Jupiter and the Indian Ale.
“Take away this clammy nectar!”
Said the king of gods and men;
“Never at Olympus’ table
Let that trash be served again.
Ho, Lyæus, thou the beery!
Quick—invent some other drink;
Or, in a brace of shakes, thou standest
On Cocytus’ sulphury brink!”
Terror shook the limbs of Bacchus,
Paly grew his pimpled nose,
And already in his rearward
Felt he Jove’s tremendous toes;
When a bright idea struck him—
“Dash my thyrsus! I’ll be bail—
For you never were in India—
That you know not Hodgson’s Ale!”
“Bring it!” quoth the Cloud-compeller;
And the wine-god brought the beer—
“Port and claret are like water
To the noble stuff that’s here!”
And Saturnius drank and nodded,
Winking with his lightning eyes,
And amidst the constellations
Did the star of Hodgson rise!
The Lay of the Doudney Brothers.
Coats at five-and-forty shillings! trousers ten-and-six a pair!
Summer waistcoats, three a sov’reign, light and comfortable wear!
Taglionis, black or coloured, Chesterfield and velveteen!
The old English shooting-jacket—doeskins such as ne’er were seen!
Army cloaks and riding-habits, Alberts at a trifling cost!
Do you want an annual contract? Write to Doudneys’ by the post.
Doudney Brothers! Doudney Brothers! Not the men that drive the van,
Plastered o’er with advertisements, heralding some paltry plan,
How, by base mechanic stinting, and by pinching of their backs,
Lean attorneys’ clerks may manage to retrieve their Income-tax:
But the old established business—where the best of clothes are given
At the very lowest prices—Fleet Street, Number Ninety-seven.
Wouldst thou know the works of Doudney? Hie thee to the thronged Arcade,
To the Park upon a Sunday, to the terrible Parade.
There, amid the bayonets bristling, and the flashing of the steel,
When the household troops in squadrons round the bold field-marshals wheel,
Shouldst thou see an aged warrior in a plain blue morning frock,
Peering at the proud battalions o’er the margin of his stock,—
Should thy throbbing heart then tell thee, that the veteran worn and grey
Curbed the course of Bonaparte, rolled the thunders of Assaye—
Let it tell thee, stranger, likewise, that the goodly garb he wears
Started into shape and being from the Doudney Brothers’ shears!
Seek thou next the rooms of Willis—mark, where D’Orsay’s Count is bending,
See the trouser’s undulation from his graceful hip descending;
Hath the earth another trouser so compact and love-compelling?
Thou canst find it, stranger, only, if thou seek’st the Doudneys’ dwelling!
Hark, from Windsor’s royal palace, what sweet voice enchants the ear?
“Goodness, what a lovely waistcoat! Oh, who made it, Albert dear?
’Tis the very prettiest pattern! You must get a dozen others!”
And the Prince, in rapture, answers—“’Tis the work of Doudney Brothers!”
Paris and Helen.
As the youthful Paris presses
Helen to his ivory breast.
Sporting with her golden tresses,
Close and ever closer pressed,
“Let me,” said he, “quaff the nectar,
Which thy lips of ruby yield;
Glory I can leave to Hector,
Gathered in the tented field.
“Let me ever gaze upon thee,
Look into thine eyes so deep;
With a daring hand I won thee,
With a faithful heart I’ll keep.
“Oh, my Helen, thou bright wonder,
Who was ever like to thee?
Jove would lay aside his thunder,
So he might be blest like me.
“How mine eyes so fondly linger
On thy smooth and pearly skin;
Scan each round and rosy finger,
Drinking draughts of beauty in!
“Tell me, whence thy beauty, fairest?
Whence thy cheek’s enchanting bloom?
Whence the rosy hue thou wearest;
Breathing round thee rich perfume?”
Thus he spoke, with heart that panted,
Clasped her fondly to his side,
Gazed on her with look enchanted,
While his Helen thus replied:
“Be no discord, love, between us,
If I not the secret tell!
’Twas a gift I had of Venus,—
Venus, who hath loved me well;
“And she told me as she gave it,
‘Let not e’er the charm be known;
O’er thy person freely lave it,
Only when thou art alone.’
“’Tis enclosed in yonder casket—
Here behold its golden key;
But its name—love, do not ask it,
Tell’t I may not, even to thee!”
Long with vow and kiss he plied her;
Still the secret did she keep,
Till at length he sank beside her,
Seemed as he had dropped to sleep.
Soon was Helen laid in slumber,
When her Paris, rising slow,
Did his fair neck disencumber
From her rounded arms of snow.
Then, her heedless fingers oping,
Takes the key and steals away,
To the ebon table groping,
Where the wondrous casket lay;
Eagerly the lid uncloses,
Sees within it, laid aslope,
Pears’ Liquid Bloom of Roses,
Cakes of his Transparent Soap!
A Warning.
Lose thou no time! A grave and solemn warning,
Yet seldom ta’en, to man’s eternal cost.
Night wanes, day lessens, evening, noon, and morning
Flit by unseen, and yet much time is lost.
And why? Are moments useless as the vapour
That rises from the lamp’s extinguish’d flame!
Why do we, like the moth around the taper,
Sport with the fire that must consume our frame?
Be wise in time! Arouse thee, oh thou sleeper,
Account thy moments dearer than thy gold;
While time thou hast, appoint a good time-keeper
To treasure up thine hours till thou art old.
Lose but this chance, and thou art lost for ever,—
Seek him who keeps a watch for sinking souls—
Ask for Cox Savory’s Horizontal Lever,
With double case, and jewell’d in four holes!
To Persons About to Marry.
Gentle pair, ere Hymen binds you
In his fetters, soft but sure,
Pray, bethink you, have you ever
Had substantial furniture?
Love’s a fickle god, they tell us,
Giddy-pated, lightly led,
Therefore it were well you found him
In a comfortable bed.
Olive branches soon will blossom
Round your table, two or three;
And that table should be made of
Good and strong mahogany.
If the cares of life should gather,
And we all must look for cares,—
Sorrow falls extremely lightly
In the midst of rosewood chairs.
Few that walk can ’scape a stumble,
Thus hath said The Prophet-King;
But your fall will be a light one
On Axminster carpeting.
We can keep your little children
From collision with the grate—
We have wardrobes, we have presses
At a reasonable rate;
Mirrors for the queen of beauty
Basins of the purest stone,
Ottomans which Cleopatra
Might have envied on her throne.
Seek us ere you taste with rapture
Love’s sweet draught of filter’d honey,
And you’ll find the safest plan is,
No Discount, and Ready Money!
Want Places.
Wants a place a lad, who’s seen
Pious life at brother Teazle’s,
Used to cleaning boots, and been
Touch’d with grace, and had the measles.
* * * * *
Wants a place as housemaid, or
Companion to a bachelor,
Up in years, and who’d prefer
A person with no character,
A female, who in this respect,
Would leave him nothing to object.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
