Presents the problem of a double figure.
LXII
A reel within a bottle is a mystery,
One can’t tell how it e’er got in or out;
Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt;
And merely state, though not for the Consistory,
Lord Henry was a Justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant’s banner,
Had bagged this poacher upon Nature’s manor.
LXIII
Now Justices of Peace must judge all pieces
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices
Of those who have not a licence for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.
LXIV
The present culprit was extremely pale,
Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red
By nature, as in higher dames less hale
’Tis white, at least when they just rise from bed.
Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,
Poor soul! for she was country born and bred,
And knew no better in her immorality
Than to wax white—for blushes are for quality.
LXV
Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiègle eye,
Had gathered a large tear into its corner,
Which the poor thing at times essayed to dry,
For she was not a sentimental mourner
Parading all her sensibility,
Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner,
But stood in trembling, patient tribulation,
To be called up for her examination.
LXVI
Of course these groups were scattered here and there,
Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.1188
The lawyers in the study; and in air
The prize pig, ploughman, poachers: the men sent
From town, viz. architect and dealer, were
Both busy (as a General in his tent
Writing despatches) in their several stations,
Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.
LXVII
But this poor girl was left in the great hall,
While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail,
Discussed (he hated beer yclept the “small”)
A mighty mug of moral double ale.
She waited until Justice could recall
Its kind attentions to their proper pale,
To name a thing in nomenclature rather1189
Perplexing for most virgins—a child’s father.
LXVIII
You see here was enough of occupation
For the Lord Henry, linked with dogs and horses.
There was much bustle too, and preparation
Below stairs on the score of second courses;
Because, as suits their rank and situation,
Those who in counties have great land resources
Have “public days,” when all men may carouse,
Though not exactly what’s called “open house.”
LXIX
But once a week or fortnight, uninvited
(Thus we translate a general invitation)
All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted,
May drop in without cards, and take their station
At the full board, and sit alike delighted
With fashionable wines and conversation;
And, as the isthmus of the grand connection,
Talk o’er themselves the past and next election.
LXX
Lord Henry was a great electioneerer,
Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit.
But county contests cost him rather dearer,
Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit
Had English influence, in the self-same sphere here;
His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrabbit,
Was member for the “other interest” (meaning
The same self-interest, with a different leaning).
LXXI
Courteous and cautious therefore in his county,
He was all things to all men, and dispensed
To some civility, to others bounty,
And promises to all—which last commenced
To gather to a somewhat large amount, he
Not calculating how much they condensed;
But what with keeping some, and breaking others,
His word had the same value as another’s.
LXXII
A friend to Freedom and freeholders—yet
No less a friend to Government—he held,
That he exactly the just medium hit
Twixt Place and Patriotism—albeit compelled,
Such was his Sovereign’s pleasure, (though unfit,
He added modestly, when rebels railed,)
To hold some sinecures he wished abolished,
But that with them all Law would be demolished.
LXXIII
He was “free to confess”—(whence comes this phrase?
Is ’t English? No—’tis only parliamentary)
That Innovation’s spirit now-a-days
Had made more progress than for the last century.
He would not tread a factious path to praise,
Though for the public weal disposed to venture high;
As for his place, he could but say this of it,
That the fatigue was greater than the profit.
LXXIV
Heaven, and his friends, knew that a private life
Had ever been his sole and whole ambition;
But could he quit his King in times of strife,
Which threatened the whole country with perdition?
When demagogues would with a butcher’s knife
Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!)
The Gordian or the Geordi-an knot, whose strings
Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings.
LXXV
Sooner “come Place into the Civil List
And champion him to the utmost—”1190 he would keep it,
Till duly disappointed or dismissed:
Profit he cared not for, let others reap it;
But should the day come when Place ceased to exist,
The country would have far more cause to weep it:
For how could it go on? Explain who can!
He gloried in the name of Englishman.
LXXVI
He was as independent—aye, much more—
Than those who were not paid for independence,
As common soldiers, or a common-shore,
Have in their several arts or parts ascendance
O’er the irregulars in lust or gore,
Who do not give professional attendance.
Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager
To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar.
LXXVII
All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,
And thought. I say no more—I’ve said too much;
For all of us have either heard or read—
Off—or upon the hustings—some slight such
Hints from the independent heart or head
Of the official candidate. I’ll touch
No more on this—the dinner-bell hath rung,
And grace is said; the grace I should have sung—
LXXVIII
But I’m too late, and therefore must make play.
’Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old
Was wont to boast—as if a glutton’s tray
Were something very glorious to behold.
But ’twas a public feast and public day—
Quite full—right dull—guests hot, and dishes cold—
Great plenty, much formality,
