But he held in hand what must be his apology,
A short treatise he'd written on British Geology;
And this journal, he hoped, of his studies last week,
In philosophy, chemistry, logic, and Greek,
Might appear on perusal: but not to go far
In proclaiming his merits—his name was Tom Carr:
And for proofs of his talents, deserts, and what not,
He appeal'd to Miss Baillie, Lord Byron, and Scott."
Here his speech was cut short by a hubbub below,
And in walk'd Messrs. Maturin, Cookesly, and Co.,
And begg'd leave to present to his majesty's finger—
If he'd please to accept—No. 5 of the Linger.{5}
Mr. Maturin "hoped he the columns would view
With unprejudiced judgment, and give them their due,
Nor believe all the lies, which perhaps he had seen,
In that vile publication, that base magazine,{6}
Which had dared to impeach his most chaste lucubrations,
Of obscenity, nonsense, and such accusations.
Nay, that impudent work had asserted downright,
That chalk differ'd from cheese, and that black wasn't white;
But he hoped he might meet with his majesty's favor;"
And thus, hemming and hawing, he closed his palaver.
Now the god condescended to look at the papers,
But the first word he found in them gave him the vapours:
For the eyes of Apollo, ye gods! 'twas a word
Quite unfit to be written, and more to be heard;
'Twas a word which a bargeman would tremble to utter,
And it put his poor majesty all in a flutter;
But collecting his courage, his laurels he shook,
And around on the company cast such a look,
That e'en Turin and Dumpling slank off to the door,
And the Lion was far too much frighten'd to roar;
5 An Eton periodical of the time.
6 The College Magazine.
While poor Carr was attack'd with such qualms at the breast,
That he took up his journal, and fled with the rest.
When the tumult subsided, and peace 'gan to follow,
Goddard enter'd the room, with three cards for Apollo,
And some papers which, hardly five minutes before,
Three respectable gownsmen had left at the door.
With a smile of good humour the god look'd at each,
For he found that they came from Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.{7}
Blunt sent him a treatise of science profound,
Showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound;
Some "Remarks on Debates," and some long-winded stories,
Of society Whigs, and society Tories;
And six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation,
On the present most wicked and dull generation.
From Chapman came lectures on Monk, and on piety;
On Simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety;
With most clear illustrations, and critical notes,
On his own right exclusive of canvassing votes.
From Neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme,
Satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime;
But he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse,
For his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse.
Phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three,
And sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea.
The affairs of the morning thus happily o'er,
Phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more,
Which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse
'Mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse:
'Mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see,
There was Howard, and Coleridge, and Wood, and Lavie,
The society's props; Curzon, major and minor,
7 Principal contributors to the Etonian.
Bowen, Hennicker, Webbe, were invited to dinner:
The theologist Buxton, and Petit, were seen,
And philosopher Jenyns, and Donald Maclean;
Bulteel too, and Dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!)
That, though many were ask'd, very few of them came.
As for Coleridge, he "knew not what right Phobus had,
d—n me, To set up for a judge in a christian academy;
And he'd not condescend to submit his Latinity,
Nor his verses, nor Greek, to a heathen divinity.
For his part, he should think his advice an affront,
Full as bad as the libels of Chapman and Blunt.
He'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good,
But he'd not go and taste it—be d—d if he would."
Dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile,
And Maclean was engaged to the duke of Argyll;
In a deep fit of lethargy Petit had sunk,
And theologist Buxton with Bishop was drunk;
Bulteel too, and Dykes, much against their own will,
Had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill;
And philosopher Jenyns was bent on his knees,
To electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas.
But the rest all accepted the god's invitation,
And made haste to prepare for this jollification.
Now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be,
But to tell every dish is too tedious for me;
Such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long,
And, besides, I must haste to the end of my song.
'Tis enough to relate that, the better to dine,
Jove sent them some nectar, and Bacchus some wine.
From Minerva came olives to crown the dessert,
And from Helicon water was sent most alert,
Of which Howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep,
That he almost fell into poetical sleep.{8}
When the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round,
"Nec fonte labra prolui C'aballino,
Nec in bicipiti sommasse Parnasso."
Persius.
Wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound,
Though Lord Chesterfield would not have call'd them polite,
For they all often burst into laughter outright.
But swift flew the moments of rapture and glee,
And too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea.
With looks most demure, each prepared with a speech,
At the table were seated Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.
Phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free,
And with easy politeness shook hands with all three;
And the party proceeded, increased to a host,
To discuss bread and butter, tea, coffee, and toast.
As their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth,
And Apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth:
With divine inspiration he kindled each mind,
Till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined;
And an evening, enliven'd by conviviality,
Proved how much they were pleased by the god's hospitality.
Thalia.{9}
9 This poem is attributed to J. Moultrie, Esq. of Trinity
college, Cambridge.
