Selected Poems (111 page)

Well, that’s the prettiest shawl – as I’m alive!

You’ll give it me? They say you eat no pork.

And how so many years did you contrive

735

To – Bless me! did I ever? No, I never

Saw a man grown so yellow! How’s your liver?

XCIII

Beppo! that beard of yours becomes you not;

It shall be shaved before you’re a day older:

Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgot –

740

Pray don’t you think the weather here is colder?

How do I look? You shan’t stir from this spot

In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder

Should find you out, and make the story known.

How short your hair is! Lord! how grey it’s grown!’

XCIV

745

What answer Beppo made to these demands

Is more than I know. He was cast away

About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands;

Became a slave of course, and for his pay

Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands

750

Of pirates landing in a neighbouring bay,

He join’d the rogues and prosper’d, and became

A renegado of indifferent fame.

XCV

But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so

Keen the desire to see his home again,

755

He thought himself in duty bound to do so,

And not be always thieving on the main;

Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe,

And so he hired a vessel come from Spain,

Bound for Corfu: she was a fine polacca,

760

Mann’d with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco.

XCVI

Himself, and much (heaven knows how gotten!) cash,

He then embark’d with risk of life and limb,

And got clear off, although the attempt was rash;

He
said that
Providence
protected him –

765

For my part, I say nothing – lest we clash

In our opinions: – well, the ship was trim,

Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on,

Except three days of calm when off Cape Bonn.

XCVII

They reach’d the island, he transferr’d his lading.

770

And self and live stock, to another bottom,

And pass’d for a true Turkey-merchant, trading

With goods of various names, but I’ve forgot ’em.

However, he got off by this evading,

Or else the people would perhaps have shot him;

775

And thus at Venice landed to reclaim

His wife, religion, house, and Christian name.

XCVIII

His wife received, the patriarch re-baptized him,

(He made the church a present, by the way);

He then threw off the garments which disguised him,

780

And borrow’d the Count’s smallclothes for a day:

His friends the more for his long absence prized him,

Finding he’d wherewithal to make them gay,

With dinners, where he oft became the laugh of them,

For stories – but
I
don’t believe the half of them.

XCIX

785

Whate’er his youth had suffer’d, his old age

With wealth and talking make him some amends;

Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage,

I’ve heard the Count and he were always friends.

My pen is at the bottom of a page,

790

Which being finish’d, here the story ends;

’Tis to be wish’d it had been sooner done,

But stories somehow lengthen when begun.

Epistle to Mr Murray

I

My dear Mr Murray,

You’re in a damn’d hurry

To set up this ultimate Canto;

But (if they don’t rob us)

5

You’ll see Mr Hobhouse

Will bring it safe in his portmanteau.

II

For the Journal you hint of,

As ready to print off,

No doubt you do right to commend it;

10

But as yet I have writ off

The devil a bit of

Our ‘Beppo:’ — when copied, I’ll send it.

III

In the mean time you’ve ‘Gally’

Whose verses all tally,

15

Perhaps you may say he’s a Ninny,

But if you abashed are

Because of ‘Alashtar’

He’ll piddle another ‘Phrosine.’ –

IV

Then you’ve [Sotheby]’s Tour, –

20

No great things, to be sure, –

You could hardly begin with a less work;

For the pompous rascallion,

Who don’t speak Italian

Nor French, must have scribbled by Guesswork.

V

25

No doubt he’s a rare man

Without knowing German

Translating his way up Parnassus,

And now still absurder

He meditates Murder

30

As you’ll see in the trash he calls
Tasso’s
.

VI

But you’ve others his betters

The real men of letters –

Your orators — critics — and wits —

And I’ll bet that your Journal

35

(Pray is it diurnal?)

Will pay with your luckiest hits. —

VII

You can make any loss up

With ‘Sence’ and his gossip.

, A work which must surely succeed;

40

Then Queen Mary’s Epistle-craft,

With the new ‘Fytte’ of ‘Whistlecraft,’

Must make people purchase and read.

VIII

Then you’ve General Gordon

Who girded his sword on,

45

To serve with a Muscovite master,

And help him to polish

A nation so owlish,

They thought shaving their beards a disaster.

IX

For the man, ‘poor and shrewd, ‘

50

With whom you’d conclude

A compact without more delay,

Perhaps some such pen is

Still extant in Venice;

But please, sir, to mention
your pay
.

X

55

Now tell me some news

Of your friends and the Muse

Of the Bar, — or the Gown — or the House,

From Canning the tall wit

To Wilmot the small wit

60

Ward’s creeping Companion and
Louse
—

XI

Who’s so damnably bit

With fashion and Wit

That he crawls on the surface like Vermin,

But an Insect in both, —

65

By his Intellect’s growth

Of what
size
you may quickly determine.

XII

Now, I’ll put out my taper

(I’ve finished my paper

For these stanzas you see on the
brink
stand),

70

There’s a whore on my right,

For I rhyme best at night

When a C —t is tied close to my
inkstand
.

XIII

It was Mahomet’s notion

That
comical motion

75

Increased his ‘devotion in prayer’ —

If that tenet holds good

In a Prophet, it should

In a poet be equally fair. —

XIV

For in rhyme or in love

80

(Which both come from above)

I’ll stand with our
‘Tommy’
or
‘Sammy’

But the Sopha and lady

Are both of them ready

And so, here’s ‘Good night to you dammee!’