314 THE VICTIMS. WHEN GLO'STER, humpback'd Prince was young, Each fiend prophetic snatch'd a page ; First CLARENCE came, his taste to try, Even at the choice himself had made. Next HENRY'S SON, his eye on fire, In woeful guise of sad despair, King HENRY mourns his hopes beguil❜d, 'Till GLO'STER'S dagger ends his care, And sends the father to his child. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, To Edward's son, and promis'd thrones and pow'r. Still did her voice the cheat prolong, While their fell uncle in the Tower, Thought fit to echo the deceitful song, And YORK and EDWARD fell into the snare. In notes by sorrow render'd sweet, Pour'd to Prince EDWARD's shade her plaintive soul; Of the keen serpent's voice, which gently stole When after once or twice refusing, Oh woman's weakness! past excusing, But oh! how alter'd was the mournful tone, And, with enliv'ning trumpet, blew A call to arms that thro' the island rung! His claim announcing to the English throne. ELIZABETH, late EDWARD'S Queen, And RICE AP THOMAS seized his Cambrian spear. Last came BOSWORTH'S warlike trial, Such clang of arms and coursers prancing. And RICHARD's corse among the slain was found! His worth and valour to repay, Received a crown upborne on Victory's wings. Just at this scene young GLO'STER 'woke, His tutors would so civil be, As alter the catastrophe. But that which is decreed by fate, Must surely happen, soon or late; All came to pass, as we've related. From A Metrical History of England, or Recollections in Rhyme, by Thomas Dibdin. 2 Vols. London. 1813. The following parody was written by Mr. C. H. Waring, and although it was first printed 46 years ago, it is only a few months since the author kindly sent permission for it to be included in this collection. THE SESSIONS. An Ode for Music. WHEN Parliament was fresh and young, Last came Peel's ecstatic trial! With majority advancing, First to New Tariff laws his lore address'd, But soon he poured from his wrath-full phial The Income Tax, whose ease he loved the best, As if he would some part repay, O Parliament ! the people aid! Lay'st thou thy ancient strength aside? You learn'd to body forth with grace! 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Then an humblest speech could more prevail Had more of truth, and patriot rage, Than all that linger through this age; E'en all at once together bound, One inane senseless world of sound! Oh! bid our modern M. P.'s cease Not for themselves, but for the state. Punch. November 5, 1842. ODE TO THE FASHIONS. The wondrous power of Fancy's thought. And each-for Fashions rule the hour- First Ancient Briton sought to try A Templar next with eyes on fire, Then came the elongated toe And hose that made the legs look taper, But thou, oh hoop, with ruffles grand, In which Queen Bess could take her pleasure, It must have awkward been when at a ball, Soft voices from soft men bepraised her clothes, And she enchanted, smiled, and waved her bright red hair. And long this Fashion reigned, till with a frown, The Puritan uprose; He raised his sword, and thundered at the gown, And, with determined look, Ruffling the ruffles, took A sight; and as he did so said, That such a bauble from the scene must go. And ever and anon he beat And now they courted lace to show their Roundhead With curls turned up beneath the tile, The style passed through three reigns, dating from This Brunswick fashion all around, In circles quite genteel, was found; And now how altered is the Fashion's tone! In nez retroussé, or in beauty's queen, As love leaps up where Fashion doth appear. Last came crinoline into the trial; But soon she saw, for beauty quick doth eye all, Our Mabille mode of dancing, And modesty looks sheepish at such things. Love raised up mirth on this fantastic round, Which looked like a balloon just coming to the ground, 'Neath which the ankles made display, Which, with Balmoral boots, looked very gay As military heels displayed their rings. Oh, Fashion, most fantastic maid! Friend of pleasure, frailty's aid; A grace, which scarcely now is thine, When simple grace was quite sublime: Of Fashion's book, Le Follet named, Through which new fashions are proclaimed. The simplest dress did more prevail, Give the simplicity of Greece, Return us to that simple boast, That beauty unadorned's adorned the most. The Comic News. May 21, 1864. Fun. OH! that the chemist's magic art Could crystalize this sacred treasure! Long should it glitter near my heart! A secret source of pensive pleasure. The little brilliant, ere it fell, Its lustre caught ftom Chloe's eye; Then, trembling left its coral cellThe spring of Sensibility! Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! In thee the rays of Virtue shine; More calmly clear, more mildly bright, Than any gem that gilds the mine. Benign restorer of the soul ! Who ever fly'st to bring relief, The sage's and the poet's theme, ON A TEAR. (Suggested by the above Poem.) OH! that the tailor's modish art Could fashion trousers to our measure, Secure and strong in every part, A source of inexpensive pleasure !— I little thought, mistrustless swell, Whose garments Snip and Shears supply, That trousers were but made-to sell The test of gullibility! Yet, though these hands had scarce arrayed In tourist suit my ugly body, The fabric frail my trust betrayed, I thought it cloth, but found it shoddy. Vile rent; my peace of mind it drowns, I know, confound them, what they mean!" Come, Jane, with silver finger-sheath, ADDENDA. In order that this Volume may contain as complete a collection as is possible of the Parodies of those Authors who are treated in it, the following poems are here inserted. Although they appear here somewhat irregularly they I will all be found in the Index under the respective Authors to whose works they refer. THOMAS GRAY. Numerous parodies and imitations of Gray's poems appeared in the early pages of this volume, a few remain still to be quoted. Musa Berkhamstediensis, or Poetical Prolusions by some Young Gentlemen of Berkhamsted School, 1794. this work contains Latin translations of Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard, and of several other standard poems. An Imitation of Gray's Elegy. Written by a Sailor. London. Printed by George Cooke, 1806. The setting sun now gilds the mountain tops, And leave the fields, barn-doors, and stack-yards fare. The following parody was satirically attributed to William Cobbett, M.P., by the Editor of The Satirist, in which paper it appeared in August, 1810. The whole of it is bitterly personal and offensive, but it must be remembered that Cobbett himself never spared the feelings or characters of his adversaries : ELEGY IN NEWGATE. THE Curfew tolls the hour of locking up, Save that beneath the prison's outward bound, THE HANGMAN'S SPEECH. HERE bleeds his head upon the traitor's stage, The law bestow'd, 'twas all he feared-a rope. No further seek his villainies to know, A PARODY. THE ruin spread by war is wisely o'er, The grateful mob receive a peace with glee, The drooping party cease their wonted roar, And leave these shades to silence and to me. This is also given in full in The Satirist for May 12, 1812, where it is attributed to Mr. J. Taylor, who had then recently published a volume of poems. Neither of the above is of sufficient interest to reprint in full, the first, indeed, is too coarse to please modern readers. WRITTEN IN THE TEMPLE GARDENS. THE gard'ner rings the bell at close of day, Now shine the glimmering gas-lights on the sight, Save, also, when from yonder antique tower* ; The grave attorney, knocking frequently, Are things unknown to all that lofty floor. To some snug tenement near Russell Square. Yet let not judges mock their useless toil, Vain is the coif, the ermined robe, the strife Nor you, ye leaders, view them with ill-will Can legal lore or animated speech Avert that sentence which awaits on all? *The Middle Temple Hall Tower, a modern antique. Perhaps, in those neglected rooms abound Men deeply versed in all the quirks of laws, And from the quibbling current of the soul, Those dark and unfrequented chambers bear; Full many a pleader, born to draw unfee'd. And waste his counts upon the desert air! Some Follett, whom no client e'er would trust, Some Wilde, who gain'd no verdict in his life; In den obscure, some Denman there may rust; Some Campbell, with no peeress for his wife. The wits of wond'ring juries to beguile, The wrongs of injured clients to redress : To gain or lose their verdict with a smile, And read their speeches in the daily press, Their lot forbad-nor was it theirs, d'ye see? The wretched in the toils of law to lure; To prostitute their conscience for a fee, And shut the gates of justice on the poor. To try mean tricks to win a paltry cause, With threadbare jests to catch the laugh of fools, Or puff in court before all human laws, The lofty wisdom of the last New Rules. Not one rule nisi, even "to compute," Their gentle voices e'er were heard to pray, Calm and sequester'd, motionless and mute, In the remote back seats they pass'd each day. Yet e'en their names are sometimes seen in print, For Frail memorials on the outer doors Disclose, in letters large, and dingy tints. The unknown tenants of the upper floors. Door-posts supply the place of Term Reports, And splendid plates around the painter sticks, To show that he, who never moved the courts, Has moved from number two to number six. For who, to cold neglect a luckless prey His unfrequented attic e'er resign'd, And he whose bold aspiring fate doth crush, His name recorded by the painter's brush. For thee who, mindful of each briefless wight, Dost in these motley rhymes their tale relate. If, musing in this lonely attic flight Some youthful students should inquire thy fate, Haply some usher of the court may say "At noon I've mark'd him oft, 'tween nine and ten Striding, with hasty step, the Strand away, At four o'clock to saunter back again. There in the Bail Court, where yon quaint old judge, Oft would he bid me fetch him some report, One morn I miss'd that figure lean and lank, Nor at th' Exchequer, nor the Pleas was he. The next day, as at morn I chanced to see I read his name, which there stood number three, EPITAPH "Here rests a youth lamented but by few ; A barrister, to fame aud courts unknown. Brief was his life-yet was it briefless, too, For no attorney mark'd him for his own. 66 Deep and correct his knowledge of the laws, Because, forsooth, he ne'er had one to lose. By the late MR. JUSTICE HAYES. From Random Recollections of the Midland Circuit. By Robert Walton. Second Series. Chiswick Press, ELEGY WRITTEN IN A BALL-ROOM. THE beaux are jogging on the pictured floor The belles responsive trip with lightsome heels; While I, deserted, the cold pangs deplore, Or breathe the wrath which slighted beauty feels. * 1873. This does not continue in the vein of parody. From Miscellanies: Prose and Verse, by William Maginn. 1885. THE "ELEGY" TRAVESTIED. THE shops are closed-the sign of closing day And leaves "down town" to watchmen and to me. Now fade the lightless lamp-posts on the sight; Save that, from yonder "Square," upon the ear Observe, ye chaste, who promenade the way |