“What
are you doing now,
Oh
Thomas Moore?
What
are you doing now,
Oh
Thomas Moore?
Sighing
or suing now,
Rhyming
or wooing now,
Billing
or cooing now,
Which,
Thomas Moore?
Are you not near the Luddites?
By the Lord! if there’s a row, but
I’ll be among ye! How go on the weavers—the
breakers of
frames—the Lutherans of politics—the
reformers?
“As the Liberty lads
o’er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live
free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!
“When the web that we
weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding-sheet
O’er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour’d.
“Though black as his
heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd!
“There’s an amiable
chanson for you—all impromptu.
I have
written it principally to shock your neighbour
* * * *, who is all
clergy and loyalty—mirth and innocence—milk
and water.
“But the Carnival’s
coming,
Oh Thomas Moore,
The Carnival’s coming,
Oh Thomas Moore,
Masking and humming,
Fifing and drumming,
Guitarring and strumming,
Oh Thomas Moore.
The other night I saw a new play,—and the author. The subject was the sacrifice of Isaac. The play succeeded, and they called for the author—according to continental custom—and he presented himself, a noble Venetian, Mali, or Malapiero, by name. Mala was his name, and pessima his production,—at least, I thought so, and I ought to know, having read more or less of five hundred Drury Lane offerings, during my coadjutorship with the sub-and-super Committee.
“When does your poem of poems come out? I hear that the E.R. has cut up Coleridge’s Christabel, and declared against me for praising it. I praised it, firstly, because I thought well of it; secondly, because Coleridge was in great distress, and, after doing what little I could for him in essentials, I thought that the public avowal of my good opinion might help him further, at least with the booksellers. I am very sorry that J * * has attacked him, because, poor fellow, it will hurt him in mind and pocket.