Upon the verge of space, about the size Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear'd
Have you got more to say ?”—“No!”—“If } (I've seen a something like it in the skies
I'll trouble you to call your witnesses."
Then Satan turn'd and waved his swarthy hand,
In the Ægean, ere a squall); it near'd, And, growing bigger, took another guise; Like an aërial ship it tack'd, and steer'd Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the grammar Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer;
Which stirr'd with its electric qualities Clouds farther off than we can understand, Although we find him sometimes in our But take your choice); and then it grew
Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss-Sir," replied Michael, "you mistake: these
Are of a former life, and what we do Above is more august; to judge of kings Is the tribunal met; so now you know." hell"Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,"
Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse My call for witnesses? I did not mean That you should half of earth and produce; 'Tis even superfluous, since two honest, Said Wilkes, “are cherubs; and that soul
True testimonies are enough: we lose Our time, nay, our eternity, between The accusation and defence: if we Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality."
Satan replied, "To me the matter is Indifferent, in a personal point of view: I can have fifty better souls than this With far less trouble than we have gone through
Already; and I merely argued his Late Majesty of Britain's case with you Upon a point of form: you may dispose Of him; I've kings enough below, God knows!"
Looks much like George the Third; but to my mind
A good deal older-Bless me! is he blind?”
"He is what you behold him, and his doom Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said. "If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head To lift itself against the loftiest."—"Some," Said Wilkes, "don't wait to see them laid in lead,
For such a liberty-and I, for one, Have told them what I thought beneath the sun."
Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd “multi- | “Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast To urge against him," said the Archangel. "Why,"
faced" By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'll call
One or two persons of the myriads placed Around our congress, and dispense with all
Replied the Spirit, "since old scores are past,
Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I.
Besides, I beat him hollow at the last, With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky I don't like ripping up old stories, since His conduct was but natural in a prince.
Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress A poor unlucky devil without a shilling; But then I blame the man himself much less Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling
To see him punish'd here for their excess, Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still in
Their place below; for me, I have forgiven, And vote his "habeas corpus" into heaven."
"Wilkes," said the Devil, "I understand all this;
You turp'd to half a courtier ere you died, And seem to think it would not be amiss To grow a whole one on the other side Of Charon's ferry; you forget that his Reign is concluded; whatsoe'er betide, He won't be sovereign more: you've lost your labour,
For at the best he will but be your neighbour.
However, I knew what to think of it, When I beheld you, in your jesting way, Flitting and whispering round about the spit Where Belial, upon duty for the day, With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt, His pupil; I knew what to think, I say: That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills; I'll have him gagg'd—'twas one of his own bills.
Call Junius!" From the crowd a Shadow stalk'd,
And at the name there was a general squeeze, So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd In comfort, at their own aërial case, But were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to be balk'd, As we shall see) and jostled hands and knees, Like wind compress'd and pent within a bladder,
Or like a human cholic, which is sadder.
The Shadow came! a tall, thin, gray-hair'd
I've an hypothesis-'tis quite my own; I never let it out till now, for fear Of doing people harm about the throne, And injuring some minister or peer On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown;
That look'd as it had been a shade on earth; Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour, It is my gentle public, lend thine ear! But nought to mark its breeding or its birth: "Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call, Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger, Was really, truly, nobody at all. With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth;
But as you gazed upon its features, they
Changed every instant-to what, none could I don't see wherefore letters should not be Written without hands, since we daily view
Them written without heads; and books But to the point: while hovering o'er the brink
A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. Now the Bard, glad to get an audience, which By no means often was his case below, Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch
At length, with jostling, elbowing, and the aid
Of cherubim appointed to that post, The devil Asmodeus to the circle made His way, and look'd as if his journey cost Some trouble. When his burden down he laid,
"What's this?" cried Michael; "why, 'tis not a ghost?" "I know it," quoth the incubus; "but he Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me.
Confound the Renegado! I have sprain'd My left wing, he's so heavy ; one would think Some of his works about his neck were chain'd.
His voice into that awful note of woe To all unhappy hearers within reach Of poets when the tide of rhyme's in flow; But stuck fast with his first hexameter, Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir.
But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurr'd Into recitative, in great dismay Both cherubim and seraphim were heard To murmur loudly through their long array; And Michael rose ere he could get a word Of all his founder'd verses under way, And cried, “For God's sake stop, my friends! 'twere best- “Non Di, non homines—” you know the rest.”
A general bustle spread throughout the | And then against them, bitterer than ever; For pantisocracy he once had cried Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever, Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin- Had turn'd his coat-and would have turn'd his skin.
Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation; The angels had of course enough of song When upon service; and the generation Of ghosts had heard too much in life,not long Before, to profit by a new occasion; The Monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd "What! what!
Pye come again? No more—no more of that!"
He had sung against all battles, and again In their high praise and glory; he had call'd Reviewing "the ungentle craft," and then Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'd- Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men By whom his muse and morals had been maul'd: and
He had written much blank verse, blanker prose, And more of both than any body knows.
He had written Wesley's life:-here, turn- ing round To Satan, "Sir, I'm ready to write yours, In two octavo volumes, nicely bound, With notes and preface, all that most allures The pious purchaser; and there's no ground For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers: So let me have the proper documents, That I may add you to my other saints."
Satan bow'd, and was silent. "Well, if you, With amiable modesty, decline My offer, what says Michael? There are few Whose memoirs could be render'd more divine.
Mine is a-pen of all work; not so new As it was once, but I would make you shine Like your own trumpet; by the way, my own Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown.
But talking about trumpets, here's my Vision!
Now you shall judge, all people; yes, you shall
Judge with my judgment! and by my decision
Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall! I settle all these things by intuition, Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all, Like King Alfonso! When I thus see double, I save the Deity some worlds of trouble."
He ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints, Or angels, now could stop the torrent; so He read the first three lines of the contents; But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show Had vanish'd with variety of scents, Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang, Like lightning, off from his "melodious twang."
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