Amatory Colloquy Between Bank And Government.

A poem by Thomas Moore

BANK.

Is all then forgotten? those amorous pranks
You and I in our youth, my dear Government, played;
When you called me the fondest, the truest of Banks,
And enjoyed the endearing advances I made!

When left to ourselves, unmolested and free,
To do all that a dashing young couple should do,
A law against paying was laid upon me,
But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you.

And is it then vanisht?--that "hour (as Othello
So happily calls it) of Love and Direction?"
And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow,
Grow good in our old age and cut the connection?

GOVERNMENT.

Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be;
This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing:
We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee
There must soon be a stop to our billing and cooing.

Propagation in reason--a small child or two--
Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to;
The issue of some folks is moderate and few--
But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no end to!

So--hard tho' it be on a pair, who've already
Disposed of so many pounds, shillings and pence;
And in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy,[1]
So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense--

The day is at hand, my Papyria[2] Venus,
When--high as we once used to carry our capers--
Those soft billet-doux we're now passing between us,
Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in curl-papers:

And when--if we still must continue our love,
(After all that has past)--our amour, it is clear,
Like that which Miss Danäe managed with Jove,
Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear!

February, 1826.