POETICAL ADDRESS

FROM

*The Ladies of the Cabinet Ministers,*

TO

**BARTOLOMO PERGAMI,**

KNIGHT OF THE BATH, OF MALTA, AND OF SAINT CAROLINE.

Oh! Pergami, thou wonder-working man!
Nature's non-descript, blest beyond her plan,
Inspire our husbands for the deed divine,
And brace their muscles up to feats like thine,—
To love perpetual, love that never cloys,
To never-ending, still-beginning joys!!!

Italian witnesses (and who can doubt 'em,
Whom our dear lords and masters brought about 'em,
In their own land of marvellous renown,
And catechis'd by Powell, Cook, and Brown),
Of virtue pure, of credit unimpeach'd,
Place thee on heights which mortal never reach'd;
For six long years, (as if your flesh were flint)
They swear you labour'd at the Royal mint;
For six long years, 'twas one eternal volley,
Keep, we beseech thee—keep the seventh holy!
This Sabbath year thy chastity preserve,
And thus relax th' indomitable nerve.

They swore upon the gospel's sacred lore
(With envy bishops heard them as they swore)
That bed or board, that morning, noon, or night,
You never intermitted in delight;
By sea and land, in wilderness and wood,
On stagnant lake, or in the rapid flood;
In one horse cart, in wheelbarrows and boats,
On whatsoever rolls, stands still, or floats;
In curtain'd waggon or in open air,
On stool or close-stool, canopy or chair;
In kitchen, pantry, in the bath or larder,
The more spectators, you but worked the harder;
In every attitude you had your will,
Sitting or standing you were at it still;
As if you had, for vigour and desire,
Organs of adamant and soul of fire.

Say, 'twere between a Marchioness and King,
What could she get? the drone without a sting,
A feeling, fumbling, fiddle-faddle thing.
What do our dames of fashion get from dandies,
Or from a squadron of our amorous grandees?
Nothing like this—they chatter and they leer,—
Thy motto, Pergami, is *faire sans dire*.

When with love's energies thy soul was fraught,
No mean inglorious privacy you sought,
But dared the vigilance of ev'ry eye,
To thee indiff'rent whether friend or spy;
Masons and post-boys, carpenters and cooks,
Waiters and bar-maids, demireps and rocks,
Scourers of sheets and scavengers of plates,
Scullions and pimps, and cabin-boys and mates,
Drivers of waggons, curricles and carts,
All, all beheld thy *prowess* and thy *parts*.
Some feeble minds may this as fable view,
But Lords and Bishops shall decide 'tis true,
Accrediting them all—but most of any,
Columbier's Countess and the Count Milani!!!

When the wild rage of copulation fires,
Brute-beasts retire to satiate their desires
In covert, den or brake assuage the flame,
Urged by some sense allied to human shame.
Ev'n on Olympus am'rously inspir'd,
The gods themselves (so Homer says) retir'd—
But thy firm nerve, unconscious of a check,
Form'd an arena of the good ship's deck:
Where crown'd with myrtle boldly you engage,
The crew spectators and a bed your stage;
And paramount to all, enacted there,
What neither beasts, nor men, nor gods would dare,
Outstepp'd romance by this majestic stretch,
And grasp'd a power beyond great Nature's reach.
For this to thee due honours shall be giv'n,
On earth conspicuous lifted thence to heav'n,
Where thou shall be from age to age divine,
And in the Zodiac form a thirteenth sign,
Ne'er to forsake the skies—no, never, never,
BETWIXT THE BULL AND RAM THOUL'T STAND FOR EVER!
But oh! look down on Castlereagh—for he
In secret pants to catch one spark of thee;
Give him to touch the threshold of thy porch,
And light his taper at thy glowing torch,
So when the future man of Fate's unfur'd,
Patriots, his progeny, shall rule the world.—

Published by M. O'BRIEN, No. 5, Newcastle-street, Strand; and Sold by all Booksellers and Newsmen.

[Edgerley, Printer, 76, Elees-st.]