Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold, Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags A city where wine and cheap corn shall abound— We may swear the best things of this world will be found, Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian, Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou hast given us, that we Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee, There was Whiston, who learnedly took Prince Eugene There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M.P., A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh! There was also-but why should I burden my lay With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less deserving, When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv-ng. Go on, mighty man-doom them all to the shelf And, when next thou with prophecy troublest thy sconce, Oh, forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at once! THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. A FABLE FOR PRINCES ROYAL. THOMAS MOORE. IN Thibet once there reign'd, we 're told, Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, Had cut-as near as can be reckoned- And much his subjects were enchanted, As he was there by Right Divine And every body's goods and rhino)- Were ready with their aids and succorsNothing was seen but pension'd nurses, And the land groan'd with bibs and tuckers. Oh! had there been a Hume or Bennet Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, Ye gods, what room for long debates What cutting down of swaddling-clothes The waste of sugar-plums and rattles! But no-if Thibet had M.P.s, But short this calm; for, just when he And trod on the old General's toes- Rode cock-horse on the city maces, And shot, from little devilish guns, Hard peas into his subjects' faces. In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, And grew so mischievous (God bless him!) That his chief Nurse-though with the aid Of an Archbishop-was afraid, When in these moods, to comb or dress him; And even the persons most inclined For Kings, through thick and thin, to stickle, Thought him (if they'd but speak their mind Which they did not) an odious pickle. At length, some patriot lords-a breed For folks like Pidcock to exhibit- To which things went, combined their strength, In loyalty to him who wielded The hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em— That, as for treason, 't was a thing That made them almost sick to think of That they and theirs stood by the King, Throughout his measles and his chin-cough, When others, thinking him consumptive, Of birch before their ruler's eyes; Allow'd, even in a King, were wrongWherefore it was they humbly pray'd That Honorable Nursery, That such reforms be henceforth made, His Majesty should have a whipping! When this was read-no Congreve rocket The fundamentals of the Church! No-no-such patriot plans as these (So help them Heaven-and their sees!) They held to be rank blasphemies." The alarm thus given, by these and other Never in history's page had been Which gave some fears of revolution, Assures us) like a hero bore it. And though 'mong Thibet Tories, some In this last word 's pronounced like B), So much is Thibet's land a debtor, "Tis said her little Lamas since Have all behaved themselves much better. ETERNAL LONDON. AND is there then no earthly place 'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet; Nor highest Alps nor Appenines Are sacred from Threadneedle-street. THOMAS MOORE. If up the Simplon's path we wind, |