Classic Poem

Loud complaints being made, in these quick-reading times,
Of too slack a supply, both of prose works and rhymes,
A new Company, form'd on the keep-moving plan,
First propos'd by the great firm of Catch-'em-who-can,
Beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and speed,
Some fast-going authors, of quite a new breed—
Such as not he who runs but who gallops may read—
And who, if well curried and fed, they've no doubt,
Will beat even Bentley's swift stud out and out.

In fact, there's no saying, so gainful the trade,
How fast immortalities now may be made;
Since Helicon never will want an ‘Undying One,’
As long as the public continues a Buying One;
And the company hope yet to witness the hour,
When, by strongly applying the mare-motive power,
A three-decker novel, 'midst oceans of praise,
May be written, launch'd, read, and—forgot, in three days!

In addition to all this stupendous celerity,
Which—to the no small relief of posterity—
Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame,
Nor troubles futurity ev'n with a name,
We, the Company—still more to show how immense
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and pence,
Beg to add, as our literature soon may compare,
In its quick make and vent, with our Birmingham ware,
And it doesn't at all matter in either of these lines,
How sham is the article, so it but shines ,—
We keep authors ready, all perch'd, pen in hand,
To write off, in any giv'n style, at command.
No matter what bard, be he living or dead,
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as said:
There being, on th' establishment, six Walter Scotts,
One capital Wordsworth, and Southeys in lots;—
Three choice Mrs Nortons, all singing like syrens,
While most of our pallid young clerks are Lord Byrons.
The company, since they set up in this line,
Have mov'd their concern, and are now at the sign
Of the Muse's Velocipede, Fleet Street, where all
Who wish well to the scheme are invited to call.