A funny creature

• Posted by mgr on April 26th, 2008 filed in Zeitdokumente
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TO THE EDITOR.

SIR, — Reading Prof. Pigtail’s Lectures on Dandyism reminded me of the following stanzas, written by me about three years ago, excepting the two first, which you will observe have been strung together since the publication of your last: I present them to you for insertion in your vегу entertaining work, if you think they will prove agreeable to your readers.

THE DANDY;

Dedicated, without permission, to the Critic, DIRMOT O’GOSTER, Esq. of Ballyblunder Castle, Co. Tipperary.

Thou art a funny creature, D. O’Goster,
I therefore dedicate these lines to thee;
But, by my modesty, thou art a boaster,
To praise thy own queer rhymes, signed Shaughnaney:
I really thought that thou hadst ceased to be;
But thou didst only leave us for a while,
To visit thy dear country, and to see
Our good and gracious Sovereign, with a smile,
Pour on her rusty manacles — a little oil.*

Art thou a dandy, Dermot? If thou art,
Thou wilt be classified by P. Pigtail;
For he’s been taking lessons at the mart, —
The manufactory, where they vend, wholesale,
The covering of the two-legged animal.
Thou hast, I see, commenced the Critic Trade;
Take care, my darling, that thou dost not fail:
And when by whisky inspiration led,
Sit down, and judge, as if thy own, the rhymes of Z.

What shall I say of him ‘cleped Dandy wight,
Or other name learnt in Derision’s school?
For now the shapely thing appears in sight,
Just like a gander stepping from a pool;
Stretching his forward neck, he seems to rule,
Proudly pre-eminent, o’er all his race;
Hisses defiance at each passing fool,
Then turns, exulting, with a goose-like grace:
The gabbling tribe all join, the daring feat to praise.

Within his neckcloth’s ample round lie hid,
Smiles of all forms, that at his wishes fly;
Some, to wound ladies’ tender hearts are bid,
Borne on the infectious pinions of a sigh;
Others dance round the mirror of his eye,
And on their own dear forms enraptured gaze;
Or glance on unformed wretch contemptuously,
Who will not make his idol’s altars blaze,
But clothes him as he lists, and beedeth not her ways.

A neat surtout his flimsy waist displays,
By stays or buckled bandages comprest:
Thus looked my granny in her youthful days,
When forth she rode, berobed in riding vest:
With tailor’s shreds is stuffed his pouting chest,
Where dangles, carelessly, a quizzing-glass,
Save when to either optic it is placed,
To view a belle, or something novel pass,
Or greet one of his kind, — no other thought he has.

If thou art yet a novice on life’s way,
Who read’st these lines, still listen to my strain;
For I would joyful be, if this essay
Could make thee from such fantasies refrain;
For they are all as hollow and as vain
As those bright orbs thy childhood formed with can
The splendid bubble will not long remain;
Thou look’st with joy on thy creation fair, —
Behold, it moves!— and bursts, and vanishes in air.

Liverpool, Nov. 8, 1821.

*Do not be after taking this line for either religion or politics, Mr. Editors for, by my conscience, when I wrote it I was thinking of neither the one nor the other.

Quoted from: The Kaleidoscope, or, Literary and Scientific Mirror. Vol. 2 Liverpool, 1822: 148.

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