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Corn and Catholics

 "What! still those two infernal questions,
That with our meals our slumbers mix --
That spoil our tempers and digestions --
Eternal Corn and Catholics!

Gods! were there ever two such bores?
Nothing else talk'd of night or morn --
Nothing in doors, or out of doors,
But endless Catholics and Corn!

Never was such a brace of pests --
While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skill'd but in feathering their nests,
Plague us with both, and settle neither.
So addled in my cranium meet Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt, Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat Or bonded Papists, they let out.
Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you, Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up; Prices and Texts at once assail you -- From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.
And when you sleep, with head still torn Between the two, their shapes you mix, Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn -- Then Corn again seems Catholics.
Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats -- Now, Jesuits from California -- Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea.
" Oft, too, the Corn grows animate, And a whole crop of heads appears, Like Papists, bearding Church and State -- Themselves, together by the ears! In short, these torments never cease; And oft I wish myself transferr'd off To some far, lonely land of peace, Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.
Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole, For -- if my fate is to be chosen 'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul, I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!

Poem by Thomas Moore
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