Isaac Robert Cruikshank
The cradle hymn. New version. Eleventh edition.
London, T Dolby July 1820
Etching with letterpress
Original hand colouring
420 x 270 mm (overall size)
Etching and letterpress on two separate sheets stuck on album sheet.
Heading to a broadside printed in two columns. The King, a bloated and whiskered infant, sleeps in a cradle, rocked by Sidmouth (right), a lean old woman wearing a cap and bag-wig, who sits in a rocking-chair, his clyster-pipe (cf. No. 9849) on the ground. The cradle is surmounted by a pagoda with bells, and ornamented by two large crocodiles, representing the Chinese dragons of the Pavilion, cf. No. 12749. On it are also a sun, with a fool’s cap in its disk, between crescent moons. Round the cradle lie toys: soldiers, mounted lancers, &c., on wheels, a cannon, a sceptre, a crown with a toy windmill stuck in it. With these are papers: ‘Divorce’; ‘Protocal’ [sic]; ‘Send her to Hell’. The infant holds a coral and bells and a corkscrew. Castlereagh sits over the fire warming a napkin. Canning (see No. 13737) walks off to the left, disgustedly carrying the pan of a commode decorated with a crown and ‘G.R.’ On the chimneypiece are pap-boat, bottle of ‘Dolby’s Carminative, &c’. (Dolby was a radical bookseller, ‘Dalby’s carminative’ a well-known remedy for infants). A large ‘Green Bag’ hangs on the wall. In a doorway behind Sidmouth, inscribed ‘French Dolls’, stand two young women, in evening dress, stiff and impassive. The verses, supposed to be spoken by Sidmouth: Hush! GREAT BABE! lie still and slumber, Troops of Lancers guard thy bed, Chinese gimcracks, without number, Nicely dangle o’er thy head. The Q—n’s return’s a trifling matter, Let her face us if she dare; We will shake our Green Bag at her, She will ne’er be crown’d, I swear. You shan’t fail—for want of backing, What are ‘Notes’ and ‘Protocols’? We shall send the jade a’packing, You shall have some Paris Dolls. Should the Green Bag project fail us, Call in holy Wilb—f— ce; Cant and blarney may avail us, To accomplish the Divorce. Start not at the rabble’s shouting, Trust to me and Castle—gh, Never mind old Eld—n’s doubting, Send the saucy jade away. Never heed Burdett or Hobhouse, Lambton, Bennett, Wood, or Coke; I will flam the dirty-job-house, Canning please it with a joke. Pamper all your Royal fancies Order mantles, stays and wigs; Van will manage the finances, Hume may run his idle rigs. Whether view’d in robes of state, or Glitt’ring in a fancy dress, Wisdom cannot make you greater, Folly cannot make you less. Paris Dolls will much amuse you When fatigued with forms of state, Should the living fair refuse you, They might yield no common treat. Troops of soldiers shall attend you Muff’d and lac’d and gilt so fine, They shall valiantly defend you, From the two-legged rabble swine. Hold the Press in close submission Keep the Radicals in awe; Call Reform the worst Sedition, Yet, observe the FORMS of Law! Thus you’ll pass your time securely, And your baubles all retain ; I shall aspirate demurely ‘Heavens!’ what a GLORIOUS ‘Reign!’