THE GRAND SECRET DISCOVERED,

315

But, no; the wine is on the lees;

Their lazy hours in gowned ease
The dull fanatics pass,

Whose earthly bosoms ne'er could feel
One generous spark of virtue steal
'Mid the chaotic mass.

Nor Orpheus have we now to save;
In air their wooden heads they wave
Majestically cold:

Save where, beneath Kilcannon's arch,
Fair Burton strides with rapid march,
More than a woman bold.

Proceed, fair maid-'t is thine to dare
Το spurn each modest female air,
In Grenville's cause to rail † ;
Alas! where Orpheus' self would lose
The power conviction to infuse,
Thy impudence must fail.

SIR,

THE GRAND SECRET DISCOVERED.
[From the Times, Nov. 21.]

I HAVE frequently heard of a toast, said to have been given by a worthy Alderman celebrated for such productions: "Success to the wooden walls of Old England all the world over, and every where else!"

The latter part of the toast has occupied much of my attention; but I could never penetrate into the depth of the sage Magistrate's meaning, until I read in the Gazette the promotions at the Admiralty, on the 25th October last. It is with extreme pleasure I communicate to the public, through the medium of your. patriotic journal, a most valuable addition to political and geographical science, which brings to light such an important accession of territory, as will amply com→

"Sævis inimica virgo belluis."-HOR.

+"Blanda et amitas, fidibus causis ducere- quærens."

pensate our national loss, if we should be obliged to abandon Walcheren, and withdraw our army from Portugal and Spain. Charles Cobb, Esq. Rear Admiral of the Blue, it seems, has been promoted, by the wisdom of His Majesty's Ministers, to be Rear Admiral of the White, after being allowed to remain for a considerable time unemployed in the tomb. Lieut. Dove has also been promoted to the rank of Master and Commander, in the fleet serving on the same station. It is said, that, on receiving His Majesty's commission, they bounded with joy, and hastened to go on board. By the last advices received from the squadron in the Dead Sea, we learn that the French had been driven entirely from the Elysian Fields, and that the remainder of their fleet in that quarter was now closely blockaded at the mouth of the river Styx. The following ships are in our squadron :-Royal George, Queen Charlotte, Blenheim, Invincible, Venerable, Repulse, Nassau, Sceptre, York, and Proserpine frigate.

It was confidently expected, that the energetic wisdom of the present Administration, which had fitted out the grand expedition, would quickly send them a large reinforcement, under the direction of that distinguished officer Ally Croker. Nelson and the heroes from Trafalgar have distinguished themselves by their accustomed gallant ardour, in vigorously pressing upon the enemy. It is hoped, that by their exertions he will be brought to such distress as to grant us, on honourable terms, " a speedy peace and soon." That event will highly gratify the country, particularly,

Sir, yours, &c.

BRITANNICUS.

( 317 )

LORD GRENVILLE'S LETTER TO HIS FRIENDS

MY

[From the Morning Post, Nov. 22.]

Y friends, I entreat, without fail or defection,
You'll to Oxford repair on the day of election;
Next Wednesday come three weeks, there joyfully meet
To give Church and King men a signal defeat.
But if it should chance (which the Virgin forbid !)
That by illness beset you 're confin'd to your bed,
I subjoin a short rule for your close observation--
It is fair, and proceeds from abstruse calculation
Pair off with stout votes for Eldou and Beaufort ;
Not Beaufort alone, else Eldon will show for 't
Two votes to my cost; hence you plainly may see,
That three are not two, and that two are not three.
November 20th.

YE

GILT SPURS.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Nov. 23 1

E Bond Street loungers! delicate and soft,
With vacant stare, and noses turn'd aloft!
Truth has proclaim'd (no scandal deals her slurs)
Your heels project a foot with gilded spurs !
Well cas'd in armour were our knights of old,
The brave defenders of the fair enroll'd:
But our spruce heroes, self-admiring beaux,
Seem less the sex's champions than their foes.
For what proud daring are their bosoms warm'd?
For what, say ladies, are their heels thus arm'd ?
"For mighty deeds," cries Lady Bab, and frowns-
"To hook our petticoats and tear our gowns !"

DRYDEN'S ODE TO MUSIC IMITATED, &c.
OR, THE COVENT GARDEN ROW.

[From the Morning Post, Nov. 25.].

TWAS at a glorious row, for Clifford won,
By German Wienholt's son,

After the play was done,

Aloft in drunken state

Was plac'd the stupid candidate
For O. P. fame and fun.

His fit compeers were plac'd around,
Their brows with deadly-nightshade bound:
So should desert like theirs be crown'd;
The black-ey'd Dolly by his side,

Look'd like a Dutchman's bloated bride,
Blushing with spirits and with pride;
Happy, happy, happy pair,

The

None but O. P.'s should have such fare.
plac'd on high,

Whose pages let for "filthy hire,”
With fingers light struck the smooth lyar,
The trembling notes mount gallery high,'
And heavenly joys inspire.
Of Proteus Nixon was the song,
A grocer's porter all the day,
Who left his shop at night to stray,
And join confusion's throng;
When amidst the howling pack
A dragoon's fury form belied the hack,
He to th' infernal pit his step address'd,

With O. P. flaming high upon his crest,

Oft as his friends were hard by numbers press'd,

His coward form shrunk back; he sneaks behind the rest..

Next he sung the boxes fill'd

With nought but rabble rout;

In daring falsehoods he was skill'd
To pass for truth about :
The greasy nightcap too he sung,
Of Jacobins the pride,

How high upon a pole it hung,

Scatt'ring its perfume wide.

Each brainless hound admires the sound:

A Jacobin! they shout around;

A Jacobin! the vaulted roofs rebound.

With ravish'd ears young Wienholt hears,
Assumes the God-affects to nod,

And shakes his lengthen'd ears.

The praise of Clifford then the lyarist sung,
Clifford ever bold in wrong;

*Vulgarly termed-Jackey.

The

DRYDEN'S ODE TO MUSIC IMITATED.

The jolly dog in triumph comes,

Sound your rattles, beat your drums;

Flush'd with a purple grace,

He shows his brazen face!

Now give the whistles breath-he comes! he comes!
Clifford bold, although but young*,
Rowing joys did first ordain,

Old Brentford echo'd back the strain:
Uproar's blessings are a treasure,
High destruction is a pleasure :
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure,

When we count the plunder'd gain.
Sooth'd with the sound, the boy grew vain,
Fought all their battles o'er again;
Again, in fancy, beat his foes;

At length he tumbled on his nose,
And tried to stand, in vain.

The lyarist saw the madness rise,
His glowing cheek, his ardent eyes;
And whilst he Bow Street's power defied,
Chang'd the sound, and check'd his pride:
He chose a mournful muse,

Soft slumber to infuse;

He sung of Cowlam, (call'd him good,)
By too severe a fate

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,'

Fallen from his self-rais'd state,

And weltering in his blood.

Deserted in his utmost need,
By those his purse before had freed,
On a bare bench expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to wipe his eyes,
Or aid him from the seat to rise.
Sung next the horrors of the pit,
And each successless breeze;
How daring Magistrates commit
Poor innocent O. P.'s.

319

*Young in law.