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Moore: Tory Pledges
I pledge myself to be no more
With Ireland's wrongs bepros'd or shamm'd,—
I vote her grievances a bore,
So she may suffer, and be d d.
Or if she kick, let it console us,
We still have plenty of red coats,
To cram the Church, that general bolus,
Down any giv'n amount of throats.
I dearly love the Frankfort Diet,—
Think newspapers the worst of crimes;
And would, to give some chance of quiet,
Hang all the writers of The Times;
Break all their correspondents' bones,
All authors of 'Reply', 'Rejoinder',
From the Anti-Tory, Colonel J es,
To the Anti-Suttee, Mr P-ynd-r.
Such are the Pledges I propose;
And though I can't now offer gold,
There's many a way of buying those
Who've but the taste for being sold.
So here's, with three times three hurrahs,
A toast, of which you'll not complain,—
'Long life to jobbing; may the days
Of Peculation shine again!'
THOMAS MOORE
ON A SQUINTING POETESS
To no one Muse does she her glance confine,
But has an eye, at once, to all the Nine.
THOMAS MOORE
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