Lord Byron's Verses On Sam Rogers.[579]

QUESTION.     Nose and Chin that make a knocker,[hx]     Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker;     Mouth that marks the envious Scorner,     With a Scorpion in each corner     Curling up his tail to sting you,[hy]     In the place that most may wring you;     Eyes of lead-like hue and gummy,     Carcase stolen from some mummy,     Bowels - (but they were forgotten,     Save the Liver, and that's rotten),     Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden,     Form the Devil would frighten G - d in.     Is't a Corpse stuck up for show,[580]     Galvanized at times to go?     With the Scripture has't connection,[hz]     New proof of the Resurrection?     Vampire, Ghost, or Goul (sic), what is it?     I would walk ten miles to miss it.     ANSWER.     Many passengers arrest one,     To demand the same free question.     Shorter's my reply and franker, -     That's the Bard, and Beau, and Banker:     Yet, if you could bring about     Just to turn him inside out,     Satan's self would seem less sooty,     And his present aspect - Beauty.     Mark that (as he masks the bilious)     Air so softly supercilious,     Chastened bow, and mock humility,     Almost sickened to Servility:     Hear his tone (which is to talking     That which creeping is to walking -     Now on all fours, now on tiptoe):     Hear the tales he lends his lip to -     Little hints of heavy scandals -     Every friend by turns he handles:     All that women or that men do     Glides forth in an inuendo (sic) -     Clothed in odds and ends of humour,     Herald of each paltry rumour -     From divorces down to dresses,     Woman's frailties, Man's excesses:     All that life presents of evil     Make for him a constant revel.     You're his foe - for that he fears you,     And in absence blasts and sears you:     You're his friend - for that he hates you,     First obliges, and then baits you,     Darting on the opportunity     When to do it with impunity:     You are neither - then he'll flatter,     Till he finds some trait for satire;     Hunts your weak point out, then shows it,     Where it injures, to expose it     In the mode that's most insidious,     Adding every trait that's hideous -     From the bile, whose blackening river     Rushes through his Stygian liver.     Then he thinks himself a lover - [581]     Why? I really can't discover,     In his mind, age, face, or figure;     Viper broth might give him vigour:     Let him keep the cauldron steady,     He the venom has already.     For his faults - he has but one;     'Tis but Envy, when all's done:     He but pays the pain he suffers,     Clipping, like a pair of Snuffers,     Light that ought to burn the brighter     For this temporary blighter.     He's the Cancer of his Species,     And will eat himself to pieces, -     Plague personified and Famine, -     Devil, whose delight is damning.[582]     For his merits - don't you know 'em?[ia]     Once he wrote a pretty Poem.     1818.                 [First published, Fraser's Magazine, January, 1833, vol. vii. pp. 88-84.]