John Bull, take advice,
And don't be so nice
About the new price

Which shall never (at least as we hope) end:

But come here and doat
On the tuneful throat
Which a one-pound note

Pops out every time it is open'd.

Chorus-John Bull, &c.

Then cease your good lacks

About tax upon tax; ̧

Never ax what we ax,

But crowd in with the jovial throng;
Come, come to the play,

And be merry and gay :

'T is by far the best way

Like us pay your debts with a song.

Chorus-John Bull, &c.

Then stop your bull's mouth,
For in troth, in good sooth,
'Tis so vastly uncouth-

We will stop it at once with our gag :—

Keep off, or perhaps

You may sink in our traps,

Or Bow-street's fierce chaps

In the round-house invite you "to brag."

Chorus-John Bull, &c.

HISTRIONICUS,

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

[From the General Evening Post, Sept. 23.]

THIS is the House that Jack built.

These are the Boxes let to the Great, that visit the House that Jack built.

These are the Pigeon-holes made for the Poor, over the Boxes let to the Great, that visit the House that Jack built.

This

THE DEPARTURE FOR IRELAND.

251

This is the Cat engaged to squall, to the Poor in the Pigeon-holes over the Boxes let to the Great, that visit the House that Jack built.

This is John Bull with a bugle-horn, that hiss'd the Cat engaged to squall, to the Poor in the Pigeonholes over the Boxes let to the Great, who visit the House that Jack built.

This is the Thief-taker shaven and shorn, that took up John Bull with his bugle-horn, who hiss'd the Cat engaged to squall, to the Poor in the Pigeon-holes over the Boxes let to the Great, who visit the House that Jack built.

This is the Manager full of scorn, who raised the price to the people forlorn, and directed the Thieftaker shaven and shorn, to take up John Bull with his bugle-horn, who hiss'd the Cat engaged to squall, to the poor in the Pigeon-holes over the Boxes let to the Great, who visit the House that Jack built.

EPIGRAM.

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

JOHN Bull has gain'd one point-that's flat;
For Kemble has whipt out the Cat-

Shut up his house, and gone to bed,

With fewer aitches in his head.

Sept. 23.

HISTRIONICUS.

THE DEPARTURE FOR IRELAND.

[From the Morning Post, Sept. 26.]

WHEN Grimalkin, the spy, took a peep in the house,

And saw such confusion and strife,

He stole to the green-room as soft as a mouse,

And thus he address'd his dear wife :

"Mon Dieu!-don't sit purring, as if all was right, : Our measure of meanness is full;

We cannot stay here to be bark'd at all night,

I'd rather be toss'd by a Bull.'

ANTI-GALLICAN.

ON A LATE DUEL

[From the Morning Chronicle, Sept. 26,1

"STILL let us arm 'gainst England's foc,"
Cried Viscount Castlereagh;

"Still let us England's foe assail,"
Canning was heard to say.
But who are England's direst foes,
At whom such loyal pother?
Our valiant statesmen answer this,
By arming 'gainst each other,

ANOTHER.

CASTLEREAGH and George Canning
Fail'd, in Cabinet planning,

The country advantage to yield.
Truth and Candour must say,
They at last chose the way

Of serving her cause-in the field.

IMPROMPTU

ON THE TWO STATUES IN FRONT OF COVENT GARDEN

THEATRE.

[From the same, Sept. 27.]

WITH steady mien, unalter'd eye,
The Muses mount the pile;

Melpomene disdains to cry,

Thalia scorns to smile.

Pieria's stream when moderns quaff,
The cause they plainly show;
Their Comedy provokes no laugh,
Their Tragedy no woe.

TO THE

EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

SIR,

Bristol, Sept. 18, 1809. THE Bards, we know, in ancient days roused their country to exertion, by celebrating the glorious deeds of their Chiefs, A modern Bard, alas! has not always before him glorious chiefs to celebrate and be his patriotism never so great, his powers are very limited.

Take,

PERCEVAL'S PROCLAMATION.

253

Take, however, if you will, the two following attempts.
If you think either worthy publicity, they are at your
service for insertion, from
THE BARD.

THE NEW DAINTY DAVY.

A SCOTCH LILT.

I HAVE had a bonny reel,
Dainty Davy, dainty Davy;
I have had a bonny reel,
Dainty, dancing Davy,

Now I'm up I'll look around,

From this station, from this station;
For I may fall to the ground,

From my elevation.

Melville had a golden rule,

I have learned in his school-
"Get for aye or you're a fool-
Never mind the nation."

The Greys I've got, and Chelsea too-
Though but little, though but little,
We will try what we can do,

To make this little

mickle *.

The 95th now wants a head-
What an ass to let it pass!
I'll take that post and go to bed-
It's Colonel Davy Dundas.

And to prove my martial skill,

All posts I can take, so I will;
And keep them too-or may the de'il
Play dandy with Sir Davy.

PERCEVAL'S PROCLAMATION.

SURE we've made a nice pretty campaign on 't,
Our troops have been cut up by sections;
But what if the people complain on 't?
Why then go to fresh elections.

Then we 'll have drinking and ranting,
And playing the parson and ape, Sir,
The posts we can't carry by canting,
May fall at a show'r of our grape, Sir.

* Much.

But

But we shan't, like Sir Arthur or Chatham,
Surrender the posts we have taken ;
The swine may grunt-we 'll laugh at 'em,
Determin'd to save our own bacon.

At last, if we 're forc'd to knock under,
Yet still we can make a diversion;
We'll march out well loaded with plunder,
And retire to our out-post-Reversion.

The Austrians know how to weigh well
The ingots of Johnny Bull's gold, Sir;.
The Spaniards, too, know what to say, well,
When wise John's about to be fool'd, Sir.

Like them we will draw-on your purses,
And back you-by staying behind you;
We'll brag of our care of the churches,

And in taxes-'t is we that will mind you.

SALES BY AUCTION.

CAST HORSES, THE PROPERTY OF CERTAIN GENTLEMEN RETIRING FROM OFFICE.

[From the British Press, Sept. 29, &c.]

то be sold, at the old repository for hacks, &c. in Downing Street, without reserve, the following horses, the property of certain Gentlemen going out of office :

Premier, a dark grey horse, aged. He is the only horse of Dutch pedigree, of any note, in the annals of the British turf. He formerly ran, under the name of Portland, for the Whig stakes, and was then thought a horse of some bottom, although of very poor performance. Being now quite broken down, he has been used for some time, merely for show, in the state caravan that drives weekly between Downing Street and Buckingham House.

Admiral, formerly a troop-horse, but lately used as the leader of the team to the British Neptune's car. He is but a sorry sort of an animal, and has a habit

of