LONDON LYRICS.
THE AUCTIONEER'S ODE TO MERCURY.
Air.—A German Bravura.
Hermes, god of cheats and chatter,
Wave thy smooth caduceus here—
Now that, pulpit-propp'd, I flatter;
Hermes, god of cheats and chatter,
Smile, oh smile on Mr. Smatter,
Aid an humble Auctioneer!
Wave thy smooth caduceus here,
O'er an humble Auctioneer!
With its virtues tip my hammer,
Model my Grammar,
Nor let me stammer.
First, here's Sackbut's Song of Slaughter;
Verse and prose, the Laureat Otter,
Floats along, diluting song
In milk and water.
Next (who'll buy?) here's Love in Little,
Smooth as glass and eke as brittle;
Here are posies, lilies, roses,
Cupid's slumbers—out in numbers,
Pouting, fretting, fly-not-yetting,
Rosa's lip and Rosa's sign—
For one pound six—who'll buy, who'll buy?
Here's Doctor Aikin, Sims on Baking,
Booth in Cato quoting Plato,
Jacob Tonson, Doctor Johnson,
Russia binding, touch and try—
Nothing bid—who'll buy, who'll buy?
Here's Mr. Hayley, Doctor Paley,
Arthur Murphy, Tommy Durfey,
Mrs. Trimmer's little Primer,
Buckram binding, touch and try—
Nothing bid—who'll buy, who'll buy?
Here's Colley Cibber, Bruce the fibber,
Plays of Cherry, ditto Merry,
Tickle, Mickle,
When I bow and when I wriggle,
With a simper and a giggle,
Ears regaling, bidders nailing,
Ladies utter in a flutter—
"Mister Smatter, how you chatter,
Dear, how clever! well, I never
Heard so eloquent a man!"
Tropes purloining, graces coining,
Glibly I, without repentance,
Clip each sentence.
But, to give each lot its station,
Ere from pulpit I dismount
God of recapitulation,
Hermes, aid me while I count—
Aikin, Baking, Cato, Plato,
Cibber, Fibber—Cherry, Merry,
Hayley, Paley—Secker, Decker,
Tickle, Mickle—Tonson, Johnson,
Literary Caliban.
Forty-seven! Oh, far too thrifty—
Thank'ee, Ma'am—two places—fifty!
Must it go? oh, surely no!
Only eye me, then deny me.
When I bow and when I wriggle,
With a simper and a giggle,
Ears regaling, bidders nailing,
Ladies utter in a flutter—
"Mister Smatter, how you chatter—
Dear, how clever! well, I never
Heard so eloquent a man!"
Tongue of Mentor, lungs of Stentor,
Hermes, thou hast made mine own.
Cox and Robins own, with sobbings,
I'm the winner; Dyke and Skinner
Never caught so glib a tone.
Dull and misty, Squibb and Christie,
When I mount look pale and wan—
Going, going, going—gone!
New Monthly Magazine.