Selected Poems (33 page)

An Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill

Oh well done Lord E[ldo]n! and better Lord R[yde]r!

Britannia must prosper with councils like yours;

H
AWKESBURY
, H
ARROWBY
, help you to guide her,

Whose remedy only must
kill
ere it cures:

5

Those villains, the Weavers, are all grown refractory,

Asking some succour for Charity’s sake –

So hang them in clusters round each Manufactory,

That will at once put an end to
mistake
.

The rascals, perhaps, may betake them to robbing,

10

The dogs to be sure have got nothing to eat –

So if we can hang them for breaking a bobbin,

‘Twill save all the Government’s money and meat:

Men are more easily made than machinery –

Stockings fetch better prices than lives –

15

Gibbets on Sherwood will
heighten
the scenery,

Showing how Commerce,
how
Liberty thrives!

Justice is now in pursuit of the wretches,

Grenadiers, Volunteers, Bow-street Police,

Twenty-two Regiments, a score of Jack Ketches,

20

Three of the Quorum and two of the Peace;

Some Lords, to be sure, would have summoned the Judges,

To take their opinion, but that they ne’er shall,

For L
IVERPOOL
such a concession begrudges,

So now they’re condemned by
no Judges
at all.

25

Some folks for certain have thought it was shocking,

When Famine appeals, and when Poverty groans,

That life should be valued at less than a stocking,

And breaking of frames lead to breaking of bones.

If it should prove so, I trust, by this token,

30

(And who will refuse to partake in the hope?)

That the frames of the fools may be first to be
broken
,

Who, when asked for a
remedy
, sent down a
rope
.

Lines to a Lady Weeping

Weep, daughter of a royal line,

A Sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay;

Ah! happy if each tear of thine

Could wash a father’s fault away!

5

Weep – for thy tears are Virtue’s tears –

Auspicious to these suffering isles;

And be each drop in future years

Repaid thee by thy people’s smiles!

March, 1812.

Muse of the many-twinkling feet!
¹
whose charms

Are now extended up from legs to arms;

Terpsichore! – too long misdeem’d a maid –

Reproachful term – bestow’d but to upbraid –

5

Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,

The least a vestal of the virgin Nine.

Far be from thee and thine the name of prude;

Mock’d, yet triumphant; sneer’d at, unsubdued;

Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly,

10

If but thy coats are reasonably high;

Thy breast – if bare enough – requires no shield;

Dance forth –
sans armour
thou shalt take the field,

And own – impregnable to
most
assaults,

Thy not too lawfully begotten ‘Waltz.’

15

Hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young hussar,

The whisker’d votary of waltz and war,

His night devotes, despite of spur and boots;

A sight unmatch’d since Orpheus and his brutes:

Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz! – beneath whose banners

20

A modern hero fought for modish manners;

On Hounslow’s heath to rival Wellesley’s
²
fame,

Cock’d – fired – and miss’d his man – but gain’d his aim;

Hail, moving Muse! to whom the fair one’s breast

Gives all it can, and bids us take the rest.

25

Oh! for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz,

The latter’s loyalty, the former’s wits,

To ‘energise the object I pursue,’

And give both Belial and his dance their due!

Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine

30

(Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine),

Long be thine import from all duty free,

And hock itself be less esteem’d than thee;

In some few qualities alike – for hock

Improves our cellar –
thou
our living stock.

35

The head to hock belongs – thy subtler art

Intoxicates alone the heedless heart:

Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims,

And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs.

Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe,

40

As heaven-born Pitt can testify below,

Ere cursed confederation made thee France’s,

And only left us thy d—d debts and dances!

Of subsidies and Hanover bereft,

We bless thee still – for George the Third is left!

45

Of kings the best – and last, not least in worth,

For graciously begetting George the Fourth.

To Germany and highnesses serene,

Who owe us millions – don’t we owe the queen?

To Germany, what owe we not besides?

50

So oft bestowing Brunswickers and brides;

Who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood,

Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud:

Who sent us – so be pardon’d all her faults –

A dozen dukes, some kings, a queen – and Waltz.

55

But peace to her – her emperor and diet,

Though now transferr’d to Buonaparte’s ‘fiat!’

Back to my theme – O Muse of motion! say,

How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way?

Borne on the breath of hyperborean gales,

60

From Hamburg’s port (while Hamburg yet had mails),

Ere yet unlucky Fame – compell’d to creep

To snowy Gottenburg – was chill’d to sleep;

Or, starting from her slumbers, deign’d arise,

Heligoland! to stock thy mart with lies;

65

While unburnt Moscow
¹
yet had news to send,

Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend,

She came – Waltz came – and with her certain sets

Of true despatches, and as true gazettes;

Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch,

70

Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match;

And – almost crush’d beneath the glorious news –

Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue’s;

One envoy’s letters, six composers’ airs,

And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs;

75

Meiner’s four volumes upon womankind,

Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind;

Brunck’s heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it,

Of Heyné, such as should not sink the packet.

Fraught with this cargo – and her fairest freight,

80

Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate,

The welcome vessel reach’d the genial strand,

And round her flock’d the daughters of the land.

Not decent David, when, before the ark,

His grand pas-seul excited some remark;

85

Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought

The knight’s fandango friskier than it ought;

Not soft Herodias, when, with winning tread,

Her nimble feet danced off another’s head;

Not Cleopatra on her galley’s deck,

90

Display’d so much of
leg
, or more of
neck
,

Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon

Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!

To you, ye husbands often years! whose brows

Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse;

95

To you of nine years less, who only bear

The budding sprouts of those that you
shall
wear,

With added ornaments around them roll’d

Of native brass, or law-awarded gold;

To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch

100

To mar a son’s, or make a daughter’s, match;

To you, ye children of – whom chance accords –

Always
the ladies, and
sometimes
their lords;

To you, ye single gentlemen, who seek

Torments for life, or pleasures for a week;

105

As Love or Hymen your endeavours guide,

To gain your own, or snatch another’s bride; –

To one and all the lovely stranger came,

And every ball-room echoes with her name.

Endearing Waltz! – to thy more melting tune

110

Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.

Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance, forego

Your future claims to each fantastic toe!

Waltz – Waltz alone – both legs and arms demands,

Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;

115

Hands which may freely range in public sight

Where ne’er before – but – pray ‘put out the light.’

Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier

Shines much too far – or I am much too near;

And true, though strange – Waltz whispers this remark,

120

‘My slippery steps are safest in the dark!’

But here the Muse with due decorum halts,

And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz.

Observant travellers of every time!

Ye quartos publish’d upon every clime!

125

O say, shall dull Romaika’s heavy round,

Fandango’s wriggle, or Bolero’s bound;

Can Egypt’s Almas
¹
– tantalising group –

Columbia’s caperers to the warlike whoop –

Can aught from cold Kamschatka to Cape Horn

130

With Waltz compare, or after Waltz be borne?

Ah, no! from Morier’s pages down to Galt’s,

Each tourist pens a paragraph for ‘Waltz.’

Shades of those belles whose reign began of yore,

With George the Third’s – and ended long before! –

135

Though in your daughters’ daughters yet you thrive,

Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive!

Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host:

Fool’s Paradise is dull to that you lost.

No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake;

140

No stiff-starch’d stays make meddling fingers ache;

(Transferr’d to those ambiguous things that ape

Goats in their visage,
¹
women in their shape;)

No damsel faints when rather closely press’d,

But more caressing seems when most caress’d;

145

Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts,

Both banish’d by the sovereign cordial ‘Waltz.’

Seductive Waltz! – though on thy native shore

Even Werter’s self proclaim’d thee half a whore;

Werter – to decent vice though much inclined,

150

Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind –

Thouh entle Genlis in her strife with Stael

Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;

The fashion hails – from countesses to queens,