When Thurlow This Damn'd Nonsense Sent
[To Thomas Moore, June, 1813. Byron and Moore were supping with Rogers on bread and cheese when their host brought forth Lord Thurlow's Poems on Several Occasions (1813). " In vain did Mr. Rogers (to whom a copy of the work had been presented)," says Moore in his Life , " in justice to the author, endeavour to direct our attention to some of the beauties of the work. One of the poems was a warm and, I need not add, well-deserved panegyric on himself. The opening line of the poem was, as well as I can recollect, —
" When Rogers o'er this labour bent. " And Lord Byron undertook to read it aloud; but he found it impossible to get beyond the first two words. Our laughter had now increased to such a pitch that nothing could restrain it. Two or three times he began, but, no sooner had the words " When Rogers " passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh — till even Mr. Rogers himself, with all his feeling of our injustice, found it impossible not to join us; and had the author himself been of the party, I question much whether he could have resisted the infection." A day or two later Byron sent the following verses in a letter to Moore.]
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent
(I hope I am not violent),
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise —
Why would they let him print his lays?
...
...
To me, divine Apollo, grant — O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining —
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
" When Rogers o'er this labour bent. " And Lord Byron undertook to read it aloud; but he found it impossible to get beyond the first two words. Our laughter had now increased to such a pitch that nothing could restrain it. Two or three times he began, but, no sooner had the words " When Rogers " passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh — till even Mr. Rogers himself, with all his feeling of our injustice, found it impossible not to join us; and had the author himself been of the party, I question much whether he could have resisted the infection." A day or two later Byron sent the following verses in a letter to Moore.]
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent
(I hope I am not violent),
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise —
Why would they let him print his lays?
...
...
To me, divine Apollo, grant — O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining —
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
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