FullReads

August 31.

Consulted MURPHY’S TACITUS
About those famous spies at Rome,[8]
Whom certain Whigs–to make a fuss–
Describe as much resembling us,
Informing gentlemen, at home.
But, bless the fools, they can’t be serious,
To say Lord SIDMOUTH’S like TIBERIUS!
What! he, the Peer, that injures no man,
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman!–
‘Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to
All sorts of spies–so doth the Peer, too.
‘Tis true, my Lord’s elect tell fibs,
And deal in perjury–ditto TIB’s.
‘Tis true, the Tyrant screened and hid
His rogues from justice–ditto SID.
‘Tis true the Peer is grave and glib
At moral speeches–ditto TIB.
‘Tis true the feats the Tyrant did
Were in his dotage–ditto SID.

So far, I own, the parallel
‘Twixt TIB and SIB goes vastly well;
But there are points in TIB that strike
My humble mind as much more like
Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him,
Of the India Board–that soul of whim!
Like him, TIBERIUS loved his joke,
On matters, too, where few can bear one;
E. g. a man cut up, or broke
Upon the wheel–a devilish fair one!
Your common fractures, wounds and fits,
Are nothing to such wholesale wits;
But, let the sufferer gasp for life,
The joke is then, worth any money;
And, if he writhe beneath a knife,–
Oh dear, that’s something quite too funny.
In this respect, my Lord, you see
The Roman wag and ours agree:
Now as to your resemblance–mum–
This parallel we need not follow:
Tho’ ’tis, in Ireland, said by some
Your Lordship beats TIBERIUS hollow;
Whips, chains–but these are things too serious
For me to mention or discuss;
Whene’er your Lordship acts TIBERIUS,
PHIL. FUDGE’S part is Tacitus!

September 2.

Was thinking, had Lord SIDMOUTH got
Any good decent sort of Plot
Against the winter-time–if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin’s fated;
All done up and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,
Down from CASTLEREAGH to CASTLES,–
Unless we can kick up a riot,
Ne’er can hope for peace or quiet!
What’s to be done?–Spa-Fields was clever;
But even that brought gibes and mockings
Upon our heads–so, mem.–must never
Keep ammunition in old stockings;
For fear some wag should in his curst head
Take it to say our force was worsted.
Mem. too–when SID an army raises,
It must not be “incog.” like Bayes’s:
Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,
Should say, with Jacobinic grin,
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons,[9]
A Wellington’s great soul within!
Nor must an old Apothecary
Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,
With (what these wags would call, so merry,)
Physical force and phial-ence!
No–no–our Plot, my Lord, must be
Next time contrived more skilfully.
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing
So troublesomely sharp and knowing,
So wise–in short, so Jacobin–
‘Tis monstrous hard to take him in.

September 6.

Heard of the fate of our Ambassador
In China, and was sorely nettled;
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o’er
Till all this matter’s fairly settled;
And here’s the mode occurs to me:–
As none of our Nobility,
Tho’ for their own most gracious King
(They would kiss hands, or–anything),
Can be persuaded to go thro’
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou;
And as these Mandarins won’t bend,
Without some mumming exhibition,
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send
GRIMALDI to them on a mission:
As Legate, JOE could play his part,
And if, in diplomatic art,
The “volto sciolto”‘s meritorius,[10]
Let JOE but grin, he has it, glorious!