M. P. or The Magpie.
Richard Trott Fisher
A blockhead
A
A MAGPIE once was such a dunce,
That all the people said,
More bricks would lie in a fish’s eye,
Than learning in his head.
And though his mother herself did bother
And every trouble took,
Yet not one word could that dull bird
Repeat without his book.
Till once he saw a young jackdaw
Who dearly loved his letters;
Though not so much his taste was such,
As ’twas to ape his betters.
Howe’er this be the jackdaw he
Could tell a funny story;
And many a bird his prattle heard
And envied him his glory.
may emulate eloquence;
But when he shew’d the wond’ring crowd
How he could spout and swell,
The Magpie tried for very pride
If he could do as well.
and, by practice,
And every night by candlelight
He conn’d his lessons o’er,
And every morn with the herdsman’s horn
He rose and practised more.
learn to speak with fluency,
Full soon he thought himself well taught,
And then began to chatter:
And the careful dame, his mother, came
To see what was the matter.
plausibility,
Like Miller Peel he smiled a deal,
And cull’d the fairest diction;
And look’d quite true though well he knew
That every word was fiction.
and grimace,
so as to satisfy himself,—
Then to his nose he raised his toes,
And gravely look’d askew;
And thought himself a clever elf:—
And his mother thought so too.
and his mother,
“Caw, caw!” quoth she; “he sure must be
An orator or poet:
I’ll have him sent to Parliament,
That all the world may know it.”
—but not the Commons of England.
But though he shone so much alone,
And made his mother stare,
“The Members” swore he was a bore,
And had no business there.
Yet there he is, and there I wis,
He’s likely still to be;
As, should you call at Stephen’s hall,
Yourself may chance to see.
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