O. P. THE RECONCILIATION DENNER.

Well, well, every man must have his way!
of thinking,

But, to my poor way
True joy is drinking!

383

Mr. John Bull was now desired to entertain the party with a ballad, or madrigal, in his own way; when honest John had thrown a satirical glance pr two at the President and his quondam antagonist, he hemmed, adjusted his cravat, and bawled out the following libellous nonsense, with the powers of a Stentor.

Tune-" The Frog in the Opera Hat."
Hal Clifford would once a reforming go,
Heigho! says Clifford ;

He swore by the mass that he'd nonsuit his foe,
And under his jerkin he hid his flambeau ;

With his rowley, powley, gammon and spinnage,
"I'll do it," roar'd patriot Clifford.

He went to the Pit, where he saw a great fray,
Heigho! says Clifford;

"We want," cried O. P. "those vile boxes away,
For if they don't sin there, I'm sure that they may;"
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinnage,
"They shall vanish," said patriot Clifford.
Then he toil'd day and night to take vicé by surprise,
Heigho! said Clifford;

Till Policy came and threw dust in his eyes ;

Now he can't find his way, though the sun burnt the skies; With his rowley, powley, gammon and spinnage,

66

66

"I must halt here," said patriot Clifford.

Though suspicion may think that my zeal was a flam,
Heigho!" said Clifford ;

"The vulgar no more shall antipathy cram,

For the lion is going to bed with the lamb:

With his rowley, powley, gammon and spinnage;
I've done it," said patriot Clifford.

See John and I swim in the Manager's boat;
Heigho!" said Clifford ;

"Though integrity smiles while we both are afloat,
Yet he's a dd fool who can't turn an old coat;
With his rowley, powley, gammon, and spinnage,
A'nt I clever?" said patriot Clifford.

Now

Now he swears reformation has got a new tune;
Heigho! said Clifford;

Lo! he and John Kemble, like loon scratching loon,
Sip their dramatic broth with the very same spoon' ;
With his rowley, powley, gaminon and spinnage,
It's over, said patriot Clifford."

While a murmur of dissatisfaction was vibrating on every ear, at the tendency of some points in John Bull's song, the candles began to burn blue, and the company to look aghast; when the ghost of O. P. rose, with an evident intention of defending himself from the influence of calumny.-When he came opposite to Mr. James Brandon, he suddenly stopped, and, shaking his rough head in fearful guise, most pathetically exclaimed:

Oh, Jemmy Brandon! Jemmy Brandon, oh!

On this intimation the worthy Boxkeeper inconti nently rose from his seat, and assuming a tragical attitude, in the manner of the new school, thus menaced his immaterial, but immortal enemy:

"Ayaunt! perturbed, ghastly, vile O. P.
Shake not thy gory locks at me; thou canst
Not surely say 't was I that did it!

Dare nie to Bow Street, or tumultuous Pit,
And look as grimly as the old Brown Bear;
If trembling I inhibit, proclaim me for
The baby of a Boxkeeper.

Accurs'd O. P. take any shape but that,

And my firm nerves shall never tremble."

As the influence of terror was becoming contagious, the following extemporaneous catch was sung by Messrs. Incledon, Bellamy, and Taylor:

Mr. Incledon-O. P. is threatening, c-se his soul;
Hit him o'er his grisly jowl.

Mr. Bellamy-Lick him!

Mr. Taylor-Kick him!

Omnes-Drown him in the negus bowl!

On this decided invitation, the enraged company seized la anima de morti, and threw it into a vast bowl of red wine negus. For some minutes O. P. contrived

6. P.THE RECONCILIATION DINNER. 385

contrived to keep his head above water, by sticking his teeth in a large slice of lemon that was lightly floating, like Lord Fanny's honour, upon the surface; until Mr. Henry Hs struck him over the sconce with a file of Morning Posts; when, feeling his dissolution approach, he lifted up both his hands, and wofully exclaimed, Remember O!-he would have said P also; but the angry Fates denied his spirit that privi lege, and he sunk to the bottom of the Red Sea, like Hecate's first cousin, never to rise again! Alas! poor ghost!

A consultation was now held among the principals as to an appropriate inscription for O. P.'s tomb: when Mr. Dibdin produced the following pithy lines:

Here lies O. P.
Who was nothing.
Not even a Critic!

But as this was a palpable plagiary from Piron's mausoleum at Paris, it was una voce rejected, and Mr. Townsend (who has been already noticed as one of the high contracting parties in the consolidation of a dramatic peace) was entreated to solicit his well-bred Muse to furnish them with an apt epitaph for this defunct rebel. It may be needless to aver, that this gentlemanusher to Justice condescendingly consented; and his invocation had scarcely time to reach the confines of Parnassus, when the Pierian grace descended upon his imagination. Idea engendered with idea, until eventually, in nine seconds, the ensuing classical monumental morceau was delivered from his bright and teeming brain:

O. P. is dish'd!
His glass is run!
He's tipp'd all nine!

He's cut and run!

It is unnecessary to say, that Mr. Townsend's sulperior poetry was most rapturously adopted: in truth,

VOL. XIII.

S

when

when we consider the brevity, beauty, and imagery of this sepulchral composition, it must be acknowledged to be a unique thing, and as admirable as it is original,

A subscription was immediately raised to inter Ŏ. P.; but a warm dispute arose as to the place of burial, as Je had occasionally, when in existence, assumed the semblance of Christian, Jew, and Infidel but these points of conscientious delicacy were over-ruled by Mr. Kemble, who suggested that his ashes should be deposited in Knave's Acre.

But the time had now arrived, Mr. Editor, when it was destined that all this visionary inapplicable nonsense should vanish; as I was roughly awakened by my washerwoman, who broke the bonds of sleep asunder, by tapping me on the shoulder (a very sensitive part of my anatomy), to present her bill for blanching one shirt per week, and which, unhappily, had not been liquidated since Candlemas.

THE MORAL.

Thus, while a mortal varlet's breast
Ideal transports feels,

The reck'ning comes, and then his heart

Sinks downwards to his heels.

Inflated man is arrogant and gay,

1

Till Fate has scratch'd him-then he finds he's clay!

Yours, &c..

Alack a day!

MARMADUKE Muzzy.

LATET IN HERBA,

[From the Morning Chronicle, Jan. 5.]

Y love and I, the other day,

MY

Within a myrtle arbour lay,

When near us, from a rosy bed,

A little snake put forth its head.

"See," said the maid, with laughing eyes

"Yonder the fatal emblem lies!

Who

WALCHEREN EXPEDITION.

Who could expect such hidden harm
Beneath the rose's velvet charm?"
Never did moral thought occur
In more unlucky hour than this;
For, oh! I just was leading her

To talk of love and think of bliss.

I rose to kill the snake; but she, In pity, pray'd it might not be. "No," said the nymph, and many a spark Flash'd from her eyelids as she said it"Under the rose, or in the dark,

One might, perhaps, have cause to dread it: But when its wicked eyes appear,

And when we know for what they wink so, One must be very simple, dear,

To let it sting one-don't you think so ì”

WALCHEREN EXPEDITION;

@R, THE ENGLISHMAN'S LAMENTATION FOR
LOSS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN.

YE

[From the same, Jan. 8.]

E brave, enduring Englishmen,
Who dash through fire and flood,
And spend, with equal thoughtlessness,
Your money and your blood,

I sing of that black season,
Which all true hearts deplore,
When ye lay,
Night and day,

Upon Walcheren's swampy shore.
T was in the summer's sunshine
Your mighty host set sail,
With valour in each longing heart,
And vigour in the gale;

The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter,

The Fleming's thoughts grew sore,
As ye came.

In your fame

To the dark and swampy shore.

St. 2

387

THE

Be