A Bishop and a bold dragoon,
Both heroes in their way,
Did thus, of late, one afternoon,
Unto each other say:—
"Dear bishop," quoth the brave huzzar,
"As nobody denies
"That you a wise logician are,
"And I am—otherwise,
"'Tis fit that in this question, we
"Stick each to his own art—
"That yours should be the sophistry,
"And mine the fighting part.
"My creed, I need not tell you, is
"Like that of Wellington,
"To whom no harlot comes amiss,
"Save her of Babylon;
"And when we're at a loss for words,
"If laughing reasoners flout us,
"For lack of sense we'll draw our swords—
"The sole thing sharp about us."—
"Dear bold dragoon," the bishop said,
"'Tis true for war thou art meant;
"And reasoning—bless that dandy head!
"Is not in thy department.
"So leave the argument to me—
"And, when my holy labor
"Hath lit the fires of bigotry,
"Thou'lt poke them with thy sabre.
"From pulpit and from sentrybox,
"We'll make our joint attacks,
"I at the head of my Cassocks,
"And you, of your Cossacks.
"So here's your health, my brave huzzar,
"My exquisite old fighter—
"Success to bigotry and war,
"The musket and the mitre!"
Thus prayed the minister of heaven—
While York, just entering then,
Snored out (as if some Clerk had given
His nose the cue) "Amen."
THE WELLINGTON SPA.
"And drink oblivion to our woes."
Anna Matilda.
1829.
Talk no more of your Cheltenham and Harrowgate springs,
'Tis from Lethe we now our potations must draw;
Yon Lethe's a cure for—all possible things,
And the doctors have named it the Wellington Spa.
Other physical waters but cure you in part;
One cobbles your gout—t'other mends your digestion—
Some settle your stomach, but this—bless your heart!—
It will settle for ever your Catholic Question.
Unlike too the potions in fashion at present,
This Wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth,
So purges the memory of all that's unpleasant,
That patients forget themselves into rude health.
For instance, the inventor—his having once said
"He should think himself mad if at any one's call,
"He became what he is"—is so purged from his head
That he now doesnt think he's a madman at all.
Of course, for your memories of very long standing—
Old chronic diseases that date back undaunted
To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens' first landing—
A devil of a dose of the Lethe is wanted.
But even Irish patients can hardly regret
An oblivion so much in their own native style,
So conveniently planned that, whate'er they forget,
They may go on remembering it still all the while!