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* Medwin says that Edipus stands for George IV., lona Taurina for Queen Caroline; Laoctonos for Wellington; Pura ganax for Castlereagh; and Dakry for Lord Eldon, "from his lachrymose propensities." — Life of Shelley, ii. 29.

EDIPUS TYRANNUS.

ACT 1.

SCENE I.-A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones ana

death's-heads, and tiled with scalps. Over the Altar the statue of Famine, veiled; a number of bours, sows, and sucking-pigs, crowned with thistle, shamrock, and ouk, sitting on the steps, and clinging round the Altar of the Temple.

Enter SwellFoot, in his royal robes, without perceiving the

Pigs.

SWELLFOOT.

Thou supreme goddess ! by whose power divine These graceful limbs are clothed in proud array

[He contemplates himself with satisfuction, Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch Swells like a sail before a favouring breeze, And these most sacred nether promontories Lie satisfied with layers of fat ; and these Baotian cheeks, like Egypt's pyramid, (Nor with less toil were their foundations laid, *)

See Universal History for an account of the number of people who died, and the immense consumption of garlic by the wretched Egyptians, who made a sepulchre for the name es well as the bodies of their tyrants.

Sustain the cone of my untroubled brain,
That point, the emblem of a pointless nothing!
Thou to whom kings and laurelled emperors,
Radical-butchers, Paper-money-millers,
Bishops and deacons, and the entire army
Of those fat martyrs to the persecution
Of stifling turtle-soup and brandy-devils,
Offer their secret vows! thou plenteous Ceres
Of their Eleusis, hail !

THE SWINE.

Eigh! eigh! eigh! eigh!

SWELLFOOT.

Ha! what are ye, Who, crowned with leaves devoted to the Furics, Cling round this sacred shrine ?

SWINE

Aigh ! aigh ! aigh !

SWELLFOOT.

What! ye that are The very beasts that, offered at her altar With blood and groans, salt-cake, and fat, and

inwards, Ever propitiate her reluctant will When taxes are withheld ?

SWINE.

Ugh! ugh! ugh!

SWELLFOOT.

What ! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up In Allan's rushy bog? who eat the oats Up, from my cavalry in the Hebrides ? Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest From bones, and rags, and scraps of shoe-leather Which should be given to cleaner pigs than you ?

THE SWINE.

SE14 ICHORUS I.

The same, alas! the same;
Though only now the name

Of pig remains to me.

SEMICHORUS II.

If 'twere your kingly will
Us wretched swine to kill,

What should we yield to thee?

BWELLFOOT.

Why skin and bones, and some few hairs for mortar.

CHORUS OF SWINE.

I have heard your Laureate sing,
That pity was a royal thing.
Under your mighty ancestors, we pigs
Were bless'd as nightingales on myrtle sprigs,
Or grasshoppers that live on noon-day dew,
And sung, old annals tell, as sweetly too ;

But now our sties are fallen in, we catch

The inurrain and the mange, the scab and itch; Sometimes your royal dogs tear down our thatch,

And then we seek the shelter of a ditch; Hog-wash or grains, or ruta-baga, none Has yet been ours since your reign begun.

FIRST Sow.

My pigs, 'tis in vain to tug!

SECOND SOW.

I could almost eat my litter!

FIRST PIG.

I suck, but no milk will cɔme from the dug.

SECOND PIG.

Our skin and our bones would be bitter.

THE BOARS.

We fight for this rag of greasy rug,
Though a trough of wash would be fitter.

SEMICHORUS.

Happier swine were they than we,
Drowned in the Gadarean sea !
I wish that pity would drive out the devils
Which in your royal bosom hold their revels,
And sink us in the waves of your compassion !
Alas, the pigs are an unhappy nation !
Now if your majesty would have our bristles

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