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370 INTELLIGENCE FOR THE COUNTRY.
The word is conspiracy: that is the way
To liquidate sums which you never can pay;
For when you 're a little afraid of the gaoler,
Begin by indicting your draper or tailor;
And why 'gainst this mode do they make such a pather?
T is Best with one bill to get rid of another.
But he's gone the good Colonel! (though not to the

skies,)
He's gone to that bourne whence he never will rise.
His gibes and his jokings, like Yorick's of yore,
And his good-humour'd tricks, will be heard of no more.
While o'er his low grave-turf, unmark'd by a stone,
Sits the Goddess of Humbug, and calls it her own.

But, Cousin, one word, ere I lay down my pen,
One word-on the commoner feelings of men.
We have seen, till we sicken, these patriot elves
Boast of saving the public when ruind themselves;
To direct for the country, most mightily prone,
When nothing is left to direct of their own.
'Tis the cant of the times; but one serious thing,
Most foul has been slander'd the son of our King;
That King-who, when prostrate all thrones upon earth,
As a sea-mark has stood and supported his birth!
Can the Commons of England, so vilely deceiv'd,
Fail to see in their own-the Duke's honour retriev'd;
Due right has been done by the laws of the land, -
'Tis theirs to go further restore his command.

P. S.-The paper came in as this note I was closing,
And the Colonel, I find, has new plans for imposing ;
For having been pluck'd like a goose by his bribes,
He declares “ he will thank any friend who subscribes."
So now would you cut a republican dash,
Here 's an op'ning at once to get rid of your cash;
But give us your name:

may make many, And we're at the whole board from a pound to a penny.

4 One

A PUN,

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A PUN,
ON A DEACON'S WRITING EPIGRAMS.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Dec. 26.) А

DEACON write epigrams ?"-why should he not

A great name in the church may thereby. be got;.
With innocent wit let his verses be fraught,
And a deacon shall then an arch deacon be thought,

THE NEW-INVENTED MODE OF PROMOTION*.

From the Times, Dec. 26.) WHILST there's life there is hope, some grave scholars

maintain,
But we now must the proverb amend;
For beyond the dark confines of Death's gloomy reign

The bright beams of hope now extend.
For 't is true, I assure ye, though strange it may seem,

Since talents on earth are so rarey.
Our wise ones at length have discover'd. a scheme

To make use of the phantoms of air.
To supply want of brains in departments of state,

They've recourse to the bands of the slain ;
And retort upon Death for his ravage of late,

By enlisting his subjects again.
By Dame Goose's assistance, these conjuring knaves

To dead sailors. fresh honours proclaim;
They can raise up old admirals out of their graves,

To endue them with posthumous fame.
Thus to title dead merit, with infinite pains,

Our wise ones have found out the way; And one trifling obstacle only remains,

'Tis how to transmit them their pay.. Oh! that they had follow'd this excellent plan,

In th' attack on the fatal Dutch shore;
And instead of appuinting a certain brisk man,

They had sent out the ghost of poor Moore !

* See p. 348

Would

372

IMPROMPTU.
Would to God they had sent out the heroes of old,

Who immortaliz'd Agincourt's field :
They can stand the effects of damps, agues, and cold ;

They are troops that can never be killid.
But, alas ! 't was decreed that the brave British host

At the shrine of mis-rule should be slain ;
And their bones upon Walcheren's pestilent coast,

As an altar to folly, remain.
Gray's Inn, Dec, 1809.

J. H. E.

THE EXPEDITION TO WALCHEREN: IN A DIALOGUE BETWEEN LORD C-MAND A

FRIEND

[From the same, Dec. 29.] F.-WHEN sent fresh wreaths on Flushing's shores to

reap, What didst thou do, illustrious C-~m?-C. Sleep! F.—To men fatigu'd with war, repose is sweet;

But, when awake, didst thou do nothing --C. Eat.

ON THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA.
[From the same.]

,
Who flies to fight, and fights to fly?

IMPROMPTU, OY MRS. MOUNTAIN'S FIRST APPEARANCE AFTER HER

RETURN FROM DUBLIN.

[From the British Press, Dec. 27.)
SW
WEET is the perfume of the Mountain ruse,
And

pure the stream that from the Mountain flows;
The sun's first beams with gold the Mountain spread,
And its last rays are on the Mountain shed;
Vainly the tempests shake the Mountain's brow,
From storms the Mountain guards the dale below;
Nature has this pre-eminence to Mountains given,
Of all her works, the Mountain 's nearest heaven.

M

ON

( 373 )

ON MITRE COURT, FLEET STREET.

[From the same.]

“ Principibus placuisse viris haud ultima laus est."--Hor. PROPER terms here are met-for, whatever our forte,

There's no way to the Mitre, except through the Court,

ON A SUNBEAM PLAYING ON A MASS OF SNOW; OR, ART AND INNOCENCE.

[From the same.]

." Ad populum phaleras.”—Pers. MARK, in yon beam, the world's destructive guile !

It melts us into ruin- with a smile!

PARODY OF HORACE. ODE 29, Book 1. ADDRESSED TO THE FTL-D OF THE TY.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Dec. 29.)

“ Icci, beatis nunc Arabum invides

Gazis,' &c.
BOLD P--!! you now aspire

To place and pow'r; than which no higher
Great Pitt himself could hold,
To gull the Commons you prepare,
Who, if they now are gulld, will ne'er

Have been so gulld of old *.
Your embryos of defence you hateh,
Garbled return, and sham dispatch,

Whatever foe looks at 'em,
You will not balk inquiry's whim ;
Unless you 're as prepar'd for him

As, Antwerp was for Chatham.

* Non ante devictis.

Wha:

374

PARODY OP HORACE.
What maid can you, what dauntless fair,
(Whose husband's gone the Lord knows where I

Procure to aid your plan *;
By telling for you some such tale,
As that which made you all turn pale

Before glib Mary Anne?
What youth have you, from Cambridge kot
(By Tory parents well begot,

And tutor'd how to press
His pious dread, bis zealous hope
That still the House will watch the Pope)

To move the next Address?
Who will deny that rivers now,
Isis or Cam, may upwards flow;

Thames, refluent, with it haul
Nine lawyers, (who have clubb'd their fare
From Westminster to Temple Stair ;)

And float them to Vauxhall ?
Since you at all your law-books laugh
Your fitting library of calf,

Your love of legal story;
And quit them all, to fight again
At home Iberia's sad campaign ll,

And prove retreat is glory:
Since you, by Nature form'd to shine
In Law's low pettifogging line,

With luck that line to hit on i
Have left the squabbles of the bar,
To guide the storm of real war,

And rule Imperial Britain.

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