Who knows but we'll have to announce in the papers, So much for the actors-for secret machinery, In taking my leave now, I've only to say THE SALE OF THE TOOLS. Instrumenta regni.-Tacitus. HERE'S a choice set of Tools for you, gemmen and ladies, In that delicate service they're rather worn out; Though their owner, bright youth! if he'd had his own will, The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chancellor) Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou shapest Of some church that old women are fearful will fall; Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, sir- Come, where's the next Tool?-Oh! 'tis here in a trice- The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross ; You shall have it for nothing-then marvel with me Where a tool such as this is (I'll leave you to judge it) LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL. A BALLAD TO THE TUNE OF THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN, AND HE WOOED A LITTLE MAID,' DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HON. CH-RL-S ABB—T. 'Arcades ambo Et cant-are pares.' THERE was a little Man, and he had a little Soul, Whether it's within our reach Then said his little Soul, 'I protest, little Man, you are stout, stout, stout, Pray tell me what the devil 1813. Must our little, little speech be about, bout, bout, The little Man look'd big, With th' assistance of his wig, And he call'd his little Soul to order, order, order, Till she fear'd he'd make her jog in To jail like Thomas Croggan (As she wasn't Duke or Earl), to reward her, ward her, ward her, As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her. The little Man then spoke, For as sure as J-cky F-ull-r loves a sup, sup, sup, What I think of Church and Steeple, And my little patent plan to prop them up, up, up, Away then, cheek by jowl, Little Man and little Soul Went and spoke their little speech to a tittle, tittle, tittle, That this priggish little pair Never yet in all their lives look'd so little, little, little, REINFORCEMENTS FOR LORD WELLINGTON. suosque tibi commendat Troja PENATES Hos cape fatorum comites.- Virgil. As recruits in these times are not easily got, 1813. And the Marshal must have them-pray, why should we not, Ship off the Ministry, body and bones to him? There's not in all England, I'd venture to swear, Any men we could half so conveniently spare, And, though they've been helping the French for years past, C-stl-r- -gh in our sieges might save some disgraces, Nay, I do not see why the great R-g-t himself Should, in times such as these, stay at home on the shelf;-- And though oft, of an evening, perhaps, he might prove, Yet there's one thing in war of advantage unbounded, HORACE, ODE I. LIB. III. A FRAGMENT. Odi profanum vulgus et arceo. Regum timendorum in proprios greges, HATE thee, O Mob! as my lady hates delf, 1813. To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps and thy hisses, Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself, And, like G-dw-n, write books for young masters and misses. Oh! it is not high rank that can make the heart merry, Even monarchs themselves are not free from mishap, Though the Lords of Westphalia must quake before Jerry, TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE RIGHT Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick-nackeries, * ** * The character given to the Spanish soldier, in Sir John Murray's memorable despatch. 2 The literal closeness of the version here cannot but be admired. The translator has added a long, erudite, and flowery note upon Roses, of which I can merely give a specimen at present. In the first place, he ransacks the Rosarium Politicum of the Persian poet Sadi, with the hope of finding some Political Roses, to match the gentleman in the text-but in vain: he then tells us that Cicero accused Verres of reposing upon a cushion 'Melitensi rosâ furtum,' IMPROMPTU. UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY, FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS FOR DINNER IN. 1810. BETWEEN Adam and me the great difference is, LORD WELLINGTON AND THE MINISTERS. So gently in peace Alcibiades smiled, 1813. While in battle he shone forth so terribly grand, O Wellington! long as such Ministers wield Your magnificent arm, the same emblem will do; which, from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to be a kind of Irish Bed of Roses, like Lord Castlereagh's. The learned Clerk next favours us with some remarks upon a well-known punning epitaph on Fair Rosamond, and expresses a most loyal hope, that, if 'Rosa munda' mean 'a Rose with clean hands,' it may be found applicable to the Right Honourable Rose in question. He then dwells at some length upon the Rosa aurea,' which, though descriptive, in one sense, of the old Treasury statesman, yet, as being consecrated and worn by the Pope, must, of course, not be brought into the same atmosphere with him. Lastly, in reference to the 'old Rose,' he winds up with the pathetic lamentation of the poet, consenuisse Rosas.' The whole note, indeed, shows a knowledge of Roses that is quite edifying. |