Father Prout's Inaugurative Ode
TO THE AUTHOR OF "VANITY FAIR."
I.
Ours is a faster, quicker age:
Yet erst at Goldsmith's homely Wakefield Vicarage,
While Lady Blarney from the West End glozes
Mid the Primroses,
Fudge! cries Squire Thornhill,
Much to the wonder of young greenhorn Moses.
Such word of scorn ill
Matches the "Wisdom Fair" thy whim proposes
To hold on Cornhill.
II.
With Fudge, or Blarney, or the "Thames on Fire!"
Treat not thy buyer;
But proffer good material—
A genuine Cereal,
Value for twelvepence, and not dear at twenty.
Such wit replenishes thy Horn of Plenty!
III.
Nor wit alone dispense,
But sense:
And with thy sparkling Xerez
Let us have Ceres.
Of loaf thou hast no lack,
Nor set, like Shakespeare's zany, forth,
With lots of sack,
Of bread one pennyworth.
IV.
Sprightly, and yet sagacious,
Funny, yet farinaceous,
Dashing, and yet methodical—
So may thy periodical,
On this auspicious morn,
Exalt its horn,
Thron'd on the Hill of Corn!
V.
Of aught that smacks of sect, surplice, or synod,
Be thy grain winnow'd!
Nor deign to win our laugh
With empty chaff.
Shun aught o'er which dullard or bigot gloats;
Nor seek our siller
With meal from Titus Oates
Or flour of Joseph Miller.
