So great on the Church were O'Meara's designs
That he prov'd too ambitious a spark;
But where is the wonder, ye learned divines,
That the parson should follow the Clarke?
March 19, 1809. Samson Asleep on the Lap of Delilah. Published by T. Tegg.—The Duke of York is following the example of the famous slayer of Philistines. He is sunk in slumber, with his head on the lap of his treacherous Delilah; a pile of love-letters, addressed to his 'dearest dear,' are sufficiently indicative of his infatuation. Mrs. Clarke, who is represented in the print as a by no means repulsive-looking temptress, has taken advantage of the hero's unconsciousness to chop off his full pigtail, and she is holding up the severed caudal appendage, as an encouragement to the enemies of the helpless Commander-in-Chief to take advantage of their opportunity: 'Gentlemen, you may now take him with safety, his strength is gone; I have cut off his regulation tail, and there is no danger!'
March 24, 1809. The Resignation, or John Bull overwhelmed with Grief. Published by T. Tegg.—The departing Commander-in-Chief, in his regimentals, as he is invariably represented, is trying to harrow John Bull's sympathies before he deprives him of his valuable services: 'Good bye, Johnny; I am going to resign; but don't take it so much to heart; perhaps I may very soon come back again!'[20]
The good-natured national prototype is keeping up a show of affliction under the approaching bereavement; but, although he is concealing his face with his handkerchief, a smile lurks round the corner of his mouth as he sobs out somewhat equivocally in reply: 'O dunna, dunna go! it will break my heart to part with you—you be such a desperate moral character!'
March 24, 1809. The Prodigal Son's Resignation.—The stout sinner is humbling himself before the throne. A portion of the King's figure is concealed; the Duke of York has laid his Resignation, together with his coat, sword, and cocked-hat, at the paternal feet, and, kneeling in his denuded state, he is quoting the words of the parable of the Prodigal Son: 'Father, I have sinned before thee, and I am no longer worthy to be called thy son.' The monarch, who seems deeply affected by the spectacle of his favourite son's abasement, is returning: 'Very naughty boy! very naughty boy indeed! However, I forgive you; but don't do so any more.'
March 29, 1809. Mrs. Clarke's Last Effort. Published by T. Tegg.—The delicate investigation being concluded, the fair mover, Mrs. Clarke, was, as the satirists suggested, left without occupation; and Rowlandson has accordingly represented that she might employ her talents to advantage in opening an inn a little way out of town; she is pictured as the landlady of Clarke & Co's Original Tavern, from the York Hotel, London. Members of the Army, the Church, a Quaker, and others are hurrying up to extend their patronage to the new establishment. Mrs. Clarke, bent on hospitable intents, is encouraging her old friends to return and rally round: 'Come forward, gentlemen; you'll all be welcome. Every little helps':—
Your rhino rattle—come—
Men and cattle—come—
All to Mrs. Clarke O
Of trouble and monies
I'll ease you, my Honies,
And leave you in the dark O.
March 30, 1809. The York Dilly, or the Triumph of Innocence. Published by T. Tegg.—A coach full of learned gentlemen, driven by a Counsel in his robes, is passing through an enthusiastic crowd; the charioteer is declaring: 'I thought we should bring him through.' The Duke of York is in the boot, apparently, 'blowing his own trumpet;' a placard, wreathed in laurel, is on the roof of the carriage, announcing, Acquitted. Glorious majority of 82.
The people are uproariously demonstrative; they are shouting: 'Huzza! glorious news for Old England!' females are encouraging their husbands to cheer; the figure of Mrs. Clarke is represented bursting through the multitude and shaking her fists at her late 'protector,' while a stout Churchman by her side is loyally protesting, 'I always said he was innocent!'
April 1, 1809. Doctor O'Meara's Return to his Family, after Preaching before Royalty. Published by T. Tegg.—The reverend divine has returned home to his comely spouse and family in such an elated frame of mind—skipping about, to the derangement of his ecclesiastic dignity, and losing his wig and hat—that his wife is enquiring: 'Why, my dear, you are quite frantic; what is the matter with you?' The Doctor is replying, in ecstasy, jumping higher than ever: 'Frantic?—I believe I am—I have been preaching before Royalty—our fortunes are made—such a sermon—neat text—quarter of an hour's discourse—appropriate prayer at the conclusion—Oh! to see them cry it would have melted a heart of stone—Oh bless that Mrs. Clarke; I shall never forget her!'