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THE WIDOW ST AND HER MAJD BETTY. Now opposite this naughty sight, there liv'd in the same street,

Sir, As cold as ice, and iron-bound, both gentle and discreet, Sir, Eschewing sin, and wicked men, the pious widow S-t, Sir, Who goes to meeting thrice a day, and lectures, and what

not, Sir.

Now when this widow saw the naked monster cross the way,

Sir, She ray'd, she roar'd, she tore her hair, in very great dismay,

Sir! Said she, “ How base a deed it is, to show such things as

those," Sir; And then she look'd again, and sighd, as her maid Betty

kuows, Sir. Betty,”

” said she, pray stop the Jew, who goes about to

call clothes, And buy the largest pair he has of strong elastic small clothes ; Then go, before the neighbours rise, or sweeps or milk-maids

bellow, And stride across the iron lamp, and draw them on that

fellow." Now as it was a Saturday, no Hebrew walk'd to cry, Sir; And as no breeches were for sale, poor Betty could not buy,

Sir. * What shall we do?" moan'd Mistress S -t, “I vow I'm

in a fidget;" And then she look'd again and sobb'd, as modest as Saint

Bridget. “ Go to Mr. Harris straight, or else to Mr. Moody, And beg a bit of paduasoy, and say it's for Miss Judy; Then make a leaf at least as big as is our kitchen riddle, And clamber up the gas light posts, and tie it round his

middle.” Now while poor Atlas slept one night, reliev'd from the

world's pressure, Betty purloin'd a massy shell of an enormous measure; She stole a hod of mortar, next, from Roderick O'Connor's, And clapt it on the naked wretch, and hid his blushing honours!





All you who'd live with credit, if you're wise,
Pray keep the fear of shame before your eyes;
Let no licentious dolts vex Grace, or cramp her,
Read Man's Whole Duty as a morning dainper :
Nor sully Virtue's fane with spots or paiches,
But keep the ruder passions under ha?ches.
Shall wooden nudities usurp a stand,
And scare our ladies in a Christian land?
Forbid it Reason--jet no varlet seek
Tu crimson o'er with blushes Chloe's cheek.
Should any soil the garinents of Propriety,
Send him, in fetters, to the Vice Society
You who would spit at Prudence and despise ber,
Think of the fate of Atlas, and be wiser.
Ye statuaries, who may dread our rigour,
Pr'ythee be decent, when you'd-cut a figure !


[From the Morning Chronicle, Dec. 20.] N Thursday last, at about ten o'clock in the even.

ing, died at Oxford, in strong convulsions, and after a hard struggle for existence, that capricious and whimsical old lady, Mrs. Bigotry. Though grown very feeble, she was irritable beyond measure; and though her eye-sight had so entirely failed her, that she was unable to distinguish the objects before her, yet she would allow nobody to set her right, but raved like a mad woman if any one ventured to inform her of the mistakes which her imperfect vision and wandering in. tellect continually led her to make. As her teeth had almost all dropped out before her death, she could take no solid food, but was kept alive by strong drinks and the profuse application of inflammable gas. And as in her delirium she talked wildly about the Pope, and fan. cied she saw him coming into the room, she was only to be appeased by the repetition of the words “No



ELEGY ON AN UNFORTUNATE NOBLEMAN. 35* Popery,” which seemed to have a charm to relieve her pain and prolong her existence. Her friends are inconsolable, not merely for her loss, but for the disappointment they have sustained; as they made great advanage of her during her life, but derive little or nothing from her death, as her property was merely lifehold. She claimed relationship to certain great families who promoted the Revolution and Hanoverian succession; but there could be no foundation for such a claim; as her birth was known to be spurious, originating from an intrigue at Court. Her funeral will take place in a few days.


[From the same, Dec, 21.] SIR, THE 'HÉ idea of the following Elegy was, as you may

perceive, suggested by the perusal of that exquisite one upon Jean Bon St. André, which adorned the pages of the Anti Jacobin, and did so much credit to the taste and feeling of that paper. If, through the medium of your paper, it can soothe for a moinent the grief of any one friend of the unfortunate Nobleman whose fate it deplores, that will be an ample re. compense to yours,

All in the town of Oxford,
That seat of learned glory,

On a lawyer of rank

Was play'd such a prank,
As must shock each High Church Tory.
No fictions about popery,
No stories howe'er well done,

Caus'd the courtiers such dread,

As this true one hath spread,
Of good John Baron E-


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Good John he was Lord Chancellor,
For doubts fam'd, and mis-givings-

He swore by his heels,

He'd not give up the seals,
That the parsons might hope for livings.
« Of Oxford to be Chancellor,
My wish, though you may scoff, is;

And by Jove," says he,

“ If you don't choose me, The Pope will pop into the office. « Of old you us'd him scurvily, Don't now be of his party;

His friends, spite of fuss,

Are kept out by us,
And himself by Bonaparte,
“ Of old by your addresses,
You help'd my friends to lug in,

If you seout me now,

You 'll plainly avow,
That that was all mere hum-bugging."
The Oxonians, being learned,
First ask'd about his knowledge ;

They found that scant:

Law, economy, and cant,
Were all he had learnt since college.
Then he form'd a Committee,
And publish'd many a placard;

And told stories so thick,

Of the Pope and Old Nick,
That the people thought it blackguard.
" In spite of this," says Grenville,
" I'm sure quite orthodox for 't;

One man shouldn't be

Two Chancellors, d'ye see,
So Chancellor I'll be of Oxford."
Upon the day in Chancery
Lord E-n sat uneasy;

Downcast was his look,

And he quoted Lord Coke,
When he meant to have quoted Vezey.



It mov'd the lawyers' bowels,
To see him vex'd and heated;

But the Oxford whigs

Did not care three figs,
And so John was quite defeated.
In Chancery next morning,
Solicitors and lawyers

Sat ready each,

With a brief or a speech,
And all in a fright their employers.
Some time they all sat silent,
Then all began debating;

A King's counsel said, “Hum !

Lord won't come,
There can be no use in waiting."
Then sent they to inquire
Why he his stay protracted ;

And the Oxford buut

Made him fear “going out,"
And he kept his bed distracted.
All night upon his bosom
(His woe so monstrous large is)

A nightmare sat

With a Cardinal's hat,
And a bottom like a barge's.
“ Oh! he lies,” then said the lawyers,
In bed, we understand it;

To lie down 't is fit,

Since he will not sits
And is quite unable to stand it.”.



OF 0-D.

[From the same, Dec. 25.] WHEN Tories, to answer political ends,

Set ev'ry invention to work,
With “ No Popery” cries all their wiseacre friends
Curs'd Infidel, Papist, and Turk.


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