VERSES,

ON SEEING THE STATUE OF APULLO FALL, DURING THE LATE CONFLAGRATION OF DRURY LANE THEATRE,

[From the Morning Post, Feb. 28.]

NEAR Drury's celebrated Lane,
Was rear'd Apollo's mighty fane,
High o'er the roofs below:
The Muses chose it for their seat;
Blithe Cupid made it his retreat,
And Plutus join'd the Co.
Happy they dwelt at first awhile,
Bid Talent, Joy, and Genius smile,
Rewarded for their toils-

But Justice soon forsook the place,
And Favouritism, too long, alas!
Revell'd in ill-got spoils.

The Muses to Parnassus flew,
And Plutus from the House withdrew,
Mute was Apollo's lyre-

Vulcan, in wrath, assails the walls,

And Phoebus, poar and friendless, falls

Before the God of fue.

TEUTHA.

THE MYSTERIOUS NOTE.

[From the Morning Chronicle, March 3.]

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Valentine.-AS you enjoin'd me, I have writ your

letter

Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;

Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
But for my duty to your ladyship.

Silva-I thank you, gentle servant: 't is very CLERKLY done.

Val. Now trust me, Madam, it came hardy off: For, being ignorant to whom it goes,

I writ at random, very debtfully..

5

ON

ON MRS. C-KE BEING CALLED A "BAGGAGE," IN THE COMMITTEE OF INQUIRY.

[From the same]

WHY, Gentlemen, thus put to so much pain
Poor Captain Sandon of the waggon-train ?
For, all who have a single spark of candour,
That he was bound in duty, must allow,
To pay attention to, and keep in view,
The Baggage of cur army's Chief Commander.

QUIZ.

THE PRUDENT RESOLVE.

DEDICATED TO ALL THE TRIMMERS OF ST. STEPHEN'S

I

CHAPEL

AT THE PRESENT MOMENT.

By a Leorned Gentleman.

[From the same, March 7.]

DARE not help the D

of

John Bull will make a piece of work;

I dare not join that Wardle's corps,
For hopes of place will be no more:

To please both sides, the way I'll choose is,
To skulk and hum them with excuses;

And since the a sizes are so near,
I'll plead my cause, and disappear;
And thus, or I am much mistaken,
Shall keep my seat, and save my bacon.
March 6, 1809.

FANUS.

ON OUR METROPOLITAN REVIEW.

[Fio e a e, March 13.]

SURE 't is the Edinbro'-Its cover, type,
Inside and outside -
-evy way alike!
No, faith, S Freifu', one thing still remains-
In your net number borrow Jeffery's brains,

EPIGRAMS

ON O'MEARA'S GOING IN SEARCH OF PREFERMENT.

[From the same.]

So great on the church were O'Meara's designs,
That he prov'd too ambitious a spark;
But where is the wonder, ye learned divines,
That the parson should go to the Clark?

ANOTHER.

SURE such treatment each son of the church would displease, To be robb'd of his living, yet pay the Clark's fees.

ANOTHER.

To be dignified here as the highest of priests,
Wallow loose in his stall, and sit first at the feasts:
Is it strange that from ladies he sought his degrees,
Who wanted an apron to cover his knees?

ANOTHER,

DETERMIN'D no more to be left in the lurch,
And knowing the Clark keeps the keys of the church,
With his noted protectress he carried a farce on,
And lost in the Clark what was due to the parson.

MATCH EXTRAORDINARY.

[From the same, March 20.]

A GRAND cricket-match, for the highest stakes ever known to have been played for in this kingdom, is said to be in agitation between His Royal Highness the late Commander in Chief, and the military club of general officers, on one side, against all England on the other side. This match, which was lately proposed at one of the meetings of the club after dinner, was warmly supported by the Secretary at War, as well as all the Members present; and Mr. Whitbread

Whitbread and Mr. Canning have accepted the challenge on the part of all England. Doubts, however, begin to be entertained, whether the military gentlemen feel quite so bold in their cooler moments, as they did in those of their convivial festivity. Indeed, they are thought to be so greatly overmatched, that not a bet can be got upon them at any odds. There is certainly no comparison between the leaders of the two sides. His Royal Highness, it must be admitted, has shown himself a good runner; but unfortunately, in all the matches he has played, he has let his adversaries get a great number of notches by by-balls, from being a very bad stopper; and the Secretary at War is not only a miserable field's-man, but once in a great match near Ferrol, when he had the game in his own hands, lost it in an unaccountable manner, by never stirring from his wicket. On the other side, Mr. Whitbread is well known to be a very hard hitter, and Mr. Canning is allowed to catch a ball and throw it in with more dexterity and quickness than any man in the kingdom. Should the match be made up, we shall give our readers the earliest notice of the time and place of meeting.

EPIGRAMS,

ON GOING INTO A CERTAIN HOUSE AFTER SOME RECENT CIRCUMSTANCES.

WHAT

[From the same.]

a chapel is this! said John Bull with a sneer; One should think, from the dirt, that white-washing's

done here.

POOR Justice never well could see;

She's old-there's now no hope to mend her!

For she examines the degree,

Not of th' offence-but the offender,.

EPIGRAM.

[From the same, March 23.J

THAT Truth is not of royal growth,
Reflects a stain upon her;
Witness one Prince's Bible oath,
And t' other Prince's honour.

EPIGRAM.

[From the Morning Post]

GOOD Mr. Whitbread,
For all you have said,

Nought than this you must own can be truer,
That the word of a Prince

Ought as soon to convince

As that of a strumpet or brewer.

EPIGRAM.

[From the Morning Chronicle, March 25.]

'O Wardle, sage Perceval jeeringly said,

head;"

But the Duke is unhappily left to bemoan,

of a much cooler

That his friends did not use any heads—but their own.

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR JOHN MOORE. [From the Day, March 1.]

WHO has not felt exulting raptures glow

For England's triumph o'er her haughty foe?
Who has not wept for England's gallant train,
The slaughter'd victims of degenerate Spain ?
Of every aid, of hope itself, beneft,
Their firmness and their valour only left;
Let yon ensanguin'd plain their triumph tell,
Too dearly purchas'd-for their Leader fell:
In Vict'ry's arms thus Abercromby died,
Thus Nelson bled, o.. sorrow and our pride;