I sing in praise of our old Castle Walls,
Its tilts and tournaments, fêtes and balls;
Of the great Dodo, and his humble bride,
Daughter of the far-famed Edmund Ironside,
Whose son Athelstan its Towers erected,
Whose successors its buildings for centuries protected;
Of the martial achievements of great Simon Ward,
Of his noble descendant becoming its Lord;
Of its loyal defence in the great revolution,
Its destruction by fire, and its sad dissolution.
I sing of the days of chivalry,
Of the noble spirit of rivalry.
When every knight detested a sinner,
And swore to be true to his fair Dulcinea.
When each one received the accolade,
And was dubb'd and in costly mail array'd,
With a strippling squire to carry his shield,
Determin'd to conquer and never to yield
To any power but the power above,
For the sake of his bright-eyed lady-love.
I sing of the tournaments of old,
When every knight with a spirit bold,
Dash'd his gauntlet into the ring,
Defying all comers from peasant to king.
Strange times were these, when the Lord of the Castle,
With bondsmen and freemen excited with wassail,
Rush'd on their neighbours by day and by night,
Shouting vociferously, "Might shall be right!"
E'en in the days of our good Queen Bess,
Ashwood and Priestwood were forced to confess
The power of seven score madden'd with wine,
Who stole their best oxen, their sheep and their kyne.
These customs were past when our Earl's noble ancestor
Fair Frances won, and the Lord of all blest her
With children whose numerous descendants were famed
For talents, for actions, for virtues oft named,--
Talents acknowledged by Peel, Byron, Moore,
Kings, Lords and Commons, by the rich and the poor--
By Oxford and Cambridge, by linguists, by all,
By the foes of old England, far and near, great and small.
Actions engraved on the hearts of the people,
And telling their story from steeple to steeple.
Virtues in Heaven's blest mansions recorded,
Where the vile never go, and the pure are rewarded.
I care not for critics, 'cased in temples of marble,
Sending forth bombshells and missiles of garble,
'Gainst the wide reputation of Dudley's great Earl,--
Let them come forth, and their banners unfurl,
With their mischievous motto, "Wealth's all my eye;"
Go back, silly mortals, and mind the small fry,
And we'll give a shout of exuberant joy,
For our great benefactor, that broth of a boy,
Who never deserts us in time of great need,--
Noble patron, we heartily wish thee God speed!
Thy bounty has blest many a worthy civilian,
And given enjoyment and fun to the million.
Our Whitsuntide fêtes on the Castle to wit:
But stay, this long metre this subject won't fit.
Reader, with your permission,
I'll make a short digression;
For brevity is best, no doubt,
When wit, fun, frolic, are about.
The Castle Fêtes, alas! alas!
Let them to oblivion pass,
With the ugly Balance Sheet,
Afraid the public eye to meet;
We no doubt can do without it,
Therefore say no more about it.
Why rave, and rant, and grumble? Zounds!
The gains exceed a thousand pounds!
In spite of the great defalcation,
And the costly presentation,
Sufficient to clothe and equip a score
Of the "Dudley Volunteer Rifle Corps."
I now sing of the blind man's happy home,
The Asylum for those who care not to roam,
The magnificent gift of our patron and friend,--
May his praises resound to the wide world's end.
'Twas a gladdening sight, it did one's heart good,
When he laid the foundation stone, humbly he stood,
'Midst the ragged, and wretched, and the poor cast-away,
The well-to-do folk, and the great and the gay,--
Proclaiming "My worldly possessions I owe
To the Ruler of all things above and below,
And through life my earnest endeavour shall be
To distribute those blessings given to me."
Well spoken, my Lord, may your stewardship meet
The approval of Him who knows no deceit;
Then when titles and grandeur shall crumble to dust,
Your soul will be found 'mongst the righteous and just.
And now let us sing of the great Deputation,
With address clothed in gold, a sweet gratulation.
To Himley they journey'd without ostentation,
Made their bows and delivered a first-rate oration.
So flattering, so powerful, it caused quite a sensation,--
And ended at last with the Earl's observation,
"My friends, your respect has my warm approbation;
"I pray you partake of a cold collation."
Each one took his seat without hesitation,
Eat and drank and talk'd o'er the affairs of the nation,
And the Captain delivered a long peroration,
So fulsome, it met with the Earl's condemnation.
The business being o'er, and the Mayor's invitation
Accepted, each went to his own habitation.
And the Mayor, uplifted with such exultation,
Sends forth the following proclamation:
"O yes! O yes! be it known to all men,
(We never shall see the like again),
On the 28th instant we hold our Banquet!
And after the 19th no seats will be let--
A guinea a piece--'Hark! forward, boys, hark!'
Signed, P. G. M., L. M. N. O. P., C. F. G. (Clerk)."
'Twas a splendid affair, all the tickets were taken,
And they sat down to fish, flesh, fowl, and bacon.
The Mayor took the chair, and the Bailiff was Vice,--
_Vice versa_, some thought would have been the best choice.
The great guest was welcom'd with loud acclamation,
And the nobles were greeted with kind adulation:
Talented Lyttelton, "honourable" Ward,
(Promoters of progress, stem foes to discord,)
The great Dean of Worcester, the immaculate Paul,
The Sheriff whom no power on earth can appal:
These were the guests that graced the Mayor's table,
Men full of good works, free, willing, and able
To assist us in all things pertaining to good,
To bodily comforts and spiritual food.
And besides, there were present the renown'd Dr. Browne,
The unknown Doctor D., and the _élite_ of the town,
All the Clergy of the Established Church were there,
Only one Chapel preacher thought fit to appear.
Ten magistrates (bless 'em), a glorious batch,
Like jolly good fellows, came up to the scratch;
Exclusive of them there appear'd twenty-two,
In the Coal and Iron trade some few good and true.
Eight respectable lawyers, five doctors, four quacks,
Seven victuallers, four sellers of leather and wax,
Eight drapers and tailors, the glass-master Renaud,
One hatter, one painter, one printer, one Howard;
Tom and John the surveyors, fond of all things good;
The important ex-Mayor, and the little Ned Wood,
Tom Smart the butcher, and the millionaire Guest,
Fourteen agents (two ticketless) make up the rest:
Numbering one hundred and twenty and nine,
And all pleased with their excellent dinner and wine.
The cloth was drawn, and the plate went round,
And in lieu of two tickets two guineas were found:
The shorthands were call'd from the taproom below,
By the Clerk and Committee, yet none would go;
Inducements were offered, but all was in vain,
The help of reporters they could not obtain,--
They'd insulted most grossly the "fourth estate,"
And all they could say would not compensate;
Its reporters they forced from their usual places,
(A thing never known e'en at prize-fights and races),
And sent them down stairs till the stuffing was o'er,
And then "This way, gentlemen, to the next floor."
Why the dirtiest hole throughout all the nation
Could not have display'd less civilization.
Amidst great confusion, and cries of "Chair, chair!"
The business proceeded by our eloquent Mayor,
Proposing so brilliantly each loyal toast,
I'm afraid he disturbed old Demosthenes' ghost.
He came to the Bishops and Clergy at last,
And on the great Doctor his north twinkler cast
Up jumps the bold Doctor and spouted away,
'Bout Dudley's great Earl, whom none can gainsay
"Look at his acts and his kind liberality,
"Especially confined to this favour'd locality.
Then he spoke of St. Thomas's tottering steeple,
And the need of a church for the Cemetery people:
"Much money is wanted, but little is found;
"Will you suffer God's Temple to fall to the ground?
"Let the Town Hall and such useless fabrics be floor'd,
"But let not my Church and your vestry be lower'd;
"I claim your support and your very best wishes,
"For the sake of the long lost loaves and fishes."
And now comes the toast, the toast of the day,
"The great Earl of Dudley"--huzza! and huzza!!!
'Twas given by Blackwell in a splendid oration,
Boldly deliver'd without ostentation,
Free from all twaddle and mean adulation.
He gained great applause from beginning to end,
And the Earl was pleased to call him "his friend."
(This Blackbird, so flighty, sagacious, and clever,
In crossing a Brooke, once display'd a white feather.)
But what said the Earl in reply to the toast?
Magnanimous sentiments! could the town boast
Of another like him, we'd have nothing to fear,
All would be prosperous year after year.
He spoke like a man of the warmest sincerity,
Express'd his desire for Dudley's prosperity,
Declar'd he was willing to do all he could
Towards all things pertaining to public good.
Improvements were wanted all over the town--
The dirty old Town Hall he'd have taken down;
And hop'd he should see, in a very short time,
More refinement in all things, less ignorance and crime.
Ye pooh-poohing puppies, ye foul-mouthed jokers,
Contemptible cynics, and broken-down croakers,
Your rancorous shafts can't harm or offend
Our high-minded leader, our patriot and friend.
Go to bed, rantipoles, your day's on the wane;
Lie still, for you'll never be wanted again.
The Earl in due time gave "Long life to the Mayor,"
And the chairman responded in terms rich and rare;
He talk'd of his "_Earlship's_ well-known _festivalities_,"
Our local inducements, our strange nationalities.
Of his "READING at Himley the great Deputation,"
And his "_Earlship's_" high and magnificent station.
The guests were astounded at language so able,
And the Earl, overcome, dropp'd his head on the table.
Lord Lyttelton fancied it could not last long,
So balanced a spoon on the tip of his tongue!!
It ended at last with a hem and a haw,
And the Mayor sat down with immense _eclât_.
The High Bailiff came out with his "verbalized finery",
Inexplicable terms and unmeaning irony.
The town and the Trade, and Squire Knight's quackery
He prefers the year round to Dickens or Thackeray;
He loves the black country--may nothing upset it,--
For though he may leave it, he'll never forget it.
Mr. Haden replied to the "Coal and Iron Trade,"
In language concise, unadorned, unarrayed.
Our Captain, as bold, as the heroes of Rome,
Proposed "Lady Ward" and the old house at home.
Our Lord Lieutenant, whom all men adore,
Drank success to our Volunteer Rifle Corps.
Th' intelligent Fred, whom the world scarcely knows,
In an eloquent speech, thought fit to propose
The health of the Sheriff, whom none can gainsay,
His namesake and friend, and the County's mainstay.
To the "Sports of the Field," Will Grazebrook replied
In a humorous speech which none can deride:
Yet, sad to relate, when this sportsman departed,
Full of good cheer, light-headed, light-hearted,
On his travels towards home he upset a trap,
Which eventually proved a serious mishap.
The coachman pull'd up, but all advice scorning,
"Drive on," cried his master, "I'll call in the morning."
Shame! shame! Billy Grazebrook; if a fox had been there
You'd have been at the death, and not in the rear;
But alas! a fond husband has now to bewail
The loss of his lov'd one: so here ends my tale.
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