The family that dines the latest, Your taste in architect, you know, Hath been admired by friend and foe: But can your earthly domes compare With all my castles-in the air? We're often taught it doth behoove us To think those greater who 're above us: Another instance of my glory, Who live above you, twice two story; Greatness by poets still is painted Nor in the manner of attendance, Doth your great bard claim less ascendance. Familiar you to admiration May be approached by all the nation; While I, like the Mogul in Indo, Am never seen but at my window. If with my greatness you're offended, The fault is easily amended; For I'll come down, with wondrous ease, Into whatever place you please. I'm not ambitious; little matters Will serve us great, but humble creatures. Suppose a secretary o' this isle, Just to be doing with a while; Admiral, gen'ral, judge, or bishop: Or I can foreign treaties dish up. If the good genius of the nation Should call me to negotiation, Tuscan and French are in my head, If you should ask, what pleases best? THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE GRINDER.* FRIEND OF HUMANITY.† ANTI-JACOBIN. "NEEDY Knife-grinder! whither are you going? • Some stanzas of the original poem, by Southey, are here subjoined: THE WIDOW. SAPPHICS. Cold was the night wind; drifting fast the snows fell; Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections; Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her: Here I should perish." The "Friend of Humanity" was intended for MR. TIERNEY, M. P. for Southwark, who in early times was among the more forward of the Reformers. "He was," says Lord Brougham, "an assiduous member of the Society of Friends of the People, and drew up the much and justly celebrated Petition in which that useful body laid before the House of Commons all the more striking particulars of its defective title to the office of representing the people, which that House then, as now, but with far less reason, assumed. แ Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, "Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you? Was it the squire ? or parson of the parish? Or the attorney? "Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little All in a lawsuit ? "(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine ?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your Pitiful story." KNIFE-GRINDER. แ Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, "Constables came up, for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish Stocks for a vagrant. "I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir." FRIEND OF HUMANITY. "I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned firstWretch whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeanceSordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!" [Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.] INSCRIPTION FOR THE DOOR OF THE CELL IN NEWGATE, WHERE MRS. FROM THE ANTI-JACOBIN. FOR one long term, or e'er her trial came, Our Milton, when at college. For this act BROWN ΤΟ HER 1797. Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come INSCRIPTION BY SOUTHEY FOR THE APARTMENT IN CHEPSTOW CASTLE, WHERE HENRY MARTEN, THE REGIUIDE, WAS IMPRISONED THIRTY YEARS. For thirty years, secluded from mankind, Here MARTEN lingered. Often have these walls He paced around his prison: not to him Did Nature's fair varieties exist; He never saw the sun's delightful beams, Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd! SONG.* SUNG BY ROGERO IN THE BURLESQUE PLAY OF THE ROVER." CANNING. I. WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view -niversity of Gottingen -niversity of Gottingen. EWeeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his II. Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue, At least I thought so at the U -niversity of Gottingen -niversity of Gottingen. [At the repetition of this line Rogero clanks his chains in cadence. III. Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew Her neat post-wagon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languish'd at the U-niversity of Gottingen-niversity of Gottingen. IV. This faded form! this pallid hue! This blood my veins is clotting in, There is a curious circumstance connected with the composition of this song, the first five stanzas of which were written by Mr. Canning. Having been accidentally seen, previous to its publication, by Mr. Pitt, who was cognizant of the proceedings of the "Anti-Jacobin" writers, he was so amused with it, that he took up a pen and composed the last stanza on the spot. |