Les Hommes Automates.

        "We are persuaded that this our artificial man will not only walk and speak and perform most of the outward functions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week) will perhaps reason as well as most of your country parsons."--"Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus,"
        chap. xii.


It being an object now to meet
With Parsons that dont want to eat,
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories,
Which soon will have but scant refectories,
It has been suggested,--lest that Church
Should all at once be left in the lurch
For want of reverend men endued
With this gift of never requiring food,--
To try, by way of experiment, whether
There couldnt be made of wood and leather,^[1]
(Howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,)
Jointed figures, not lay,^[2] but clerical,
Which, wound up carefully once a week,
Might just like parsons look and speak,
Nay even, if requisite, reason too,
As well as most Irish parsons do.

The experiment having succeeded quite,
(Whereat those Lords must much delight,
Who've shown, by stopping the Church's food,
They think it isnt for her spiritual good
To be served by parsons of flesh and blood,)
The Patentees of this new invention
Beg leave respectfully to mention,
They now are enabled to produce
An ample supply for present use,
Of these reverend pieces of machinery,
Ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery,
Or any such-like post of skill
That wood and leather are fit to fill.

N.B.--In places addicted to arson,
We cant recommend a wooden parson:
But if the Church any such appoints,
They'd better at least have iron joints.
In parts, not much by Protestants haunted,
A figure to look at's all that's wanted--
A block in black, to eat and sleep,
Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap.

P.S.--Should the Lords, by way of a treat,
Permit the clergy again to eat,
The Church will of course no longer need
Imitation-parsons that never feed;
And these wood creatures of ours will sell
For secular purposes just as well--
Our Beresfords, turned to bludgeons stout,
May, 'stead of beating their own about,
Be knocking the brains of Papists out;
While our smooth O'Sullivans, by all means,
Should transmigrate into turning machines.

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

Let Joy Alone Be Remembered Now.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Fables For The Holy Alliance. Fable I. The Dissolution Of The Holy Alliance. A Dream.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Twopenny Post-Bag, Intercepted Letters, Etc. Letter III.

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.

The Fudges In England. Letter VI. From Miss Biddy Fudge, To Mrs. Elizabeth ----.

How I grieve you're not with us!--pray, come, if you can,
Ere we're robbed of this dear, oratorical man,
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory
Of, Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist and Tory;--
(Choice mixture! like that from which, duly confounded,
The best sort of brass was, in old times, compounded.)--
The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly,
All fused down, in brogue so deliciously oddly!
In short, he's a dear--and such audiences draws,
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of applause,
As can't but do good to the Protestant cause.

Poor dear Irish Church!--he today sketched a view
Of her history and prospect, to me at least new,
And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse
The whole Christian w...

Thomas Moore

The Numbering Of The Clergy.

PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S FAMOUS ODE,
"COME, CLOE, and GIVE ME SWEET KISSES."


        "We want more Churches and more Clergymen."
        Bishop of London's late Charge.


        "rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus augent."
        Claudian in Eutrop.


Come, give us more Livings and Rectors,
    For, richer no realm ever gave;
But why, ye unchristian objectors,
    Do ye ask us how many we crave?^[1]

Oh there can't be too many rich Livings
    For souls of the Pluralist kind,
Who, despising old Crocker's misgivings,
    To numbers can ne'er be confined.^[2]

Count the cormorants hovering about,^[3]
    At the time their fish season sets in,
When these models ...

Thomas Moore

Resolutions Passed At A Late Meeting Of Reverends And Right Reverends.

Resolved--to stick to every particle
Of every Creed and every Article;
Reforming naught, or great or little,
We'll stanchly stand by every tittle,
And scorn the swallow of that soul
Which cannot boldly bolt the whole.^[1]
Resolved that tho' St. Athanasius
In damning souls is rather spacious--
Tho' wide and far his curses fall,
Our Church "hath stomach for them all;"
And those who're not content with such,
May e'en be damned ten times as much.

Resolved--such liberal souls are we--
Tho' hating Nonconformity,
We yet believe the cash no worse is
That comes from Nonconformist purses.
Indifferent whence the money reaches
The pockets of our reverend breeches,
To us the Jumper's jingling penny
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any;

Thomas Moore

Ode To Sir Andrew Agnew, Bart.[1]

"At certain seasons he makes a prodigious clattering with his bill." - SELBY.

"The bill is rather long, flat, and tinged with green." - BEWICK.


O Andrew Fairservice, - but I beg pardon,
You never labor'd in Di Vernon's garden,
On curly kale and cabbages intent, -
Andrew Churchservice was the thing I meant, -
You are a Christian - I would be the same,
Although we differ, and I'll tell you why,
Not meaning to make game,
I do not like my Church so very High!

When people talk, as talk they will,
About your bill,
They say, among their other jibes and small jeers,
That, if you had your way,
You'd make the seventh day
As overbearing as the Dey of Algiers.
Talk of converting Blacks -
    By your attacks,
You make a thing so horrible o...

Thomas Hood

New Grand Exhibition Of Models Of The Two Houses Of Parliament.

Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view
    An exact and natural representation
(Like Siburn's Model of Waterloo^[1])
    Of the Lords and Commons of this here nation.

There they are--all cut out in cork--
    The "Collective Wisdom" wondrous to see;
My eyes! when all them heads are at work,
    What a vastly weighty consarn it must be.

As for the "wisdom,"--that may come anon;
    Tho', to say truth, we sometimes see
(And I find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un)
    A man who's M.P. with a head that's M.T.

Our Lords are rather too small, 'tis true;
    But they do well enough for Cabinet shelves;
And, besides,--what's a man with creeturs to do
    That make such werry small figures themselves?

T...

Thomas Moore

Fables For The Holy Alliance. Fable V. Church And State.

PROEM


        "The moment any religion becomes national, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then impossible to keep it unconnected with men's interests; and, if connected, it must inevitably be perverted by them."
        --SOAME JENYNS


Thus did SOAME JENYNS--tho' a Tory,
    A Lord of Trade and the Plantations;
Feel how Religion's simple glory
    Is stained by State associations.

When CATHARINE, ere she crusht the Poles,
    Appealed to the benign Divinity;
Then cut them up in protocols,
Made fractions of their very souls--
    All in the name of the blest Trinity;
Or when her grandson, ALEXANDER,
That mighty Northern salamander,^[1]
Whose icy touch, felt all about,
Puts every fire of Freedom o...

Thomas Moore