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Well enough, in sooth, he liked that truth,

And nothing the worse for the jest;
But this was only a first thought

And in this he did not rest:
Another came presently into his head,
And here it proved, as has often been said,

That second thoughts are best.

For as Piggy plied with wind and tide,

His way with such celerity,
And at every stroke the water dyed
With his own red blood, the Devil cried,
Behold a swinish nation's pride

In cotton-spun prosperity.
He walk'd into London leisurely,

The streets were dirty and dim:
But there he saw Brothers the Prophet,

And Brothers the Prophet saw him.

He entered a thriving bookseiler's shop;

Quoth he, we are both of one college, For I myself sate like a Cormorant once

Upon the Tree of Knowledge. As he passed through Cold-Bath Fields he look'd

At a solitary cell; And he was well-pleased, for it gave him a hint

For improving the prisons of Hell.
He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands

With a cordial tug and jerk;
Nimbly, quoth he, a man's fingers move

When his heart is in his work.

a

He saw the same turnkey unsettering a man

With little expedition; And he chuckled to think of his dear slave-trade, And the long debates and delays that were made,

Concerning its abolition.

He met one of his favorite daughters

By an Evangelical Meeting:
And forgetting himself for joy at her sight,
He would have accosted her outright,

And given her a fatherly greeting.

But she tipt him the wink, drew back, and cried,

Avaunt! my name's Religion ! And then she turn'd to the preacher

And leer'd like a love-sick pigeon.

A fine man and a famous Professor was he,
As the great Alexander now may be,

Whose fame not yet o'erpast is:
Or that new Scotch performer
Who is fiercer and warmer,

The great Sir Arch-Bombastes.

With throbs and throes, and ah's and oh's,

Far famed his flock for frightning;
And thundering with his voice, the while

His eyes zigzag like lightning.

This Scotch phenomenon, I trow,

Beats Alexander hollow;
Even when most tame
He breathes more flame

Then ten Fire-Kings could swallow.

Another daughter he presently met;

With music of fife and drum,
And a consecrated flag,
And shout of tag and rag,

And march of rank and file,
Which had fill'd the crowded aisle
Of the venerable pile,

From church he saw her come.

He call’d her aside, and began to chide,

For what dost thou here? said he; My city of Rome is thy proper home,

And there's work enough there for thee.

Thou hast confessions to listen,

And bells to christen, And altars and dolls to dress;

And fools to coax,

And sinners to hoax,
And beads and bones to bless;

And great pardons to sell

For those who pay well, And small ones for those who

pay

less.

Nay, Father, I boast, that this is my post,
She answered; and thou wilt allow,

That the great Harlot,

Who is clothed in scarlet, Can very well spare me now.

Upon her business I am come here,

That we may extend our powers : Whatever lets down this church that we hate,

Is something in favor of ours.

You will not think, great Cosmocrat!

That I spend my time in fooling ; Many irons, my sire, have we in the fire,

And I must leave none of them cooling; For you must know state-councils here, Are held which I bear rule in.

When my liberal notions,

Produce mischievous motions,
There's many a man of good intent,
In either house of Parliamenty

Whom I shall find a tool in;
And I have hopeful pupils too

Who all this while are schooling.

Fine progress they make in our liberal opinions,

My Utilitarians,

My all sorts of—inians

And all sorts of-arians;

My all sorts of—ists,
And my Prigs and my Whigs

Who have all sorts of twists
Train'd in the very way, I know,

I
Father, you would have them go;

High and low,
Wise and foolish, great and small,
March-of-Intellect-Boys all.

Well pleased wilt thou be at no very far day

When the caldron of mischief boils, And I bring them forth in battle array

And bid them suspend their broils, That they may unite and fall on the prey,

For which we are spreading our toils. How the nice boys all will give mouth at the call,

Hark away! bark away to the spoils !
My Macs and my Quacks and my lawless-Jacks,
My Shiels and O'Connells, my pious Mac-Donnells,
My joke-smith Sydney, and all of his kidney,
My Humes and my Broughams,

My merry old Jerry,
My Lord Kings, and my Doctor Doyles !

At this good news, so great

The Devil's pleasure grew, That with a joyful gwish he rent

The hole where his tail came through.

His countenance fell for a moment

When he felt the stitches go;
Ah! thought he, there 's a job now

That I've made for my tailor below.

Great news! bloody news! cried a newsman;

The Devil said, Stop, let me see!
Great news ? bloody news ? thought the Devil,

The bloodier the better for me.

So he bought the newspaper, and no news

At all for his money he had. Lying varlet, thought he, thus to take in old Nick!

But it's some satisfaction, my lad, To know thou art paid beforehand for the trick,

For the sixpence I gave thee is bad.

And then it came into his head

By oracular inspiration,
That what he had seen and what he had said

In the course of this visitation,
Would be published in the Morning Post

For all this reading nation.

Therewith in second sight he saw

The place and the manner and time, In which this mortal story

Would be put in immortal rhyme.

That it would happen when two poets

Should on a time be met,
In the town of Nether Stowey,

In the shire of Somerset.

There while the one was shaving

Would he the song begin;
And the other when he heard it at breakfast,

In ready accord join in.

So each would help the other,
Two heads being better than one;

And the phrase and conceit

Would in unison meet,
And so with glee the verse flow free,
In ding-dong chime of sing-song rhyme,

Till the whole were merrily done.

And because it was set to the razor,

Not to the lute or harp,
Therefore it was that the fancy
Should be bright, and the wit be sharp.

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