The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Oh, have you heard what hapt of late?
If not, come lend an ear,
While sad I state the piteous fate
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer.

All praised his skilful jockeyship,
Loud rung the Tory cheer,
While away, away, with spur and whip,
Went the Reverend Pamphleteer.

The nag he rode--how could it err?
'Twas the same that took, last year,
That wonderful jump to Exeter
With the Reverend Pamphleteer.

Set a beggar on horseback, wise men say,
The course he will take is clear:
And in that direction lay the way
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer,

"Stop, stop," said Truth, but vain her cry--
Left far away in the rear,
She heard but the usual gay "Good-by"
From her faithless Pamphleteer.

You may talk of the jumps of Homer's gods,
When cantering o'er our sphere--
I'd back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds,
This Reverend Pamphleteer.

But ah! what tumbles a jockey hath!
In the midst of his career,
A file of the Times lay right in the path
Of the headlong Pamphleteer.

Whether he tript or shyed thereat,
Doth not so clear appear:
But down he came, as his sermons flat--
This Reverend Pamphleteer!

Lord King himself could scarce desire
To see a spiritual Peer
Fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire,
Than did this Pamphleteer.

Yet pitying parsons many a day
Shall visit his silent bier,
And, thinking the while of Stanhope, say
"Poor dear old Pamphleteer!

"He has finisht at last his busy span,
"And now lies coolly here--
"As often he did in life, good man,
"Good, Reverend Pamphleteer!"

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