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 of keen diners-out
    Are preparing their beaks to begin.

Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,
    Flock round when the harvest's in play,
And not minding the farmer's distresses,
    Like devils in grain peck away.

Go, number the locusts in heaven,^[4]
    On the way to some titheable shore;
And when so many Parsons you've given,
    We still shall be craving for more.

Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye
    Must leave us in peace to augment.
For the wretch who could number the Clergy,
    With few will be ever content.

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

The Fudges In England. Letter XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., To The Rev. Richard ----. ------, Ireland.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Go, Let Me Weep. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Up, Sailor Boy, 'Tis Day.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Grand Dinner Of Type And Co. A Poor Poet's Dream.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Cocker, On Church Reform.

FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS.


Fine figures of speech let your orators follow,
Old Cocker has figures that beat them all hollow.
Tho' famed for his rules Aristotle may be,
In but half of this Sage any merit I see,
For, as honest Joe Hume says, the "tottle" for me!

For instance, while others discuss and debate,
It is thus about Bishops I ratiocinate.

In England, where, spite of the infidel's laughter,
'Tis certain our souls are lookt very well after,
Two Bishops can well (if judiciously sundered)
Of parishes manage two thousand two hundred.--
Said number of parishes, under said teachers,
Containing three millions of Protestant creatures,--
So that each of said Bishops full ably controls
One million and...

Thomas Moore

Reflections. Addressed To The Author Of The Article Of The Church In The Last Number Of The Quarterly Review.

I'm quite of your mind;--tho' these Pats cry aloud
    That they've got "too much Church," 'tis all nonsense and stuff;
For Church is like Love, of which Figaro vowed
    That even too much of it's not quite enough.

Ay! dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their ills;--
    Copy Morrison's mode when from pill-box undaunted he
Pours thro' the patient his black-coated pills,
    Nor cares what their quality, so there's but quantity.

I verily think 'twould be worth England's while
    To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether
'Twould not be as well to give up the green isle
    To the care, wear and tear of the Church altogether.

The Irish are well used to treatment so pleasant;
    The harlot Church gave them to Henry Plantagenet,^[1]<...

Thomas Moore

Song Of The Departing Spirit Of Tithe.

        "The parting Genius is with sighing sent."
        MILTON.


It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er;
I hear a Voice, from shore to shore,
From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore,
And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone,
"Great Tithe and Small are dead and gone!"

Even now I behold your vanishing wings,
Ye Tenths of all conceivable things,
Which Adam first, as Doctors deem,
Saw, in a sort of night-mare dream,^[1]
After the feast of fruit abhorred--
First indigestion on record!--
Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks,
Ye pigs which, tho' ye be Catholics,
Or of Calvin's most select depraved,
In the Church must have your bacon saved;--
Ye fields, where Labor counts his sheaves,
And, whatsoever himself believes,
Must bow to t...

Thomas Moore

On The Irish Bishops.[1]

Old Latimer preaching did fairly describe
A bishop, who ruled all the rest of his tribe;
And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell?
Why truly 'tis Satan, Archbishop of Hell.
And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre,
Surrounded with jewels of sulphur and nitre.
How nearly this bishop our bishops resembles!
But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles,
Could you see his grim grace, for a pound to a penny,
You'd swear it must be the baboon of Kilkenny:[2]
Poor Satan will think the comparison odious,
I wish I could find him out one more commodious;
But, this I am sure, the most reverend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bishops suffragan;
And all men believe he resides there incog,
To give them by turns an invisible jog.
Our bishops, puft up with w...

Jonathan Swift

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

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