news arrived that Bellingham had shot Mr. Perceval. As the catastrophe in the original related to the unfortunate Minister, and as the insane perpetrator of the dreadful deed was a Liverpool man, the verses were withdrawn, and were not published till some months afterwards, with the supplement to the first volume of the Mercury, with the substitution of Lord Castlereagh's name for that of Mr. Perceval. Had the verses appeared as originally intended, in the Mercury of May 15, it would have been somewhat remarkable that on the very day when the news of the assassination of Mr. Perceval reached Liverpool, a Liverpool paper contained an anticipation of a violent outrage committed on him, and that the perpetrator of the crime was a Liverpool We are not quite sure that we should not have been accused by our political enemies of being aware of Bellingham's intentions, as the Tory faction are not very nice in such matters.
SCENE.-ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL.
A few evenings since, after perusing the clear and convincing evidence given by Mr. Attwood and others, at the bar of the House of Commons, respecting the injurious ef fects of our Orders in Council, (to which I fear may be traced, in a great degree, the riots and disorders which have lately disgraced the country,) I fell into a kind of reverie, during which, war, famine, slavery, bankruptcy, plots, and murders, passed in melancholy succession before my fancy. At length, a profound sleep overtook me, while the same gloomy train of ideas continued to haunt my imagination. On a sudden, I found myself transported to the House of
Commons, where I found one of the Members in the very act of presenting a congratulatory Address to Ministers, one clause of which expressed a hope that they would not so far concede to popular clamour as to rescind the Orders in Council.
A fragment of this dream I have endeavoured to render into verse. In point of time, it commences at the moment when the Member, to whom I have alluded, had just commenced his speech.
He scarce had spoke, when the vivid lightning's glare,
And awful peals of thunder rend the air!
So loud, so strange, it well nigh broke my sleep,
When, lo! in rush'd a mighty flock of sheep!
A Ram, their leader, of gigantic size,
Whose fiery look th' astonished House defies,
In marshall'd order draws his fleecy corps,
Such as no mortal eye e'er saw before;
A flag, inscrib'd "Revenge!" seem'd to be borne
High on a black bell-wether's branching horn;
Two rams, as sentries, at the portal pace,
To keep the frighted members in the place;
Whilst from full many a cheek methought there fled
The roseate hue at sight of foes so dread?
Whose withering looks such direful vengeance hurl'd,
'Twas plain they were no muttons of this world!
Now General Ram the awful silence broke,
And thus in voice of loudest thunder spoke :
"Behold the spirits of an injur'd race-
We once were sheep, whilst in this earthly place,
But now transplanted to a happier spot,
For ever free from butchers and the rot."
This awful prelude to the Ram's oration
Put half the Commons into consternation;
And yet there were amidst the trying scene,
A few who stood with firm, unalter'd mien,
Friends to their country ;-whom the Ram espies,
And turning from the Treasury bench his eyes,
With soften'd voice proceeds, "Hail, noble few!
We only war against a venal crew,
Who've turn'd our spotless skins to such vile uses,
As base petitions for the worst abuses!
No sheep of common sense would e'er repine,
Though on our mutton man each day may dine;
Our fleecy coats contentedly we yield,
From winter's blasts your feeble frames to shield;
Nor do we deem you guilty of a sin
For manufacturing parchments from our skin:
'Tis Heav'ns high will, that in our mortal state,
We should be slaves, and we submit to fate.
But man, who boasts his origin divine,
Still counteracts his Maker's wise design!—
Our spotless skins, though we're most peaceful cattle,
You use for drums to stir you up to battle!
For base addresses too, for war and slavery,
Against reform-thongh tender still of knavery!
Against the civil rights too of your neighbours,
Your Cath❜lic brothers, though they share your labours!
And now, whilst through the land plots and disorders,
Famine and murder mark your' Council Orders,'
In favour of these most pernicious measures,
They who from war and spoil derive their treasures
On our dishonour'd skins, oh! dire disgrace!
Write base addresses to this 'Commons' Place!'
But why thus waste our breath, when here we know
The authors sit from whom these evils flow?
We come this day, determin'd to expel 'em,
For turning to such shameful use our vellum !"
The Ram here paus'd;-the House was mute as death,
The speechless Speaker scarcely drew his breath;
Whilst Doctor Duigenan, Ryder, Stephen, Rose,
With horror view'd their deadly four-legg'd foes,
As did the renegado, Castlereagh,
Who, sighing, "Oh! my country," swoon'd away.
Methought two Gen'rals seem'd to show contrition,
At bitter thoughts of many a vile petition
Against the horrid Slave-trade abolition!
Whilst many a Boroughmong'ring sinecurist,
And some whom, waking, I had deem'd the purest,
Both Whigs and Tories, seem'd struck dumb with awe
At the mysterious things they heard and saw.
And now great General Ram thus spoke his flock:
"No more these tyrants shall our patience mock,
Let each brave sheep his duty well discharge,
Revenge! Revenge! Charge! noble muttons, Charge!"
It far exceeds my Muse's flight,
To paint the horrors of the fight.
An Irish troop rush'd foremost in the fray
On Doctor Duigenan and Lord Castlereagh,
Forming a union with an English flock,
In front and rear the bigots felt the shock:
At length, methought, so desperate hard they ram'd them,
Beneath the Treasury bench they fairly jam'd them,
Where, for the first time, from this fav'rite station,
They roar'd out lustily, "Emancipation!"
And now, methought, I mark'd a sable host,
Whose wool bespoke them of Angola's coast,
Headlong rush'd on, two Generals to defeat,
By practice taught, one made a good retreat,+
The other, more courageous, scorn'd to fly,
Boldly resolved to conquer or to die:-
But what, alas! can human power avail,
When supernatural battering rams assail ?
The mightiest chief, like Tarleton, must turn tail.
I could but smile to see a lambkin start,
As if to rush on Mister Vansittart,
Then check his speed, and, ba-a-ing, turn his back,
Disdaining so inglorious an attack.
A tough stout Ram resolved to have a bout
With Old Jack Fuller, whom he challeng'd out;
By wine inspir'd, the Knight car'd not a damn,
But stagger'd forth to grapple with the Ram :
By wond'rous luck his pate receiv'd the stroke,
And his foe's horn in countless shivers broke,
Whilst Jack lay bellowing stretch'd out on the floor,
Not much more senseless than he was before.
And now a troop of half-wild mountain sheep,
Roving freebooters of the craggy steep,
Forming a junction with a Hampshire flock,
From Botley, mingle in the battle's shock,§
Overwhelming with an irresistive rage,
The hero of our Ex-officio age.
It was a Libel on Sir Vicary Gibbs,
"Malice prepense was proved against-his ribs.
At length, by way of finishing their sport,
They toss'd him through the window out of court.
And now, strange sight! methought nine head of mutton
Rush'd furious, rump in front, on Manners Sutton;
And whilst fierce lightnings from their eye-balls flash,
With their "Nine-tails his naked back they lash.||
* In allusion to the Slave Trade.
+ General Gascoyne.
Fuller, generally called Old Jack Fuller, who used to cause great laughter in the House by his oddities; he once threatened to throw his chair at the Speaker.
When this was written Cobbett had a somewhat better title to respect for political integrity than he has subsequently been found to merit.
In allusion to the Cat-of-nine-tails;-Mr. Manners Sutton, at that time of day, was a warm advocate for the lash.
A numerous legion from Columbia's strand,
Leagu'd with an English and Hibernian band,
Yorke, Ryder, Croker, and old Rose attack,
Who fought with Peel and Stephen, back to back;
A furious Tup one branching horn had driven
Into the hinder parts of Master Stephen;
Then rushing headlong with the other, stuck it
Into old Rose, who, roaring, "kick'd the bucket."*
And now, methought, I chanc'd to turn my face
Towards Viscount Castlereagh's sly hiding-place,
Who saw, half dead with fright, the gath'ring storm,
Nor deem'd him safe beneath the Treasury form;
Near him it seem'd a large green bag there lay,
The same the Viscount brought up t'other day
To stow the Habeas Corpus Act away.
And now the bag with trembling hand he reaches,
And crams with haste, methought, into his breeches,
In hopes thereby to make himself bomb-proof;
And then more safely quit St. Stephen's roof.
But General Ram, who'd not yet join'd the battle,
But still watch'd every motion of his cattle,
Now deem'd it time to join the busy fray,
And, by one blow decisive, turn the day:
Full drive he charges, with intent to meet
And cut off Castlereagh's proposed retreat :
His branching horn just caught the Viscount's breeches,
And o'er his head him and the green bag pitches.
Then as the Ram, receding from his foe,
Collects fresh force to follow up the blow,
The Noble Viscount utter'd such a scream
That I awoke, and, lo! 'twas all a dream.
These trans-atlantic sheep were incited to rage by the petitions against rescinding the Orders in Council, by which the commerce with America was annihilated.
Addressed to a Friend, who expressed great impatience at hearing a certain Orator make a very long speech, “full of sound and fury signifying nothing."
When you, my friend, heard Proser prate,
Why should you feel so much displeasure?
For though his speech is short of weight,
You can't deny he gives full measure.
|