George Canning and John Hookham Frere
Inscription
For the Door of the Cell in Newgate where Mrs. Brownrigg, the ‘Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her Execution.
(SOUTHEY)
For one long term, or e’er her trial came,
Here Brownrigg linger’d. Often have these cells
Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice
She scream’d for fresh Geneva. Not to her
Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street,
St. Giles, its fair varieties expand;
Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went
To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?
She whipp’d two female ‘prentices to death,
And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind
Shap’d strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes!
Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine
Of the Orthyan Goddess he bade flog
The little Spartans; such as erst chastised
Our Milton, when at college. For this act
Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come
When France shall reign, and laws be all repealed!
The Soldiers’ Friend
DACTYLICS.
(Southey)
Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here:
I am the soldiers’ friend—here are some books for you;
Nice clever books by Tom Paine the philanthropist.
Here’s half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too;
Go to the barracks and give all the soldiers some:
Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.
[Exit Drummer Boy, with Handbills and Half-Crown.
—Manet Soldier’s Friend.]
Liberty’s friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Freedom’s volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty,
Reason, philosophy, ‘fiddledum diddledum,’
Peace and fraternity, higgledy piggledy,
Higgledy piggledy, ‘fiddledum diddledum.’
Et cætera, et cætera, et cætera.
The Soldier’s Wife
Being the Quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were or ever will be written.
(SOUTHEY AND COLERIDGE)
Wearisome Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous,
Painfully dragging out thy demo-cratic lays—
Moon-stricken Sonnetteer, ‘ah! for thy heavy chance!’
Sorely thy Dactylics lag on uneven feet:
Slow is the Syllable which thou would’st urge to speed,
Lame and o’erburden’d, and ‘screaming its wretchedness!’
* * * * *61
Ne’er talk of Ears again! look at thy Spelling-book;
Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy quantities—
Dactylics, call’st thou ’em?—‘God help thee, silly one!’
The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder
Sapphics.
(SOUTHEY)
Friend of Humanity.
‘Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order—
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in’t
So have your breeches!
‘Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road, what hard work ’tis crying all day “Knives and
Scissors to grind O!”
‘Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire, or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?
‘Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
‘(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.’
Knife-grinder.
‘Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
‘Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
-Stocks for a vagrant.
‘I should be glad to drink your Honour’s health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.’
Friend of Humanity.
‘I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn’d first—
Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance;
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!’
[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]