"(To Anne.)
"Have you heard, my deer Anne, how my spirits are sunk?
Have you heard of the cause? Oh, the loss of my Trunk!
From exertion or firmness I've never yet slunk;
But my fortitude's gone with the loss of my Trunk!
Stout Lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk;
Yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my Trunk!
I'd better turn nun, and coquet with a monk;
For with whom can I flirt without aid from my Trunk!
* * * * *
Accurs'd be the thief, the old rascally hunks;
Who rifles the fair, and lays hands on their Trunks!
He, who robs the King's stores of the least bit of junk,
Is hang'd—while he's safe, who has plunder'd my Trunk!
* * * * *
There's a phrase amongst lawyers, when nune's put for tune;
But, tune and nune both, must I grieve for my Trunk!
Huge leaves of that great commentator, old Brunck,
Perhaps was the paper that lin'd my poor Trunk!
But my rhymes are all out;—for I dare not use st—k; [1]
'Twould shock Sheridan more than the loss of my Trunk!"
[Footnote 1: He had a particular horror of this word.]
From another of these trifles, (which, no doubt, produced much gaiety at the breakfast-table,) the following extracts will be sufficient:—
"Muse, assist me to complain,
While I grieve for Lady Jane.
I ne'er was in so sad a vein,
Deserted now by Lady Jane.
* * * * *
Lord Petre's house was built by Payne—
No mortal architect made Jane.
If hearts had windows, through the pane
Of mine you'd see sweet Lady Jane.
* * * * *
At breakfast I could scarce refrain
From tears at missing lovely Jane,
Nine rolls I eat, in hopes to gain
The roll that might have fall'n to Jane," &c.
Another written on a Mr. Bigg, contains some ludicrous couplets:—
"I own he's not fam'd for a reel or a jig,
Tom Sheridan there surpasses Tom Bigg.—
For lam'd in one thigh, he is obliged to go zig-
Zag, like a crab—for no dancer is Bigg.
Those who think him a coxcomb, or call him a prig,
How little they know of the mind of my Bigg!
Tho' he ne'er can be mine, Hope will catch a twig—
Two Deaths—and I yet may become Mrs. Bigg.
Oh give me, with him, but a cottage and pig,
And content I would live on Beans, Bacon, and Bigg."
A few more of these light productions remain among his papers, but their wit is gone with those for whom they were written;—the wings of Time "eripuere jocos."
Of a very different description are the following striking and spirited fragments, (which ought to have been mentioned in a former part of this work,) written by him, apparently, about the year 1794, and addressed to the Naval heroes of that period, to console them for the neglect they experienced from the Government, while ribands and titles were lavished on the Whig Seceders:—
"Never mind them, brave black Dick,
Though they've played thee such a trick—
Damn their ribands and their garters,
Get you to your post and quarters.
Look upon the azure sea,
There's a Sailor's Taffety!
Mark the Zodiac's radiant bow,
That's a collar fit for HOWE!—
And, then P—tl—d's brighter far,
The Pole shall furnish you a Star! [1]
Damn their ribands and their garters,
Get you to your post and quarters,
Think, on what things are ribands showered—
The two Sir Georges—Y—— and H—-!
Look to what rubbish Stars will stick,
To Dicky H——n and Johnny D——k!
Would it be for your country's good,
That you might pass for Alec. H——d,
Or, perhaps,—and worse by half—
To be mistaken for Sir R——h!
Would you, like C——, pine with spleen,
Because your bit of silk was green?
Would you, like C——, change your side,
To have your silk new dipt and dyed?—
Like him exclaim, 'My riband's hue
Was green—and now, by Heav'ns! 'tis blue,'
And, like him—stain your honor too?
Damn their ribands and their garters,
Get you to your post and quarters.
On the foes of Britain close,
While B——k garters his Dutch hose,
And cons, with spectacles on nose,
(While to battle you advance,)
His 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.'"
* * * * *
[Footnote 1: This reminds me of a happy application which he made, upon a
subsequent occasion, of two lines of Dryden:—