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Lines On The Departure Of Lord Castlereagh And Stewart For The Continent.[1]

at Paris[2] et Fratres, et qui rapure sub illis.
vix tenuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefandas.
OVID. Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202.

Go, Brothers in wisdom–go, bright pair of Peers,
And my Cupid and Fame fan you both with their pinions!
The one, the best lover we have–of his years,
And the other Prime Statesman of Britain’s dominions.

Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the smile
Of the Misses that love and the monarchs that prize thee;
Forget Mrs. Angelo Taylor awhile,
And all tailors but him who so well dandifies thee.

Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff,
Never heed how perverse affidavits may thwart thee,
But show the young Misses thou’rt scholar enough
To translate “Amor Fortis” a love, about forty!

And sure ’tis no wonder, when, fresh as young Mars,
From the battle you came, with the Orders you’d earned in’t,
That sweet Lady Fanny should cry out “My stars!”
And forget that the Moon, too, was some way concerned in’t.

For not the great Regent himself has endured
(Tho’ I’ve seen him with badges and orders all shine,
Till he lookt like a house that was over insured)
A much heavier burden of glories than thine.

And ’tis plain, when a wealthy young lady so mad is,
Or any young ladies can so go astray,
As to marry old Dandies that might be their daddies,
The stars are in fault, my Lord Stewart, not they!

Thou, too, t’other brother, thou Tully of Tories,
Thou Malaprop Cicero, over whose lips
Such a smooth rigmarole about; “monarchs,” and “glories,”
And “nullidge,” and “features,” like syllabub slips.

Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy vocation
Of adding fresh sums to this National Debt of ours,
Leaguing with Kings, who for mere recreation
Break promises, fast as your Lordship breaks metaphors.

Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair of Peers,
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with their pinions!
The one, the best lover we have–of his years,
And the other, Prime Statesman of Britain’s dominions.

[1] This and the following squib, which must have been written about the year 1815-16, have been by some oversight misplaced.

[2] Ovid is mistaken in saying that it was “at Paris” these rapacious transactions took place–we should read “at Vienna.”