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But, then, said Satan to himself,
As for that said beginner, Against my infernal Majesty,
There is no greater sinner.
He hath put me in ugly ballads
With libelous pictures for sale; He hath scoff"d at my hoofs and my horns,
And has made very free with my tail.
But this Mister Poet shall find
I am not a safe subject for whim; For I'll set up a School of my own,
And my Poets shall set upon him. He went to a coffee-house to dine,
And there he had soy in his dish; Having ordered some soles for his dinner,
Because he was fond of fat fish.
They are much to my palate, thought he,
And now guess the reason who can, Why no bait should be better than place,
When I fish for a Parliament-man.
But the soles in the bill were ten shillings; Tell your master, quoth he, what I
say; If he charges at this rate for all things,
He must be in a pretty good way.
I'm a dealer myself in this line,
Nothing like so extensive as mine.
Which he will not attempt to deny, When I see him at my fish-market,
I warrant him, by-and-by. As he went along the Strand
Between three in the morning and four, He observed a queer-looking person
Who staggered from Perry's door.
And he thought that all the world over
In vain for a man you might seek, Who could drink more like a Trojan
Or talk more like a Greek.
The Devil then he prophesied
That with wine when smitten,
The story of this walk.
A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil;
A pretty mistake I opine!
He will never put good ones in mine.
And whoever shall say that to Porson
These best of all verses belong, He is an untruth-telling whore-son,
And so shall be call'd in the song.
And if seeking an illicit connection with fame,
In this comical competition;
A man-trap for such foolish ambition, Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg,
And exposed in a second edition.
Now the morning air was cold for him
Who was used to a warm abode; And yet he did not immediately wish,
To set out on his homeward road.
For he had some morning calls to make
Before he went back to Hell;
And that will do as well ;
A wonderful chance befell
For all on a sudden, in a dark place,
And it struck him with such consternation,
'T was the general conflagration.
CHURCH AND STATE.
When Royalty was young and bold,
Ere, touch'd by Time, he had becomeIf't is not civil to say old
At least, a ci-devant jeune homme.
One evening, on some wild pursuit,
Driving along, he chanced to see Religion, passing by on foot,
And took him in his vis-à-vis.
This said Religion was a friar,
The humblest and the best of men, Who ne'er had notion or desire
Of riding in a coach till then.
"I say"-quoth Royalty, who rather
Enjoy'd a masquerading joke“I say, suppose, my good old father,
You lend me, for a while, your cloak.”
The friar consented-little knew
What tricks the youth had in his head; Besides, was rather tempted, too,
By a laced coat he got in stead.
Away ran Royalty, slap-dash,
Scampering like mad about the town; Broke windows_shiver'd lamps to smash,
And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down.
While naught could they whose heads were broke,
Learn of the “ why” or the " wherefore," Except that 't was Religion's cloak
The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore.
Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd
By the laced coat, grew frisky too Look'd big—his former habits spurn'd
And storm'd about as great men do
Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses
Said “Damn you,” often, or as badLaid claim to other people's purses,
In short, grew either knave or mad.
As work like this was unbefitting,
And flesh and blood no longer bore it, The Court of Common Sense then sitting,
Summon'd the culprits both before it;
Where, after hours in wrangling spent
(As courts inust wrangle to decide well), Religion to St. Luke's was sent,
And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell:
With this proviso_Should they be
Restored in due time to their senses, They both must give security
In future, against such offenses
Religion ne'er to lend his cloak,
Seeing what dreadful work it leads to; And Royalty to crack his joke
But not to crack poor people's heads, too.
I do confess, in many a sigh,
Nay-look not thus, with brow reproving:
And now, my gentle hints to clear,
SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR. IRV-NG
THOMAS MOORE. MILLENNIUM at hand !-I'm delighted to hear it,
As matters both public and private now go, With multitudes round us, all starving or near it,
A good rich millennium will come à propos.