Classic Poem

Skill'd to deceive our ears and eyes
By civil looks and civil lies,
Skill'd from the search of men to hide
His narrow bosom's inward pride,
And charm the blockheads he beguiles
By uniformity of smiles,
The County Member, bright Sir Paul,
Is Primo Buffo at the Ball.

Since first he long'd to represent
His fellow-men in Parliament,
Courted the cobblers and their spouses,
And sought his honours in mud-houses,
Full thirty springs have come and fled;
And though from off his shining head
The twin destroyers, Time and Care,
Begin to pluck its fading hair,
Yet where it grew, and where it grows,
Lie powder's never-varying snows,
And hide the havoc years have made
In kind monotony of shade.

Sir Paul is young in all but years;
And when his courteous face appears,
The maiden wall-flowers of the room
Admire the freshness of his bloom,
Hint that his face has made him vain,
And vow "he grows a boy again';
And giddy girls of gay fifteen
Mimic his manner and his mien,
And when the supple Politician
Bestows his bow of recognition,
Or forces on th' averted ear
The flattery it affects to fear;
They look, and laugh behind the fan,
And dub Sir Paul "The young old man.'

Look! as he paces round, he greets
With nod and simper all he meets:--
"Ah! ha! your Lordship! is it you
Still slave to beauty and beaux yeux?
Well! well!--and how's the gout, my Lord?--
My dear Sir Charles, upon my word
L'air de Paris, since last I knew you
Has been Medea's cauldron to you:
William! my boy! how fast you grow!
Yours is a light fantastic toe,
Wing'd with the wings of Mercury!
I was a scholar once, you see!
And how's the mare you used to ride?
And who's the Hebe by your side?--
Doctor! I thought I heard you sneeze!
How is my dear Hippocrates?
What have you done for old John Oates,
The gouty merchant with five votes?
What! dead! well! well! no fault of yours!
There is no drug that always cures!
Ah! doctor! I begin to break!
And I'm glad of it, for your sake--'

As thus the spruce M.P. runs on,
Some quiet dame, who dotes upon
His speeches, buckles, and grimace,
Grows very eloquent in praise.
"How can they say Sir Paul is proud?
I'm sure, in all the evening's crowd,
There's not a man who bows so low;
His words come out so soft and slow;
And, when he begg'd me "keep my seat,"
He look'd so civil and so sweet.'--
"Ma'am,' says her spouse, in harsher tone,
"He only wants to keep his own,'
Her Ladyship is in a huff,
And Miss, enraged at Ma's rebuff,
Rings the alarm in t'other ear:
"Lord! now, Papa, you're too severe;
Where in the country will you see
Manners so taking and so free?'
"His manners free? I only know
Our votes have made his letters so!
"And then he talks with so much ease,
And then he gives such promises!'
"Gives promises? and well he may!
You know they're all he gives away!'
"How folks misrepresent Sir Paul!'
" 'Tis he misrepresents us all!'
"How very stale! but you'll confess
He has a charming taste in dress;
And uses such delightful scent!
And when he pays a compliment--'
"Eh! and what then, my pretty pet?
What the?--he never pays a debt!'

Sir Paul is skill'd in all the tricks
Of politesse and politics;
Long hath he learn'd to wear a mien
So still, so open, so serene,
That strangers in those features grave
Would strive in vain to read a knave.
Alas! it is believed by all
There is more "Sir' than "Saint' in Paul;
He knows the value of a place;
Can give a promise with a grace;
Is quite an adept at excuse;
Sees when a vote will be of use;
And, if the Independents flinch,
Can help his Lordship at a pinch.
Acutely doth he read the fate
Of deep intrigues and plans of state;
And if perchance some powder'd peer
Hath gain'd or lost the Monarch's ear,
Foretells, without a shade of doubt,
The comings in and goings out.

When placemen of distinguish'd note
Mistake, mislead, misname, misquote;
Confound the Papist and the Turk,
Or murder Sheridan and Burke,
Or make a riddle of the Laws,
Sir Paul grows hoarse in his applause:
And when in words of equal size
Some Oppositionist replies,
And talks of taxes and starvation,
And Catholic Emancipation,
The Knight, in indolent repose,
Looks only to the Ayes and Noes.
Let youth say "Grand!' Sir Paul says "Stuff!'
Let youth take fire!--Sir Paul takes snuff.