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And if I pluck'd each flower that sweetest blows,-
Who walks in sleep, needs follow must his nose.
Thus, long accustom'd on the twy-fork'd hill,
To pluck both flower and floweret at my will ;
The garden's maze, like No-man's-land, I tread,
Nor common law, nor statute in my

For my own proper smell, sight, fancy, feeling,
With autocratic hand at once repealing
Five Acts of Parliament 'gainst private stealing !
But yet from who despairs of grace ?
There's no spring-gun or man-trap in that face!
Let Moses then look black, and Aaron blue,
That look as if they had little else to do:
For speaks, “Poor youth ! he's but a waif !
The spoons all right? the hen and chickens safe?
Well, well, he shall not forfeit our regards-
The Eighth Commandment was not made for

Bards !”

CHOLERA CURED BEFORE-HAND. Or a premonition promulgated gratis for the use of the Useful Classes, specially those resident in St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, &c.; and likewise, inasmuch as the good man is merciful even to the beasts, for the benefit of the Bulls and Bears of the Stock Exchange.

PAINS ventral, subventral,

In stomach or entrail,
Think no longer mere prefaces
For grins, groans, and wry faces;

But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl !Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all.

Now to 'scape inward aches,
Eat no plums nor plum-cakes;
Cry avaunt ! new potato-
And don't drink, like old Cato.
Ah ! beware of Dispipsy,
And don't ye get tipsy !
For tho' gin and whiskey
May make you feel frisky,
They're but crimps to Dispipsy;
And nose to tail, with this gipsy
Comes, black as a porpus,
The diabolus ipse,

Calld Cholery Morpus;
Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion

to feed him, Tho' being a Devil, no one never has seed him !

Ah! then my dear honies,
There's no cure for you
For loves nor for monies :-
You'll find it too true.
Och ! the hallabaloo !
Och! och ! how you'll wail,
When the offal-fed vagrant
Shall turn you as blue

As the gas-light unfragrant,
That gushes in jets from beneath his own tail ;-

'Till swift as the mail,

He at last brings the cramps on,
That will twist you like Samson.
So without further blethring,
Dear mudlarks ! my brethren !
Of all scents and degrees,
(Yourselves and your shes)
Forswear all cabal, lads,
Wakes, unions, and rows,

Hot dreams, and cold salads,
And don't pig in styes that would suffocate sows !
Quit Cobbett's, O'Connell's and Beelzebub's

banners, And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, hands, and

manners !


IN Köhln, a town of monks and bones,

And pavements fang’d with murderous stones, And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches; I counted two and seventy stenches, All well defined, and several stinks! Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, The river Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of Cologne; But tell me, Nymphs ! what power divine Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ?


As I am rhymer,
And now at least a merry one,

Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer
And the church of St. Geryon
Are the two things alone

That deserve to be known
In the body and soul-stinking town of Cologne.


PARRY seeks the polar ridge ;

Rhymes seeks S. T. Coleridge, Author of works, whereof—though not in DutchThe public little knows—the publisher too much.



TROCHEE trips frăm lõng tỏ shört;

From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondēe stālks ; strong foot ! yet ill able Ēvěr tě come èp with Dāctýl trisyllable. lãmbics märch fröm shört tỏ lỡng – With a leap ånd å bound the swift Anăpăsts throng; One syllable long, with one short at each side, Åmphibrăchýs hāstes with a stātely stride ;First and last bēing lõng, middle short, Amphi

mācer Strikes his thūndēring hoofs like å proud high

brěd Rācer. If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise, And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies; Tender warmth at his heart, with these metres to

show it, With sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent

a poet, May crown him with fame, and must win him the

love Of his father on earth and his Father above.

My dear, dear child ! Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not

from its whole ridge See a man who so loves you as your fond S. T.



DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED.* STRONGLY it bears us along in swelling and

limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky

and the Ocean.



IN the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery co

lumn ; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

* Translated from Schiller. Printed in Friendship's Offer. ing, 1834.

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