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THE QUEEN'S MATRIMONIAL LADDER,

A National Toy

With Fourteen Step Scenes; and Illustrations in Verse,

By William Hone

The Author of "The Political House That Jack Built."


With Eighteen other Cuts.

Illustrated by Cruikshank



     "The question is not merely whether the Queen shall have her
     rights, but whether the rights of an individual in the
     kingdom shall be free from violation."

     His Majesty's Answer to the Norwich Addrest.

    "Here is a Gentleman, and a friend of mine!"

                                               Measure for Measure.

Twenty-First Edition.

London:

Printed by and for William Hone, Ludgate-Hill.

1820.

This Pamphlet and the Toy together,

One Shilling.

     "It is a wonderful thing to consider the strength of
     Princes' wills when they are bent to have their Pleasure
     fulfilled, wherein no reasonable persuasions will serve
     their turn: how little do they regard the dangerous sequels,
     that ensue as well as to themselves as to their Subjects.
     And amongst all things there is nothing that  makes them
     more wilful than Carnal Love, and various affecting of
     Voluptuous desires."

     Cavendish's Memoirs of Card. Wolsey.

                 NOTE.

                     All the Drawings for this Publication are
                     By Mr. GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

{003}

[Illustration: 003]




QUALIFICATION.

In love, and in drink, and o'ertoppled by debt;
With women, with wine, and with duns on the fret.

{004}

[Illustration: 004]




DECLARATION.

     The Prodigal Son, by his perils surrounded,
     Vex'd, harass'd, bewilder'd, asham'd, and confounded,
     Fled for help to his Father,
                    confessed his ill doing,
     And begged for salvation
                    from stark staring ruin;
     The sire urged--"The People
                  your debts have twice paid,
     And, to ask a third time,
                  even Pitt is afraid;
     "But he shall if you'll marry, and lead a new life,--
     "You've a cousin in Germany--make her your
                  wife!"

{005}

[Illustration: 005]




ACCEPTATION.

    From the high halls of Brunswick, all youthful and
           gay,
     From the hearth of her fathers, he lured her away:
     How joy'd she in coming--
                    how smiling the bower;
     How sparkling their nuptials--
                  how welcome her dower.

    Ah! short were her pleasures--full soon came her
           cares--
    Her husbandless bride-bed was wash'd with her
          tears.

{006}

[Illustration: 006]




ALTERATION.

     Near a million of debts gone,
                      all gone were her charms--
     What! an Epicure have his own wife
                      in his arms?

     She was not to his taste--
                      what car'd _he_ for the 'form,'
     'To love and to cherish'
                    could not mean reform:

     'To love' meant, of course, nothing else
                     but neglect
     'To cherish' to leave her,
                    and shew disrespect.

{007}

[Illustration: 007]




IMPUTATION.

        Was it manly, when widow'd,
     to spy at her actions;
        "To listen to eaves-droppers,
                          whisp'ring detractions;

        And, like an old Watchman,
     with faults to conceal,
        Get up a _false Charge_,
     as a proof of his zeal?

        If desertion was base, Oh base be his name,
        Who, having deserted, would bring her to shame!

{008}

[Illustration: 008]




EXCULPATION.

    Undaunted in spirit, her courage arose,
    With encrease of charges, and encrease of foes.
    Despising the husband,
                   who thus had abused her,
    She proved to his father,
                    his son had ill used her:--

    Her conduct examin'd, and sifted, shone bright,
    Her enemies fled, as the shadows of night.

{009}

[Illustration: 009]




EMIGRATION.

     Her father and king, while with reason yet blest,
     Protected her weakness, and shielded her rest;
     Infirmity seizes him, false friends draw near,
     Then spies gather round, and malignants appear;
     And cajole, wait, watch, insult,
                         alarm, and betray,
     Till from home, and her daughter,
                        they force her away.

{010}

[Illustration: 010]




REMIGRATION.

     Still pursued, when a 'wanderer,'
                      her child sleeps in death,
     And her best friend, in England, her king,
               yields his breath;

     This gives her new rights--
                     they neglect and proscribe her;
     She threatens returning--they then try to bribe her!
     The bullies turn slaves, and, in meanness, fawn on her:

     They feel her contempt, and they vow her dishonour;
     But she 'steers her own course,' comes indignantly
     over,
     And the shouts of the nation salute her at Dover!

{011}

[Illustration: 011]




CONSTERNATION.

     Ah, what was that groan!--
                  'twas the Head of the Church,
     When he found she was come--
                  for he dreaded a search
     Into what _he'_d been doing:
                   and sorely afraid, for
     What _she_ might find out,
                    cried '_I'll not have her pray'd for'_;
     And the B------ps, obeying their _pious_ Head,
                  care took
     That the name of his wife
                  should be out of the prayer book!

{012}

[Illustration: 012]




ACCUSATION.

     On searching for precedents, much to their dread,
     They found that they could n't well cut off her head;

{013}

    And  the 'House of Incurables' raised a 'Report'
    She was not a fit person to live in _his_ Court.

    How like an OLD CHARLEY
                 they then made him stand,
     In his lanthorn a _leech_,
                  the 'Report' in his hand.

    'Good folks be so good as not go near that door
     'For, though my own wife, she _is_--I could say more
     'But it's all in this _Bag_, and there'll be a fine pother,
     'I shall get rid of her, and I'll then get another!'

    Yet he thought, to himself,--
                  'twas a thought most distressing,--
     'If _she_ should discover
                 I've been M--ch--ss--g,
     'There's an end of the whole!
              D--rs C--ns, of course,
     '_If my own_ hands are dirty,
                   won't grant a D------ce!'

     He tried to look wise, but he only look'd wild;
     The women laugh'd out, and the grave even smiled;
     The old frown'd upon him--the children made sport,
     And his wife held her _ridicule_ at his 'Report'!

               MORAL.

            _Be warn'd, by his fate
               Married, single, and all;
           Ye elderly Gentlemen,
                 Pity his fall!_

{014}

[Illustration: 014]




PUBLICATION.

    As yon bright orb, that vivifies our ball,
    Sees through our system, and illumines all;

{015}

     So, sees and shines, our _Moral_ Sun, _The Press_,
     Alike to vivify the mind, and bless;

     Sees the rat _Leech_ turn towards Milan's walls,

     'Till the black slime betrays him as he crawls;
     Sees, from that recreant, vile, and eunuch-land,
     Where felon-perjurers hold their market-stand,
     _Cooke_, with his 'cheek of parchment, eye of stone,'
     Get up the evidence, to go well down;

     Sees who, with eager hands, the Green Bag cram,
     And warns the nation of the frightful flam;

     Sees Him, for whom they work the treacherous
           task,

     With face, scarce half conceal'd, behind their mask.
     Fat, fifty-eight, and frisky, still a beau,

     Grasping a half-made match; by _Leech_-light go;
     Led by a passion, prurient, blind, and letter'd,
     Lame, bloated, pointless, flameless, age'd and
     shatter'd;

     Creeping, like Guy Fawkes, to blow up his wife,
     Whom, spurn'd in youth, he dogs through after-life.

     Scorn'd, exiled, baffled, goaded in distress,

     She owes her safety to a fearless Press:

     With all the freedom that it makes its own,

     It guards, alike, the people and their throne;

     While fools with darkling eye-balls shun its gaze,
     And soaring villains scorch beneath its blaze.

{016}

[Illustration: 016]




INDIGNATION

     The day will soon come, when the Judge and the
           Ponderer,'

     Will judge between thee, and the charge-daring

            'Wanderer;'

     Will say--'Thou who cast the first stone at thy wife,
     Art thou without sin, and is spotless _thy_ life?'

     Ah! what if _thy_ faults should 'outrival the sloe,'
     And thy wife's, beside thine, should look 'whiter
     than snow'!

     Bethink thee! the old British Lion awoke,

     Turns indignant, and treads out thy bag-full of smoke.
     Spurn thy minions--the traitors, who counsel thee,
     banish;

     And the soldiers will quickly forget all their _Spanish!_

{017}

[Illustration: 017]




CORONATION.

     Shakspeare says, in King John, it's a curse most
            abhorrent,

     That '_Slaves_ take the humours of Kings for a warrant.'
     A more _useful_ truth never fell from his pen,

     If Kings would apply it like sober-bred men.

     The Slaves of _your_ will,
                    will make your reign, in History,

     A misrule of force, folly, taxing, and mystery:
     Indulging your wish for
                    what, with law, 's incompatible,

     For the present, they've render'd your crown
     not come-at-able;

     And the tongues of old women and infancy wag,
     With, 'He call'd for his crown--and
                    they gave him the _Bag!_'

{018}

[Illustration: 018]




DEGRADATION.

     To this have they brought thee, at last!

{019}

     Exposed thee, for all men to see!
     Ah, surely, their pandering
                  shall quickly be past:
     'How wretched their portion
     shall be!

    Derision shall strike them
                 forlorn,

     'A mockery that never shall die:

     'The curses of hate and the hisses
                  of scorn,

     'Shall follow wherever they fly;
     'And proud o'er their ruin
                  for ever be hurl'd,

    'The laughter of triumph,
                   the jeers of the world!'

THE END


[Illustration: 019]

{020}

[Illustration: 020]




THE JOSS AND HIS FOLLY,

   An Extract of an overland, Dispatch.

              I stare at it from out my casement,

              And ask for what is such a place meant.

                          Byron.

July 29, 1820.

  --The queerest of all the queer sights

                  I've set sight on;--

 Is, the _what d'ye-call-t thing_, here,

              The Folly at Brighton

{021}



     The outside--huge teapots,
                       all drill'd round with holes,
     Relieved by extinguishers,
                      sticking on poles:
     The inside--all tea-things,
                      and dragons, and bells, t
     The show rooms--_all_ show,
                      the sleeping rooms--cells.

     But the _grand_ Curiosity
                         's not to be seen--
     The owner himself--
                      an old fat _Mandarin_;
     A patron of painters
                     who copy designs,
     That grocers and tea-dealers
                      hang up for signs:
     Hence teaboard-taste artists
                      gain rewards and distinction,
     Hence his title of '_Teapot_'
                       shall last to extinction.

     I saw his great chair
                         into which he falls--_soss_--
     And sits, in his _China Shop_,
                       like a large Joss;
     His mannikins round him,
                       in tea-tray array,
     His pea-hens beside him,
                    to make him seem gay.

{022}

           It is said when he sleeps
                           on his state Eider-down,
           And thinks on his Wife,
                            and about _half_ a Crown;
           That he wakes from these horrible dreams
                              in a stew;
     And that, stretching his arms out,
                          he screams, Mrs. Q!

          He's cool'd on the M--ch-ss,
                          but I'm your debtor
           For further particulars--
                              in a C letter.

           You must know that he hates _his own_ wife,
                             to a failing;--

            And it 's thought, it's to shun her,
            he's now gone out

                        _SAILING._

[Illustration: 022]

Finis.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Queen's Matrimonial Ladder, by William Hone