And he said, in a voice, that thrill'd the frame, "If ever the sound of Marathon's name "Hath fir'd thy blood or flush'd thy brow, "Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now!"
The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed- Away to the Stock Exchange he sped, And he found the Scrip of Greece so high, That it fir'd his blood, it flush'd his eye, And oh, 'twas a sight for the Ghost to see, For never was Greek more Greek than he! And still as the premium higher went, His ecstasy rose-so much per cent., (As we see in a glass, that tells the weather, The heat and the silver rise together,) And Liberty sung from the patriot's lip, While a voice from his pocket whisper'd "Scrip!" The Ghost of Miltiades came again;-
He smil'd, as the pale moon smiles through rain, For his soul was glad at that patriot strain; (And poor, dear ghost-how little he knew The jobs and the tricks of the Philhellene crew!) Blessings and thanks!" was all he said, Then, melting away, like a night-dream, fled!
The Benthamite hears-amaz'd that ghosts Could be such fools, and away he posts, A patriot still? Ah no, ah no- Goddess of Freedom, thy Scrip is low, And, warm and fond as thy lovers are, Thou triest their passion, when under par. The Benthamite's ardour fast decays, By turns he weeps, and swears, and prays, And wishes the d-1 had Crescent and Cross, Ere he had been forc'd to sell at a loss. They quote him the Stock of various nations, But, spite of his classic associations, Lord, how he loathes the Greek quotations! "Who'll buy my Scrip? Who'll buy my Scrip?" Is now the theme of the patriot's lip, As he runs to tell how hard his lot is To Messrs. Orlando and Luriottis, And says, "Oh Greece, for Liberty's sake, "Do buy my Scrip, and I vow to break "Those dark, unholy bonds of thine- "If you'll only consent to buy up mine!" The Ghost of Miltiades came once more; — His brow, like the night, was lowering o'er, And he said, with a look that flash'd dismay, "Of Liberty's foes the worst are they, "Who turn to a trade her cause divine, "And gamble for gold on Freedom's shrine!" Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his flight, Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite, Which sent him, whimpering, off to Jerry - And vanish'd away to the Stygian ferry!
Resolv'd that, though St. Athanasius In damning souls is rather spacious - Though wide and far his curses fall, Our Church "hath stomach for them all;" And those who're not content with such, May e'en be d-d ten times as much. Resolv'd-such liberal souls are we Though hating Nonconformity, We yet believe the cash no worse is That comes from Nonconformist purses. Indifferent whence the money reaches The pockets of our reverend breeches, To us the Jumper's jingling penny Chinks with a tone as sweet as any; And even our old friends Yea and Nay May through the nose for ever pray, If also through the nose they'll pay.
Resolv'd, that Hooper7, Latimer, 8 And Cranmer, all extremely err,
1 "That dark diseased ichor which coloured his effusions." opinion of their Service Book that there was not a tittle amiss - GALT's Life of Byron. in it."
2 "That gelatinous character of their effusions."— Ibid. 3" The poetical embalmment, or rather, amber immortali. zation. - Ibid.
4" Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, churning an inarticulate melody." Ibid.
7 "They," the Bishops, "know that the primitive Church had no such Bishops. If the fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the Bishop, it were sufficient."— On the Commandments, p. 72.
8" Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the 5"He was a mystery in a winding sheet, crowned with a plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve."— halo."- Ibid.
One of the questions propounded to the Puritans in 1573 was" Whether the Book of Service was good and godly, every tittle grounded on the Holy Scripture?" On which an honest Dissenter remarks" Surely they had a wonderful
9 "Of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, and pomps into the Church. But I would that I, and all my brethren, the Bishops, would leave all our styles, and write the styles of our offices," &c. - Life of Cranmer, by Strype, Appendix.
Should have made his godly stomach rise, Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday pies- He has view'd things quite with different eyes; Is beginning to take, on matters divine, Like Charles and his Bishops, the sporting line- Is all for Christians jigging in pairs, As an interlude 'twixt Sunday prayers; - Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H-1-y To bring in a Bill, enacting duly, That all good Protestants, from this date, May, freely and lawfully, recreate,
Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody,
With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy.
Oh far more proper and well-bred To stick to writing books instead ; And show the world how two Blue lovers Can coalesce, like two book-covers, (Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leather,) Letter'd at back, and stitch'd together, Fondly as first the binder fix'd 'em, With nought but-literature betwixt 'em.
Air." Come live with me, and be my love."
COME wed with me, and we will write, My Blue of Blues, from morn till night. Chas'd from our classic souls shall be All thoughts of vulgar progeny ;
And thou shalt walk through smiling rows Of chubby duodecimos,
While I, to match thy products nearly, Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly. 'Tis true, ev'n books entail some trouble; But live productions give one double. Correcting children is such bother, While printers' devils correct the other. Just think, my own Malthusian dear, How much more decent 'tis to hear From male or female as it may be "How is your book?" than "How's your baby?" And, whereas physic and wet nurses Do much exhaust paternal purses, Our books, if rickety, may go And be well dry-nurs'd in the Row; And, when God wills to take them hence, Are buried at the Row's expense.
Besides (as 'tis well prov'd by thee, In thy own Works, vol. 93.) The march, just now, of population So much outstrips all moderation, That even prolific herring-shoals Keep pace not with our erring souls.1
See "Ella of Garveloch."-Garveloch being a place where there was a large herring-fishery, but where, as we are told
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