No force her operations can withstand; Nor gods, nor men, arrest her scouring hand.

About her waist, her twisted apron's bound; On pattens rais'd, she stalks th' apartments round:

Her floating batteries, dashing from her pail, By hydrostatic laws the walls assail.

Her rosy arms their wonted labours ply! Chairs, tables, sophas, screens, before her fly!

In vain, her Rev'rend Master storms, and frets;

Madam commands, and Nancy scorns his threats.

His books, and papers, scatter'd on the floor! He swears she laughs; and sings, and scrubs, the more !

(For evils, in domestic life, there areNor this the least-would make a parson swear!)

Till, wet and damp each room, the saucy quean, Now proudly boasts once, is clean!"

"The house, for

For wet, and clean, with ev'ry British

THE VOW.

The rose is my favourite flower,
On its tablet of crimson I swore,
That up to my last living hour,

I never would think of thee more.

I scarcely the record had made,

Ere Zephyr, in frolick some play, On his light, airy pinions convey'd, Both tablet and promise away.

LINES, BY LORD BYRON, Addressed to his Wife, on the Sixth Anniversary of their Marriage.

This day of all bath surely done
It's worst for me and you;
"Tis now Six Years since we were ONE,
And Five, since we were Two.

LINES, addressed by a little Lady to the Author of "Little Things are best."

So little is there here below

Of joys, to make us blest;
That sure, since there's so much of woe,
All" little things are best."

Love goes by contraries, 'tis thought,
Then kneel to her who's long;
For thou art witty, sweet, and short,
Just like thy little song.

A little lady then might grieve,

Did'st thou her passion move;
For who that knows thee, can believe,
Little could make thee love!

But know, though little thou may'st be,
(To cease from sportive jest)
She owns, whene'er she thinks of thee,
That "Little Things are best."

THEATRICAL FRACAS! MAJOR ELLISTON versus MINOR RODWELL. How strange that a new dare assault an old Stager,

How bold in a Minor to attack such a Major;

But Drury's great Manager's known versatility,

To manage a Rod-well asserts it's ability : Ah! Messieurs beware! nor act this new

part,

Or your pockets and persons will wofully

smart.

Verses.

To MADAME VESTRIS, Of Drury Lane Theatre.

The gods, dearest woman, the day of thy birth,

Delighted to find so much promise on earth; Took counsel together what gifts to impart, To make thee the radiant being thou art. The fair queen of pleasure threw jealousy And gave thee her form, and her love-beaby,

ming eye;

Her mischievous son, that young dealer in guile,

Spread over thy features his ruinous smile ; From Hebe, whose looks health and beauty disclose,

Came that mouth of expression, those lips of the rose;

Euterpe, well knowing the charm of a voice, It's power to annoy, or to make us rejoice, Breath'd into thy cradle a tone so divine, That praises were heard from the whole of the nine;

And Apollo, who nothing could add to thy face,

Gave thy manners his own easy polish and

On his Excellency the late LORD GALLOWAY and his Cook.

Says my Lord to his cook, "You son of a punk,

How comes it I see you, thus, ev'ry day

drunk?

Physicians, they say, once a month do allow A man, for his health, to get drunk as a

Fast, fast, thou'rt fading from my longing sight;

The next bold turn, and thou art gone for

ave:

A dream's bright remnant on a summer night

The faint remembrance of a love gone by! Farewell! and if Fate's distant unknown page

Doom me to wreck on Passion's angry sea, I'll leave Philosophy to reasoning age,

And charm the tempest with a thought on thee!

ANGER.

Man has a roving and changeful eye,
This is not the eye of Woman;
His soul upon one dwells not constantly-
How unlike the soul of Woman!
To selfish enjoyment is Man inclin'd,
This cannot be said of Woman;
Devotion of heart brushes self from her mind,
So noble does love make Woman.

When beauty grows fainter, Man's heart will estrange,

How diff'rent the feeling of Woman; The look once so dear to her never can change, So true is the love of Woman!

Man flies away from the dark scene of death, This is not the act of Woman;

She stays to watch out the last lingering breath,

Such is the courage of Woman!

another in a Passion.

Observe, with hasty step she goes,
With eager and uneven gait;
That rising breast's convulsive throes,
Proclaim its troubled angry state.

Only perceive that sparkling eye
Peeping from 'neath its scowling lid!
Extended now, it looks on high,
Now downward cast, 'tis almost hid.

With Anger, sure she is possest!

"Tis rage that raises up the brow; 'Tis discontent that heaves the breast, And brings the frowning forehead low.

'Tis Anger thus-blest reason goneWith fearful rage illumes the fire! "Tis pride that lays the fuel on,

And kindles this revengeful ire!

Behold! that graceful form deform'd,—

That blooming countenance o'ercast; That smile, the coldest might have warm'd, But now its pow'r-its charm-is past.

Ah! ne'er let Anger's ghastly grin

Fix on those cheeks its hateful line, Disturb the peace that dwells withinThat throne of love-that breast of thine!

THE CONSTANCY OF WOMAN. "Trust me, boy, our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost, and won, than Women's are !" TWELFTH NIGHT.

Oh tell me not of a constant heart,
In the breast of aught but Woman;
Every kind feeling from Man may depart,
But fidelity never from Woman!

Man maylook cold on the friend of his youth,
Did this ever happen to Woman?
Man may forget every promise of truth,
They were never forgotten by Woman!

This is not the mem'ry of Woman; Her soul is affection and faith to the last, So superior to Man is Woman!

Then tell me not of a constant heart,

In the breast of aught but Woman; Should every other kind feeling depart, Yet fidelity'll rest with Woman!

M. R. S.

THE RICH AND THE POOR MAN. So goes the world;-if wealthy, you may call

This friend, that brother; friends and brothers all;

Though you are worthless-witless-never mind it;

You may have been a stable boy-what then? "Tis wealth, good Sir, makes honorable men. You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.

But if you are poor, Heaven help you! though your sire

Had royal blood within him, and though you Possess the intellect of angels to ',

"Tis all in vain ;-the world will ne'er inquire On such a score:-Why should it take the pains?

'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever, Witty and wise:-he paid a man a visit, And no one noticed him, and no one ever Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cries 1, "whence is it?"

He walked on this side, then on that, He tried to introduce a social chat; Now here, now there,-in vain he tried; Some formally and freezingly replied, And some

Said by their silence-" Better stay at home."

A rich man burst the door, ·
As Croesus rich I'm sure,

He could not pride himself upon his wit
Nor wisdom for he had not got a bit:

T. H.

She leads along the pensive mind, To baby scenes of earlier years, And loves to cast a look behind,

On "youthful "hopes and fears." The few we lov'd-and live to mournWhose honor'd shades come stealing on; Some dearer tie, which death hath torn; Some lov'd-some loving one.

Ah! I could bear with thee to pore,

Were dearest joys from sorrow parted; Yet now to dwell on days no more, Makes me but broken-hearted!

'Tis evening hour-and fancy wreath'd

A garland bright that could not last; O'er all my soul the vision breath'd; 'Tis gone-like pleasures past!

To J. H.

FOUR YEARS OLD.

Pien d'amori,

Pien di canti, e pien di fiori.
FRUGONI.

Full of little loves for ours,
Full of songs, and full of flow'rs.
AH! little ranting Johnny,
For ever blithe and bonny,
And singing nonny, nonny.
With hat just thrown upon ye;
Or whistling like the thrushes
With voice in silver gushes;
Or twisting random posies
With daisies, weeds, and roses;
And strutting in and out so,
Or dancing all about so,
With cock-up nose so lightsome,
And sidelong eyes so brightsome,
And cheeks as ripe as apples,
And head as rough as Dapple's,
And arms as sunny shining,
As if their veins had wine in
And mouth that smiles so truly,
Heav'n seems to have made it newly,
It breaks into such sweetness,
With merry-lipp'd completeness ;-
Ah Jack, ah Ginni mio,

As blithe as Laughing Trio,
-Sir Richard too, you rattler,
So christen'd from the Tatler,-
My Bacchus in his glory,
My little Cor-di-fiori,

My trick some Puck, my Robin,
Who in and out come bobbing,
As full of feints and frolic as
That fibbing rogue Autolycus,
And play the graceless robber on
Your grave-eyed brother Oberon,-
Ah Dick, ah Doloe-riso,
How can you, can you be so ?

One cannot turn a minute,
But mischief-there you're in it,
A getting at my books, John,
With mighty bustling looks, John;