And deep and more deep as the iron is driven,
Base slaves! may the whet of their agony be,
To think-as the damn'd haply think of that heaven
They had once in their reach-that they might have
been free!

Shame, shame, when there was not a bosom, whose heat
Ever rose o'er the ZERO of ➖➖➖➖'s heart,
That did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat,

And send all its prayers with your liberty's start

When the world stood in hope-when a spirit, that breathed

The fresh air of the olden time, whisper'd about,
And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheathed,
But waited one conquering cry to flash out!

When around you, the shades of your mighty in fame,
Filicajas and Petrarchis, seem'd bursting to view,
And their words and their warnings-like tongues of
bright flame

Over Freedom's apostles-fell kindling on you! Good God! that in such a proud moment of life, Worth the history of ages-when, had but hurl'd you One bolt at your bloody invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world

Methought the PRINCE, in whisker'd state,
Before me at his breakfast sate:
On one side lay unread petitions,
On 't other, hints from five physicians-
Here tradesmen's bills, official papers,
Notes from my Lady, drams for vapours-
There plans of saddles, tea and toast,
Death-warrants and the Morning Post.
When lo! the Papers, one and all,
As if at some magician's call,
Began to flutter of themselves
From desk and table, floor and shelves,
And, cutting each some different capers,
Advanced-oh jacobinic papers!--
As though they said, « Our sole design is
To suffocate his Royal Highness!»
The leader of this vile sedition
Was a huge Catholic Petition :
With grievances so full and heavy,
It threaten'd worst of all the bevy.
Then Common-Hall Addresses came
In swaggering sheets, and took their aim
Right at the REGENT'S well-dress'd head,
As if determined to be read!

Next Tradesmen's Bills began to fly-
And tradesmen's bills, we know, mount high;
Nay even death-warrants thought they'd best
Be lively too and join the rest.

But oh!-the basest of defections!
His letter about predilections»>-
His own dear letter, void of grace,
Now flew up in its parent's face!
Shock'd with this breach of filial duty,
He just could murmur, « Et TV Brute!»
Then sunk, subdued, upon the floor,
At Fox's bust, to rise no more!

I waked-and pray'd, with lifted hand,
«Oh! never may this dream prove true;
Though paper overwhelms the land,
Let it not crush the Sovereign too!»>

THE INSURRECTION OF THE PAPERS.

A DREAM.

It would be impossible for His Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it.. Lord CASTLEREAGH's Speech upon Colonel M'MARON'S Appointment,

LAST night I toss'd and turn'd in bed,
But could not sleep-at length I said,
«I'll think of Viscount CASTLEREAGH,
And of his speeches-that 's the way.»
And so it was, for instantly

I slept as sound as sound could be;
And then I dream'd-oh, frightful dream!
FUSELI has no such theme;
―――― never wrote or borrow'd
Any horror half so horrid!

I need not remind you how cursedly bad
Our affairs were all looking when Father went mad;
A strait-waistcoat on him, and restrictions on ine,—
A more limited monarchy could not well be.
I was call'd upon then, in that moment of puzzle,
To chuse my own minister-just as they muzzle
A playful young bear, and then mock his disaster
By bidding him chuse out his own dancing-master.

I thought the best way, as a dutiful son,

We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 't is granted,
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted,
To put the last lingering few who remain

Of the Walcheren warriors out of their pain.

Then, how WELLINGTON fights! and how squabbles his brother!

For papists the one, and with papists the other;
One crushing NAPOLEON by taking a city,

Was to do as old Royalty's self would have done :

For tools of this kind, like Martinus's sconce,'
Would lose all their beauty if purified once;
And think-only think-if our Father should find,
Upon graciously coming again to his mind,

That improvement had spoil'd any favourite adviser-
That Rose was grown honest, or WESTMORELAND Wiser-
That RYDER was, even by one twinkle, the brighter-
OF LIVERPOOL's speeches but half a pound lighter-
What a shock to his old royal heart it would be!
No!-far were such dreams of improvement from me,
And it pleased me to find at the house where, you know,
There's such good mutton-cutlets and strong curaçoa,
That the Marchioness called me a duteous old boy,
YARMOUTH'S red whiskers grew redder for joy!

And

my

You know, my dear FREDDY, how oft, if I would,
By the law of last Sessions, I might have done good.
I might have withheld these political noodles
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee Doodles;
I might have told Ireland I pitied her lot,
Might have soothed her with hope-but you know I did

not.

And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows
Should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous,
But find that, while he has been laid on the shelf,
We've been all of us nearly as mad as himself.
You smile at my hopes, but the doctors and I
Are the last that can think the KING ever will die!
A new era 's arrived—though you'd hardly believe it-
And all things, of course, must be new to receive it.
New villas, new fêtes (which even WAITHMAN attends) -
New saddles, new helmets, and-why not new friends?

I repeat it a new friends»-for I cannot describe
The delight I am in with this PERCEVAL tribe.
Such capering-such vapouring!-such rigour-such
vigour!

North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a figure,

That soon they will bring the whole world round our

ears,

And leave us no friends-but Old Nick and Algiers.
When I think of the glory they 've beam'd on my chains,
T is enough quite to turn my illustrious brains;
It's true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches,
But think how we furnish our Allies with breeches!

The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, which, upon scour ing, turned out to be only an old sconce.

The letter-writer's favourite luncheon.

And, with nothing at home but starvation and riot,
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet.

I am proud to declare I have no predilections,—
My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections
Are just danced about for a moment or two,
And the finer they are, the more sure to run through:
Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come
ill

To mortal-except (now I think on 't) Beau Brummel,
Who threatened, last year, in a superfine passion,
To cut me, and bring the old KING into fashion.
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present.
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant,
So royally free from all troublesome feelings,
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings
(And, that I'm consistent, the world will allow,-
What I was at Newmarket, the same I am now)—
When such are my merits (you know I hate cracking),
I hope, like the vender of best Patent Blacking,
«To meet with the generous and kind approbation
Of a candid, enlighten'd and liberal nation.>>

By the by, ere I close this magnificent letter

(No man except POLE could have writ you a better), 'T would please me if those, whom I've humbugg'd so long

With the notion (good men!) that I knew right from wrong,

Would a few of them join me-mind, only a few-
To let too much light in on me never would do;
But even GREY'S brightness shan't make me afraid,
While I've CAMDEN and ELDON to fly to for shade;
Nor will HOLLAND'S clear intellect do us much harm,
While there 's WESTMORELAND near him to weaken the

charm.

As for MOIRA's high spirit, if aught can subdue it,
Sure joining with HERTFORD and YARMOUTH will do it!

Between RYDER and WHARTON let SHERIDAN sit,
And their fogs will soon quench even SHERIDAN'S wit;
And against all the pure public feeling that glows
Even in WHITBREAD himself, we 've a host in GEORGE
ROSE!

So, in short, if they wish to have places, they may,
And I'll thank you to tell all these matters to GREY,
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time to lose)
By the two-penny post, to tell GRENVILLE the news;
And now, dearest Fred (though I've no predilection),
Believe me yours always with truest affection.

P. S.-A copy of this is to PERCEVAL going—
Good Lord! how St Stephen's will ring with his crowing!

ANACREONTIC.

TO A PLUMASSIER.

FINE and feathery artisan!
Best of Plumists, if you can
With your art so far
presume,
Make for me a PRINCE'S plume-
Feathers soft and feathers rare,
Such as suits a PRINCE to wear!
First, thou downiest of men !
Seek me out a fine pea-hen;
Such a hen, so tall and grand,
As by Juno's side might stand,
If there were no cocks at hand!
Seek her feathers, soft as down,
Fit to shine on PRINCE'S Crown;
If thou canst not find them, stupid!
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.

Ranging these in order due,
Pluck me next an old cuckoo;
Emblem of the happy fates
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates!
Pluck him well-be sure you do¬
Who would n't be an old cuckoo,
Thus to have his plumage bless'd,
Beaming on a royal crest?

Bravo, Plumist!-now what bird
Shall we find for plume the third?
You must get a learned owl,
Blackest of black-letter fowl-
Bigot bird that hates the light,
Foe to all that's fair and bright!
Seize his quills (so form'd to pen
Books that shun the search of men-
Books that, far from every eye,
In «< swelter'd venom sleeping» lie!).
Stick them in, between the two,
Proud pea-hen and old cuckoo!

Now you have the triple feather,
Bind the kindred stems together
With a silken tie whose hue
Once was brilliant buff and blue;
Sullied now-alas! how much!—
Only fit for YARMOUTH'S touch.
There-enough-thy task is done;
Present worthy GEORGE'S SON!
Now beneath, in letters neat,
Write «

SERVE,» and all 's complete.

EXTRACTS

FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN.

Wednesday.

THROUGH Manchester Square took a canter just now→
Met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow.
This I did, of course, thinking 't was loyal and civil,
But got such a look-oh, 't was black as the devil!
How unlucky!-incog. he was travelling about,
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out!
Mem.-When next by the old yellow chariot I ride,
To remember there is nothing princely inside.

Thursday.

At Levee to-day made another sad blunder—
What can be come over me lately I wonder?
The PRINCE was as cheerful as if, all his life,
He had never been troubled with Friends or a Wife-
Fine weather,» says he-to which I, who must prate,
Auswer'd, «Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late.»>
He took it, I fear, for he look'd rather gruff,
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough,
That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd come off,
And then, Lord! how GERAMB would triumphantly scoff!
Mem.-To buy for son DICKY some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers-sure road to promotion !!
Saturday.

Last night a concert-vastly gay-
Given by Lady CASTLEREAGH.
My Lord loves music, and, we know,
Has two strings always to his bow.
In chusing songs, the REGENT named
« Had I a heart for falsehood framed ;»
While gentle HERTFORD begg'd and pray'd
For Young I am, and sore afraid.»

KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS. Written after a Negotiation for a new Ministry. KING CRACK was the best of all possible kings

(At least so his courtiers would swear to you gladly), But CRACK now and then would do het'rodox things, And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. Some broken-down IDOLS, that long had been placed In his Father's old Cabinet, pleased him so much, That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though-such was his taste!

They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch! And these were the beautiful Gods of King CRACK!— Till his people, disdaining to worship such things, Cried aloud, one and all, « Come, your Godships must pack

You will not do for us, though you may do for Kings.r

Then trampling the gross IDOLS under their feet,

England is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. I remember, says Tavernier, to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, whose mustachios were so long that he could tie them behind his neck; for which reason he had a douì le pension.

One of those antediluvian princes, with whom Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately acquainte). If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled his history, we should find, I dare say, that Crack was only a Regent, and that be, perhaps, suc ceeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was the last king of the antediluvian dynasty.

So he took to his darling old IDOLS again,

And, just mending their legs and new bronzing their faces,

In open defiance of gods and of men,

Set the monsters up grinning once more in their places!

WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS.

AN ANACREONTIC.

HITHER, Flora, Queen of Flowers!

Haste thee from Old Brompton's bowers-
Or (if sweeter that abode),

From the King's well-odour'd Road,
Where each little nursery bud

Breathes the dust, and quaffs the mud!
Hither come, and gaily twine
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine
Into wreaths for those who rule us-
Those who rule, and (some say) fool us:
FLORA, Sure, will love to please
England's HOUSEHOLD DEITIES!'

First you must, then, willy-nilly,
Fetch me many an orange-lily-
Orange of the darkest dye
Irish GIFFORD can supply!
Chuse me out the longest sprig,
And stick it in old ELDov's wig!

Find me next a poppy-posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy,
Garland gaudy, dull, and cool,
For the head of LIVERPOOL!—
'T will console his brilliant brows
For that loss of laurel boughs
Which they suffer'd (what a pity!)
On the road to Paris City.

Next, our CASTLEREAGH to crown,
Bring me, from the County Down,
Wither'd shamrocks, which have been
Gilded o'er to hide the green-
(Such as HEADFORT brought away
From Pall-Mall last Patrick's Day.)
Stitch the garland through and through
With shabby threads of every hue-
And as, Goddess!-entre nous—
His Lordship loves (though best of men)
A little torture now and then,

Crimp the leaves, thou first of syrens!
Crimp them with thy curling-irons.

That's enough-away, away-
Had I leisure, I could say
How the oldest rose that grows
Must be pluck'd to deck Old Rose,--
How the DOCTOR's brow should smile
Crown'd with wreaths of camomile!
But time presses-To thy taste

I leave the rest; so, prithee, haste!

The ancients, in like manner, crowned their lares, or household gods. See Juvenal, sat. 9, v. 138. Plutarch too tells us, that household gods were then, as they are now, much given to war and penal statutes: Eptyvuodeng mat motviuous daquovas.

2 Certain tinsel imitations of the shamrock, which are distributed by the servants of Carlton House every Patrick's-day.

THE NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS.

-Nova monstra creavit. OVID. Met. lib. i, ver. 437.

HAVING sent off the troops of brave Major CAMAC,
With a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back,
And such helmets-God bless us!—as never deck'd any
Male creature before, except Signor GIOVANNI-
« Let's see," said the REGENT (like TITUS, perplex'd
With the duties of empire), « whom shall I dress next?»
He looks in the glass-but perfection is there,
Wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts, all right to a hair;'
Not a single ex-curl on his forehead he traces-
For curls are like Ministers, strange as the case is,
The falser they are, the more firm in their places.

His coat he next views-but the coat who could doubt?
For his YARMOUTH's own frenchified hand cut it out;
Every pucker and seam were made matters of state,
And a grand Household Council was held on each plait !
Then whom shall he dress? Shall he new-rig his brother,
Great CUMBERLAND'S Duke, with some kickshaw or other?
And kindly invent him more Christian-like shapes
For his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory-capes?
Al! no-here his ardour would meet with delays,
For the Duke had been lately pack'd up in new Stays,
So complete for the winter, he saw very plain
'T would be devilish hard work to unpack him again!

So what's to be done?—there's the MINISTERS, bless 'em!
As he made the puppets, why should n't he dress 'em?
« An excellent thought!-call the tailors-be nimble—
Let CUM bring his spy-glass, and HERTFORD her thimble;
While YARMOUTH shall give us, in spite of all quizzers,
The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissars,»
So saying, he calls CASTLEREAGH, and the rest

Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be dress'd.
While YARMOUTH, with snip-like and brisk expedition,
Cuts up, all at once, a large Catholic Petition

In long tailors' measures (the PRINCE crying, « Well done!»)

And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor ELDON.

OCCASIONAL ADDRESS,

For the Opening of the New Theatre of St Stephen, intended to have been spoken by the Proprietor, in full Costume, on the 24th of November.

This day a New House, for your edification,
We open, most thinking and right-headed nation!
Excuse the materials-though rotten and bad,
They're the best that for money just now could be had ;
And, if echo the charm of such houses should be,
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T.

That model of princes, the Emperor Commodus, was particelarly luxurious in the dressing and ornamenting of his hair. His conscience, however, would not suffer him to trust himself with a barber, and be used, accordingly, to burn off his beard. . Timore tonsoris, says Lampridius. - (Hist. August. Scriptor.) The dissolate Ælius Verus, too, was equally attentive to the decoration of his wig.-(See Jul. Capitolin.) Indeed, this was not the only princely trait in the character of Verus, as he bad likewise a most bearty and dignified contempt for his wife. See his insulting answer to her in Spartianus.

As for actors, we 've got the old Company yet,
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set:

And, considering they all were but clerks t' other day,
It is truly surprising how well they can play.
Our manager (he who in Ulster was nursed,
And sung Erin go bragh for the galleries first,
But, on finding the Pitt-interest a much better thing,
Changed his note, of a sudden, to God save the King)
Still wise as he's blooming, and fat as he 's clever,
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever,
Here offers you still the full use of his breath,
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death!

You remember, last season, when things went perverse

on,

We had to engage (as a block to rehearse on)
One Mr VANSITTART, a good sort of person,
Who's also employ'd for this season to play

In « Raising the Wind,» and « the Devil to Pay.>>
We expect too—at least we 've been plotting and plan-
ning-

Το get that great actor from Liverpool, CANNING:
And, as at the Circus there's nothing attracts
Like a good single combat brought in 'twixt the acts,
If the Manager should, with the help of Sir PoPHAM,
Get
up new diversions, and CANNING should stop 'em,
Who knows but we 'll have to announce in the papers,
« Grand fight-second time-with additional capers.»>
Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or sad,
There is plenty of each in this House to be had;
Where our Manager ruleth, there weeping will be,
For a dead hand at tragedy always was he;
And there never was dealer in dagger and cup,
Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up.
His powers poor Ireland will never forget,
And the widows of Walcheren weep o'er them yet.

So much for the actors.-For secret machinery,
Traps, and deceptions, and shifting of scenery,
YARMOUTH and CUM are the best we can find
To transact all that trickery business behind.
The former's employ'd too to teach us French jigs,
Keep the whiskers in curl, and look after the wigs.

In taking my leave, now I've only to say

A few Seats in the House, not as yet sold away,
May be had of the Manager, PAT CASTLEREAGH.

THE SALE OF THE TOOLS.

Instrumenta regni. -TACITUS.

HERE's a choice set of Tools for you, Gemmen and Ladies,

They'll fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is (Except it be Cabinet-making-I doubt

In that delicate service they 're rather worn out; Though their owner- -bright youth!-if he 'd had his

own will,

Would have bungled away with them joyously still). You can see they 've been pretty well hack'd-and, alack!

What tool is there job after job will not hack?
Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd,
And their temper, like ELLENBOROUGH'S, none of the best;

But you'll find them good hard-working Tools, upon trying

Were it but for their brass, they are well worth the buying;

They are famous for making blinds, sliders, and screens, And they're, some of them, excellent turning machines!

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chancellor)
Ilcavy concern to both purchaser and seller.-
Though made of pig-iron, yet (worthy of note 't is)
T is ready to melt at a half-minute's notice.
Who bids? Gentle buyer! 't will turn as thou shapest-
'T will make a good thumb-screw to torture a Papist;
Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall

Of some church that old women are fearful will fall;
Or better, perhaps (or I'm guessing at random),
A heavy drag chain for some Lawyer's old Tandem!
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir-
Once, twice-going, going-thrice-gone!—It is yours,
Sir.

Το
pay ready money you sha'n't be distress'd,
As a bill at long date suits the CHANCELLOR best.

Come, where's the next Tool?-Oh! 't is here in a trice

This implement, Gemmen! at first was a Vice-
(A tenacious and close sort of Tool, that will let
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get)—
But it since has received a new coating of Tin,
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in!
Come, what shall we say for it?-briskly! bid on,
We'll the sooner get rid of it-going-quite gone!
God be with it! Such Tools, if not quickly knock'd
down,

Might at last cost their owner-how much? why, a
Crown!

The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor-

Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross :
Yet, dull as it is, 't will be found to shave close,
And, like other close shavers, some courage to gather,
This blade first began by a flourish on leather!
You shall have it for nothing-then, marvel with me
At the terrible tinkering work there must be,
Where a Tool, such as this is (I'll leave you to judge it)
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the Budget!