only was increased :
LXXXIV, The man was a phantasınagoria in
• What I have written, I have written: let Himself-he was so volatile and thin
The rest be on his head or mine! So spoke
Old Nominis Umbra ;' and while speaking yet, To all unhappy hearers within reach
of poets when the tide of rhyme's in flow; Then Satan said to Michael, 'Don't forget
But stuck fast with his first hexameter,
Into recitative, in great dismay,
Both cherubim and seraphiin were heard
To murmur loudly through their long array: Of cherubim appointed to that post,
And Michael rose ere he could get a word
Of all his founder'd verses under way, The devil Asmodeus to the circle made
And cried, 'For God's sake stop, my friend; 'twere His way, and look'd as if his journey cost
bestSome trouble. When his burden down he laid, What's this cried Michael; 'why, 'tis not a
Non Di, non homines-you know the rest.' ghost!
XCII. * I know it,' quoth the incubus; but he
A general bustle spread throughout the throng, Shall be one, il you leave the affair to me.
Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation: 1.XXXVI.!
The angels had of course enough of song
When upon service; and the generation 'Confound the renegado! I have sprain il
Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long My left wing, he's so heavy; one would think
Before, to profit by a new occasion: Some of his works about his neck were chain'd.
The monarch, nute till then, exclaim'd, 'What! But to the point : while hovering o'er the brink
what! Or Skiddaw (where as usual it still rain'd),
Pye* come again? No more---no more of that!' I saw a taper, far below me, wink, And stooping, caught this fellow at a libel
XCIII. No less on history than the Holy Bible.
The tumult grew; an universal cough
Convulsed the skies, as during a debate,
When Castlereagh has been up long enough • The former is the devil's scripture, and
(Before he was First Minister of State, The latter yours, good Michael; so the affair I mean-the slaves kear now); some cried, Ofi, Belongs to all of us, you understand.
(Himself an author) only for his prose.
The varlet was not an ill-fayour'd kuave;
A good deal like a vulture in the face,
With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave And have expected him for some time here; A smart and sharper-looking sort of grace A sillier fellow you will scarce behold,
To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, Or more conceited in his petty sphere:
Was by no means so ugly as his case ;
But that indeed was hopeless as can be,
Then Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise LXXXIX.
With one still greater, as is yet the mode But since he's here, let's see what he has done.'
On earth besides : except some grumbling voice Done!' cried Asmodeus; "he anticipates
Which now and then will make a slight inroad The very business you are now upon,
Upon decorous silence, few will twice And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates.
Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrow'd; Who knows to what his ribaldry may run,
And now the bard could plead his own bad cause, When such an ass as this, like Balaam's prates?'
With all the attitudes of self-applause. *Let's hear,' quoth Michael, 'what he has to say;
He said--(I only give the heads-he said,
He meant no harm in scribbling; 'twas luis way
Upon all topics ; 'twas, besides, his bread, Now the bard, glad to get audience, which
Of which he butter'd both sides : 'twould delay By no means often was his case below, Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch His voice into that awful note of woe
George III.'s Poet Laureate
le ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no
Persuasion on the part of devils, saints, Or angels, now could stop the torrent ; so
He read the first three lines of the contents ; But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show
Hlad vanish'd, with variety of scents, Ainbrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang Like lightning, off from his “ melodious twang**
And take up rather more time than a day,
He had written praises of all kings whatever ;
And then against them bitterer than ever. For pantisocracy he once had cried
Aloud-a scheme less moral than 'twas clever;
In their high praise and glory; he had called
Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'dFed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men
By whom his muse and morals had been mauld : He had written inuch blank verse, and blanker
prose, And more of both than anybody knows.
XCIX. He had written Wesley's life ;--here turning round
To Satan, 'Sir, I'm ready to write yours, In two octavo volumes, nicely bound,
With notes and preface, all that most allures The pious purchaser; and there's no ground
For fear. for I can choose my own reviewers;
With amiable modesty decline
Whose memoirs could be render'd more divine. Mine is a pen of all work: not so now
As it was once, but I would make you shine Like your own trumpet. By the way, iy oirn Has more of brass in it, and is as well wlewn.
Those grand heroics acted as a spell ;
pinions : The devils ran howling, deafen d, down to hell ; The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own do.
minions (For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell,
And I leave every man to his own opinions): Michael took refuge in his trump; but, lo, His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow !
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease, Into his lake, for there he did not drown;
A different web being by the destinies Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene er Reform shall happen either here or there.
But soon rose to the surface-like himself; For all corrupted things are buoy'd like corks, t
By their own rottenness, light as an elf, Or wisp that flits o'er a morass; he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf, In his own den, to scrawl some 'Life' or Vision, As Welborn says the devil turn'd precisian.'
CI. • But talking about trumpets, here's my vision !
Now you shall judge, all people ; yes, you shall Judge with my judgment, and by my decision
Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall. I settle all these things by intuition, Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, an]
all, Like king Alfonso. When I thus see double, I save the Deity some worlds of trouble.'
Of this true dream, the telescope is gone
And show'd me what I in my turn have shown; All I saw further, in the last confusion, Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for
one; And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, I left him practising the hundredth psalm.
* See Life of Henry Kirke Ihite,
* See Aubrey's account of the apparition which dis+ Alfonso, speaking of the Ptolemean system, sait appeared with a curious perfume and a most melothat had he been consulted at the creation of the dious twang: or see the Antiqnary, rol. I, p. 225. world, he would have spared the Maker some ab. + A drowned body lies at the bottoni till rotten; it surdities.'
then floats, as most people know,
CARVEY SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS.
'Impar Congressus Achilli.'
The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings, THE'good old times'-all times when old are good- Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings, Are gone; the present might be if they would; And spurn the dust o'er which they crawld of late,
Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state?
Yes! where is he, the champion and the child
Of all that's great or little, wise or wild, To those who play their ótricks before high heaven.' Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were I know not if the angels weep, but men
thrones ; Have wept enough--for what?-to weep again!
Whose table earth-whose dice were human bones?
Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage ;
Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations ; We, we have seen the intellectual race
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines ;
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.
Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings! Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free,
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's statement, and an earl's harangues !
A bust delayed, a book refused, can shake
The sleep of him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tamer of the great, How peaceful and how powerful is the grave,
Now slave of all could tease or irritate Which hushes all! a calm, unstoriny wave,
The paltry gaoler and the prying spy, Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh! Of.dust to dust;' but half its tale untold :
Plunged in a dungeon he had still been great ; Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm
How low, how little was this middle state, Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form,
Between a prison and a palace, where Varied above, but still alike below;
How few could feel for what he had to bear! The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow,
Vain his complaint, -my lord presents his bill, Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea
His food and wine were doled out duly still; O'er which from empire she lured Anthony;
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime Though Alexander's urn a show be grown
So free from hoinicide-to doubt's a crime; On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown
And the stiff surgeon, who maintain'd his cause, How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's applause. The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear!
But smile—though all the pangs of brain and heart He wept for worlds to conquer----half the carth
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art;
Though, save the few fond friends and imaged face Hath all of desolation, save its peace.
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace,
None stand by his low bed-though even the mind He wept for worlds to conquer !' he who ne'er Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare!
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind;
Smile-for the fetter'd eagle breaks his chain, With even the busy Northern Isle unknown,
And higher worlds than this are his again. Which holds his um, and never knew his throne.
111. But where is he, the modern, mightier far, Who, horn no king, made monarchs draw his car
How, if that soaring spirit still retain