FROM THE RIGHT HON. PATRICK DUIGENAN
TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN NICHOL.
Last week, dear Nichol, making merry
At dinner with our Secretary,
When all were drunk or pretty near
(The time for doing business here),
Says he to me, "Sweet Bully Bottom!
"These Papist dogs--hiccup--'od rot 'em!--
"Deserve to be bespattered--hiccup--
"With all the dirt even _you_ can pick up.
"But, as the Prince (here's to him--fill--
"Hip, hip, hurra!)--is trying still
"To humbug them with kind professions,
"And as _you_ deal in _strong_ expressions--
"_Rogue"--"traitor_"--hiccup--and all that--
"You must be muzzled, Doctor Pat!--
"You must indeed--hiccup--that's flat."--
Yes--"muzzled" was the word Sir John--
These fools have clapt a muzzle on
The boldest mouth that e'er run o'er
With slaver of the times of yore![1]--
Was it for this that back I went
As far as Lateran and Trent,
To prove that they who damned us then
Ought now in turn be damned again?
The silent victim still to sit
Of Grattan's fire and Canning's wit,
To hear even noisy Mathew gabble on,
Nor mention once the Whore of Babylon!
Oh! 'tis too much--who now will be
The Nightman of No-Popery?
What Courtier, Saint or even Bishop
Such learned filth will ever fish up?
If there among our ranks be one
To take my place, 'tis _thou_, Sir John;
Thou who like me art dubbed Right Hon.
Like me too art a Lawyer Civil
That wishes Papists at the devil.
To whom then but to thee, my friend,
Should Patrick[2] his Port-folio send?
Take it--'tis thine--his learned Port-folio,
With all its theologic olio
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman--
Of Doctrines now believed by no man--
Of Councils held for men's salvation,
Yet always ending in damnation--
(Which shows that since the world's creation
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming,
Have always had a taste for damning,)
And many more such pious scraps,
To prove (what _we've_ long proved, perhaps,)
That mad as Christians used to be
About the Thirteenth Century,
There still are Christians to be had
In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad!
Farewell--I send with this, dear Nichol,
A rod or two I've had in pickle
Wherewith to trim old Grattan's jacket.--
The rest shall go by Monday's packet.