POLITICAL GEORGICS.

(MARCH 1828.)

"Quid faciat laetas segetes," etc.

How cabinets are formed, and how destroy'd, How Tories are confirmed, and Whigs decoy'd, How in nice times a prudent man should vote, At what conjuncture he should turn his coat, The truths fallacious, and the candid lies, And all the lore of sleek majorities, I sing, great Premier. Oh, mysterious two, Lords of our fate, the Doctor and the Jew, If, by your care enriched, the aspiring clerk Quits the close alley for the breezy park, And Dolly's chops and Reid's entire resigns For odorous fricassees and costly wines; And you, great pair, through Windsor's shades who rove, The Faun and Dryad of the conscious grove; All, all inspire me, for of all I sing, Doctor and Jew, and M--s and K--g. Thou, to the maudlin muse of Rydal dear; Thou more than Neptune, Lowther, lend thine ear. At Neptune's voice the horse, with flowing mane And pawing hoof, sprung from the obedient plain; But at thy word the yawning earth, in fright, Engulf'd the victor steed from mortal sight. Haste from thy woods, mine Arbuthnot, with speed, Rich woods, where lean Scotch cattle love to feed: Let Gaffer Gooch and Boodle's patriot band, Fat from the leanness of a plundered land, True Cincinnati, quit their patent ploughs, Their new steam-harrows, and their premium sows; Let all in bulky majesty appear, Roll the dull eye, and yawn th' unmeaning cheer. Ye veteran Swiss, of senatorial wars, Who glory in your well-earned sticks and stars; Ye diners- out from whom we guard our spoons; Ye smug defaulters; ye obscene buffoons; Come all, of every race and size and form, Corruption's children, brethren of the worm; From those gigantic monsters who devour The pay of half a squadron in an hour, To those foul reptiles, doomed to night and scorn, Of filth and stench equivocally born; From royal tigers down to toads and lice; From Bathursts, Clintons, Fanes, to H-- and P--; Thou last, by habit and by nature blest With every gift which serves a courtier best, The lap-dog spittle, the hyaena bile, The maw of shark, the tear of crocodile, Whate'er high station, undetermined yet, Awaits thee in the longing Cabinet,-- Whether thou seat thee in the room of Peel, Or from

Lord Prig extort the Privy Seal, Or our Field-marshal-Treasurer fix on thee, A legal admiral, to rule the sea, Or Chancery-suits, beneath thy well known reign, Turn to their nap of fifty years again; (Already L--, prescient of his fate, Yields half his woolsack to thy mightier weight;) Oh! Eldon, in whatever sphere thou shine, For opposition sure will ne'er be thine, Though scowls apart the lonely pride of Grey, Though Devonshire proudly flings his staff away, Though Lansdowne, trampling on his broken chain, Shine forth the Lansdowne of our hearts again, Assist me thou; for well I deem, I see An abstract of my ample theme in thee. Thou, as thy glorious self hath justly said, From earliest youth, wast pettifogger bred, And, raised to power by fortune's fickle will, Art head and heart a pettifogger still. So, where once Fleet-ditch ran confessed, we vie A crowded mart and stately avenue; But the black stream beneath runs on the same, Still brawls in W--'s key,--still stinks like H--'s name.

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