Cotton And Corn. A Dialogue.

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day,
    As they met and exchanged a salute--
(Squire Corn in his carriage so gay,
    Poor Cotton half famished on foot):

"Great Squire, if it isn't uncivil
    "To hint at starvation before you,
"Look down on a poor hungry devil,
    "And give him some bread, I implore you!"

Quoth Corn then in answer to Cotton,
    Perceiving he meant to make free--
"Low fellow, you've surely forgotten
    "The distance between you and me!

"To expect that we Peers of high birth
    "Should waste our illustrious acres,
"For no other purpose on earth
    "Than to fatten curst calico-makers!--

"That Bishops to bobbins should bend--
    "Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity,
"Great dealers in lawn, to befriend
    "Such contemptible dealers in dimity!

"No--vile Manufacture! ne'er harbor
    "A hope to be fed at our boards;--
"Base offspring of Arkwright the barber,
    "What claim canst thou have upon Lords?

"No--thanks to the taxes and debt,
    "And the triumph of paper o'er guineas,
"Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet,
    "May defy your whole rabble of Jennys!"

So saying--whip, crack, and away
    Went Corn in his chaise thro' the throng,
So headlong, I heard them all say,
    "Squire Corn will be down before long."

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Song Of Old Puck.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To .......'s Picture.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Come Not, Oh Lord. (Air.--Haydn.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Notions On Reform. By A Modern Reformer.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

An Expostulation To Lord King.

        "quem das finem, rex magne, laborum?"
        VERGIL.


1826.


How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
    The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,^[1]
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,
    'Tis hardly worth while being very high born?

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life,
    On a question, my Lord, there's so much to abhor in?
A question-like asking one, "How is your wife?"--
    At once so confounded domestic and foreign.

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast;
    But Peers and such animals, fed up for show,
(Like the well-physickt elephant, lately deceased,)
    Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know.

You might se...

Thomas Moore

Corn And Catholics.

        utrum horum
        dirius borun? Incerti Auctoris.


What! still those two infernal questions,
    That with our meals our slumbers mix--
That spoil our tempers and digestions--
    Eternal Corn and Catholics!

Gods! were there ever two such bores?
    Nothing else talkt of night or morn--
Nothing in doors or out of doors,
    But endless Catholics and Corn!

Never was such a brace of pests--
    While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skilled but in feathering their nests,
    Plague us with both and settle neither.

So addled in my cranium meet
    Popery and Corn that oft I doubt,
Whether, this year, 'twas bonded Wheat,
    Or bonded Papists, they let out.

Here, la...

Thomas Moore

Ode To The Goddess Ceres.

BY SIR THOMAS LETHBRIDGE.


        "legiferoe Cereri Phoeboque."--VERGIL.


Dear Goddess of Corn whom the ancients, we know,
    (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,)
Adorned with somniferous poppies to show
    Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Goddess.

Behold in his best shooting-jacket before thee
    An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches.
Great Queen of Mark-lane (if the thing doesnt bore thee),
    Thou'lt read o'er the last of his--never-last speeches.

Ah! Ceres, thou knowest not the slander and scorn
    Now heapt upon England's 'Squirearchy, so boasted;
Improving on Hunt,^[1] 'tis no longer the Corn,
    'Tis the growers of Corn that are now, alas! roasted.

In speeches,...

Thomas Moore

Epistle Of Condolence. From A Slave-Lord, To A Cotton-Lord.

Alas! my dear friend, what a state of affairs!
    How unjustly we both are despoiled of our rights!
Not a pound of black flesh shall I leave to my heirs,
    Nor must you any more work to death little whites.

Both forced to submit to that general controller
    Of King, Lords and cotton mills, Public Opinion,
No more shall you beat with a big billy-roller.
    Nor I with the cart-whip assert my dominion.

Whereas, were we suffered to do as we please
    With our Blacks and our Whites, as of yore we were let,
We might range them alternate, like harpsichord keys,
    And between us thump out a good piebald duet.

But this fun is all over;--farewell to the zest
    Which Slavery now lends to each teacup we sip;
Which makes still the cruellest...

Thomas Moore

King Cotton.

Old Cotton is king, boys--aha!
    With his locks so fleecy and white!
He shines among kings like a star!
    And his is the sceptre of right,
            Boys, of right,
    And his is the sceptre of right!

Old Cotton, the king, has no care,
    No queen, and no heir to his throne,
No courtiers, his triumphs to share,
    He rules his dominions alone,
            Boys, alone!
    He rules his dominions alone!

Old Cotton, the merry old boy!--
    Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth
His years glide away in their joy,
    At home, in the warm sunny south,
            Boys, the south,
    At home, in the warm sunny south!

Old Cotton will pleasantly reign
    When other kings painfully fall,
And ever and ever remain
   ...

George Pope Morris

Recent Dialogue.

A Bishop and a bold dragoon,
    Both heroes in their way,
Did thus, of late, one afternoon,
    Unto each other say:--
"Dear bishop," quoth the brave huzzar,
    "As nobody denies
"That you a wise logician are,
    "And I am--otherwise,
"'Tis fit that in this question, we
    "Stick each to his own art--
"That yours should be the sophistry,
    "And mine the fighting part.
"My creed, I need not tell you, is
    "Like that of Wellington,
"To whom no harlot comes amiss,
    "Save her of Babylon;
"And when we're at a loss for words,
    "If laughing reasoners flout us,
"For lack of sense we'll draw our swords--
    "The sole thing sharp about us."--

"Dear bold dragoon," the bishop said,
    "'Tis true for war t...

Thomas Moore