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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.
But mark ye, said he to the waiter,

I'm a dealer myself in this line,
And his business, between you and me,

Nothing like so extensive as mine.
Now soles are exceedingly cheap,

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
It would one day be matter of talk,

That with wine when smitten,
And with wit moreover being happily bitten,
The erudite bibber was he who had written

The story of this walk.

A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil;

A pretty mistake I opine!
I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth,

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,
Any one else should put in a claim,

In this comical competition;
That excellent poem will prove

A man-trap for such foolish ambition, Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg,

And exposed in a second edition.

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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;
So thought he I 'U step into a gaming-house,

And that will do as well ;
But just before he could get to the door

A wonderful chance befell


For all on a sudden, in a dark place,
He came upon General 's buruing face;

And it struck him with such consternation,
That home in a hurry his way did he take,
Because he thought, by a slight mistake

'T was the general conflagration.



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.

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"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.

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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,
My lips have breath'd you many a lie,
And who, with such delights in view,
Would lose them for a tie or two?


Nay-look not thus, with brow reproving:
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!
If half we tell the girls were true,
If half we swear to think and do,
Were aught but lying's bright illusion,
The world would be in strange confusiou !
If ladies' eyes were, every one,
As lorers swear, a radiant sun,
Astronomy should leave the skies,
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!
Oh no!-believe me, lovely girl,
When nature turns your teeth to pearl,
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire,
Your yellow locks to golden wire,
Then, only then, can heaven decree,
That you should live for only me,
Or I for you, as night and morn,
We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn.

And now, my gentle hints to clear,
For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear !
Whenever you may chance to meet
A loving youth, whose love is sweet,
Long as you 're false and he believes you,
Long as you trust and he deceives you,
So long the blissful bond endures;
And while he lies, his heart is yours :
But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth
The instant that he tells you truth!




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.

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