That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd come off,
And then, Lord! how Geramb would triumphantly scoff
Mem.-To buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers-sure road to promotion !!

Saturday.

Last night a Concert-vastly gay-
Given by Lady C-stl-r-gh.
My Lord loves music, and we know,
Has two strings always to his bow.
In choosing songs, the R-g-t named
Had I a heart for falsehood framed.'
While gentle H-rtf-d begg d and pray'd
For Young I am and sore afraid.

EPIGRAM.2

WHAT news to-day? Oh! worse and worse-
M-c is the Pr-ce's Privy Purse!'-
The Pr-ce's Purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Pr---ce's Ridicule.

KING CRACK3 AND HIS IDOLS.

WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOCIATION FOR A NEW M-N-STRY.

KING CRACK was the best of all possible Kings

(At least, so his courtiers would swear to you gladly), But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly.

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been placed
In his Father's old Cabinet, pleased him so much,

That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though—such was his taste!—
They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch!

And these were the beautiful Gods of King Crack !—
Till his people, disdaining to worship such things,
Cried aloud, one and all, Come, your Godships must pack-
You will not do for us, though you may do for Kings.'

England is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. I remember,' says Tavernier, to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, whose mustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension.

This is a bon-mot, attributed, I know not how truly, to the Pr-c-ss of W-es. I have merely versified it.

3 One of those antediluvian princes with whom Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately acquainted. If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled his History, we should find, I dare say, that Crack was only a Regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was the last King of the Antediluvian Dynasty.

Then, trampling the gross Idols under their feet,

6

They sent Crack a petition, beginning Great Cæsar !
We are willing to worship, but only entreat

That you'll find us some decenter Godheads than these are.'

'I'll try,' says King Crack-then they furnish'd him models
Of better-shaped Gods, but he sent them all back;

Some were chisell'd too fine, some had heads 'stead of noddles,
In short, they were all much too godlike for Crack!

So he took to his darling old Idols again,

And, just mending their legs, and new bronzing their faces,
In open defiance of Gods and of men,

Set the monsters up grinning once more in their places!

WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE?

Quest. Why is a pump like V-sc-nt C-stl-r-gh?
Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood,
That up and down its awkward arm doth sway,
And coolly spout and spout and spout away,
In one weak, washy, everlasting flocd!

EPIGRAM.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND HIS R-Y-L HIGHN-SS
THE DE OF C-B-L-D.

SAID his Highness to Ned, with that grim face of his,
'Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic Neddy ?—
'Because, Sir,' said Ned, looking full in his phiz,
'You're forbidding enough, in all conscience, already!'

The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. ix. v. 138. Plutarch, too, tells us that household gods were then, as they are now, 'much given to war an penal statutes.' Pivvvwdeiskai πoiriμovs daiμovas.

First you must then, willy nilly,
Fetch me many an Orange lily-
Orange of the darkest dye
Irish G-ff-rd can supply!
Choose me out the longest sprig,
And stick it in old Eld-n's wig!
Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy,
Garland gaudy, dull and cool,
For the head of L-v-rp-1!
'Twill console his brilliant brows
For that loss of laurel boughs
Which they suffer'd (what a pity)
On the road to Paris city.

Next our C-stl-r-gh to crown,
Bring me, from the county Down,
Wither'd Shamrocks, which have been
Gilded o'er, to hide the green

(Such as H-df-t brought away
From Pall Mall last Patrick's Day1,-
Stitch the garland through and through
With shabby threads of every hue—
And as, Goddess !-entre nous-
His Lordship loves (though best of men)
A little torture, now and then,
Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens!
Crimp them with thy curling-irons.

That's enough-away, away—
Had I leisure, I could say
How the oldest rose that grows
Must be pluck'd to deck Old R-e-
How the Doctor's brow should smile
Crown'd with wreaths of Camomile;
But time presses-to thy taste
I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste!

EPIGRAM.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF
LORD Y-RM-TH'S FETE.

'I WANT the Court-Guide,' said my Lady, 'to look
If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30 or 20"–

'We've lost the Court-Guide, Ma'am, but here's the Red Book,
Where you'll find, I dare say, Seymour Places in plenty!'

HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. II.

FREELY TRANSLATED BY G. R.2

COME, Y-rm-th, my boy, never trouble your brains,
About what your old crony,

The Emperor Boney,

Is doing or brewing on Muscovy's plains ;

Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries;
Should there come famine,

Still plenty to cram in

You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stannaries!

Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ;
1 For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away,
And then people get fat,

And infirm, and-all that,

2 And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits,
That it frightens the little loves out of their wits;

3 Thy whiskers, too, Y-rm-th!-alas, even they,
Though so rosy they burn,

Too quickly must turn

(What a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers!) to Grey.

4 Then, why, my Lord Warden! oh! why should you fidget
Your mind about matters you don't understand?
Or why should you write yourself down for an idiot,
Because you,' forsooth, have the pen in your hand l

Think, think how much better
Than scribbling a letter
(Which both you and I

Should avoid, by the bye),

How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust

Of old Charley, my friend here, and drink like a new one ;

While Charley looks sulky, and frowns at me, just

As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at Don Juan !

6 To crown us, Lord Warden!

In C-mb-rl-nd's garden

Grows plenty of monk's hood in venomous sprigs;
While Otto of Roses

Refreshing all noses

Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and wigs.

7 What youth of the household will cool our noyau
In that streamlet delicious,

That down 'midst the dishes,

All full of gold fishes

Romantic doth flow ?--

8 Or who will repair

Unto M

Sq

-e,

And see if the gentle Marchesa be there?

Go-bid her haste hither,

9 And let her bring with her

1

The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going-
1Oh! let her come, with her dark tresses Howing,
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay,

In the manner of-Ackermann's Dresses for May!

HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I.

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD-N.

2 THE man who keeps a conscience pure
(If not his own, at least his Prince's),
Through toil and danger walks secure,
Looks big and black, and never winces!
3 No want has he of sword or dagger,
Cocked hat or ringlets of Geramb;
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger,
He does not care one single d-mn!

4 Whether 'midst Irish chairmen going,
Or through St. Giles's alleys dim,
'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing,
No matter, 'tis all one to him.

5 For instance, I, one evening late,
Upon a gay vacation sally,

Singing the praise of Church and State,
Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne Alley.

When lo! an Irish Papist darted

Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big-
I did but frown, and off he started,
Scared at me e'en without my wig!
6 Yet a more fierce and raw-boned dog
Goes not to mass in Dublin city,
Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog,
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee !

Incomtam Lacænæ

More comam religata nodo.

2 Integer vitæ scelerisque purus.
Non eget Mauri jaculis neque arcu,
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis

Fusce, pharetra.

5 Namque me silvâ ludus in Sabinâ
Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra
Terminum curis vagor expeditis
Fugit inermem.

I cannot help calling the reader's attention to the peculiar ingenuity with which these lines are paraphrased. Not to mention the happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist (seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, that Rome was founded by Romulus, and that the Pope has always reigned at Rome), there is something particularly neat in supposing ultra terminum' to mean vacation-time; and then the modest consciousness with which the noble and learned translator has avoided touching upon the words 'curis expeditis' (or, as it has been otherwise read, causis expeditis'), and the felicitous idea of his being inermis' when without his wig,' are altogether the most delectable specimens of paraphrase in our language.

6 Quale portentum neque militaris