“This is the House that Jack (Bull) built.”
Once there lived, as old histories learnedly show, a
Great sailor and shipbuilder, named MISTER NOAH,
Who a hulk put together, so wondrous—no doubt of it—
That all sorts of creatures could creep in and out of it.
Things with heads, and without heads, things dumb, things loquacious,
Things with tails, and things tail-less, things tame, and things pugnacious;
Rats, lions, curs, geese, pigeons, toadies and donkeys,
Bears, dormice, and snakes, tigers, jackals, and monkeys:
In short, a collection so curious, that no man
E’er since could with NOAH compare as a show-man
At length, JOHNNY BULL, with that clever fat head of his,
Design’d a much stranger and comical edifice,
To be call’d his “NEW HOUSE”—a queer sort of menagerie
To hold all his beasts—with an eye to the Treasury.
Into this he has cramm’d such uncommon monstrosities,
Such animals rare, such unique curiosities,
That we wager a CROWN—not to speak it uncivil—
This HOUSE of BULL’S beats Noah’s Ark to the devil.
Lest you think that we bounce—the great fault, we confess, of men—
We proceed to detail some few things, as a specimen
Of what are to be found in this novel museum;
As it opens next month, you may all go and see ‘em.
Five Woods, of five shades, grain, and polish, and gilding,
Are used this diversified chamber in building.
Not a nail, bolt, or screw, you’ll discover to lurk in it,
Though six Smiths you will find every evening at work in it.
A Forman and Master you’ll see there appended too,
Whose words or instructions are never attended to.
A Leader, whom nobody follows; a pair o’ Knights,
With courage at ninety degrees of old Fahrenheit’s;
Full a hundred “Jim Crows,” wheeling round about—round about,
Yet only one Turner’s this House to be found about.
Of hogs-heads, Lord knows, there are plenty to spare of them,
But only one Cooper is kept to take care of them.
A Ryder’s maintain’d, but he’s no horse to get upon;
There’s a Packe too, and only one Pusey to set upon.
Two Palmers are kept, holy men, in this ill, grim age,
To make every night their Conservative pilgrimage.
A Fuller, for scouring old coats and redressing them;
A Taylor to fashion; and Mangles for pressing them.
Two Stewarts, two Fellowes, a Clerk, and a Baillie,
To keep order, yet each call’d to order are, daily.
A Duke, without dukedom—a matter uncommon—
And Bowes, the delight, the enchantment of woman.
This house has a Tennent, but ask for the rent of it,
He’d laugh at, and send you to Brussels or Ghent for it.
Of the animals properly call’d so, a sample
We’ll give to you gentlefolks now, for example:—
There are bores beyond count, of all ages and sizes,
Yet only one Hogg, who both learned and wise is.
There’s a Buck and a Roebuck, the latter a wicked one,
Whom few like to play with—he makes such a kick at one.
There are Hawkes and a Heron, with wings trimm’d to fly upon,
And claws to stick into what prey they set eye upon.
There’s a Fox, a smart cove, but, poor fellow, no tail he has;
And a Bruen—good tusks for a feed we’ll be bail he has.
There’s a Seale, and four Martens, with skins to our wishes;
There’s a Rae and two Roches, and all sorts of fishes;
There’s no sheep, but a Sheppard—“the last of the pigtails”—
And a Ramsbottom—chip of the old famous big tails.
Now to mention in brief a few trifles extraneous,
By connoisseurs class’d, “odds and ends miscellaneous:”—
There’s a couple of Bells—frights—nay, Hottentots real!
A Trollope, of elegance le beau ideal.
Of Browne, Green, and Scarlett men, surely a sack or more,
Besides three whole White men, preserved with a Blakemore.
There’s a Hill, and a Hutt, and a Kirk, and—astounding!
The entire of old Holland this house to be found in.
There’s a Flower, with a perfume so strong ‘twould upset ye all;
And the beauty of Somers is here found perpetual.
There’s a Bodkin, a Patten, a Rose, and a Currie,
And a man that’s still Hastie, though ne’er in a hurry.
There is Cole without smoke, a “sou’-West” without danger;
And a Grey, that to place is at present a stranger.
There’s a Peel,—but enough! if you’re a virtuoso
You’ll see for yourself, and next month you may do so;
When, if you don’t say this New House is a wonder,
We’re Dutchmen—that’s all!—and at once knuckle under.