All hail, M.P.![1] from whose infernal brain
Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;
At whose command "grim women" throng in crowds,
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,
With "small grey men,"—"wild yagers," and what not,
To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott:
Again, all hail! if tales like thine may please,
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease:280
Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper Hell.
Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir
Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire,
With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushed
Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hushed?
'Tis Little! young Catullus of his day,
As sweet, but as immoral, in his Lay!
Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just,
Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.290
Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns;
- ↑ "For every one knows little Matt's an M.P."—See a poem to Mr. Lewis, in The Statesman, supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll.
[Joseph Jekyll (d. 1837) was celebrated for his witticisms and metrical jeux d'esprit which he contributed to the Morning Chronicle and the Evening Statesman. His election as M.P. for Calne in 1787, at the nomination of Lord Lansdowne, gave rise to Jekyll, A Political Eclogue (see The Rolliad (1799), pp. 219-224). He was a favourite with the Prince Regent, at whose instance he was appointed a Master in Chancery in 1815.]
