He sent such hints through Viscount This, The drama, books, MS. and printedKean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts, And Scott's last work by him was hinted. Childe Harold in the proofs he read, And, here and there, infused some soul in 'tNay, Davy's lamp, till seen by Ned, Had-odd enough—a dangerous hole in 't. "T was thus, all doing and all knowing, Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, singer, Whatever was the best pie going, In that Ned-trust him-had his finger. COUNTRY-DANCE AND QUADRILLE. A mincing thing, Mamselle Quadrille- "Here, bere, at least," she cried, "though driven "Though not a London Miss alive Would now for her acquaintance own me; And spinsters, even of forty-five, Upon their honours ne'er have known me: "Here, here, at least, I triumph still, And-spite of some few dandy lancers, Who vainly try to preach quadrille See nought but true-blue country-dancers. "Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms, My throne, like Magna Charta, raise, 'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms, That scorn the threaten'd chaine Anglaise." "T was thus she said, as, 'mid the din Of footmen, and the town sedan, She lighted at the King's-Head Inn, And up the stairs triumphant ran. The squires and the squiresses all, With young squirinas, just come out, And my lord's daughters from the Hall (Quadrillers, in their hearts, no doubt,) Already, as she tripp'd up stairs, She in the cloak-room saw assemblingWhen, hark! some new outlandish airs, From the first fiddle, set her trembling. She stops-she listens-can it be? Alas! in vain her ears would 'scape itIt is "Di tanti palpiti," As plain as English bow can scrape it. "Courage" however in she goes, With her best sweeping country grace; When, ah! too true, her worst of foes, Quadrille, there meets her, face to face. Oh for the lyre, or violin, Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, To sing the rage these nymphs were in, Their looks and language, airs and trickery! There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face Her flounces, fresh from Victorine- And, when she danced-so slidingly, No signs of life or motion showing, So still, you'd hardly think 't was going. Full fronting her stood Country-Dance A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know For English, at a single glance English all o'er, from top to toe. A little gauche, 't is fair to own, And playing oft the devil with flounces. Unlike Mamselle-who would prefer No rouge did she of Albion wear; Came rosier from the woodland chase. And such the nymph, whose soul had in 't Like summer lightnings, in the dusk Of a warm evening, flashing broke, While to the tune of "Money Musk," Which struck up now-she proudly spoke "Heard you that strain-that joyous strain? 'T was such as England loved to hear, Ere thou, and all thy frippery train, Corrupted both her foot and ear"Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands, Presumed, in sight of all beholders, 1 An old English country-dance. "How many a couple, like the wind, Which nothing in its course controls, Left time and chaperons far behind, And gave a loose to legs and souls! "How matrimony throve-ere stopp'd By this cold, silent, foot-coquettingHow charmingly one's partner popp'd The important question in poussette-ing! "While now, alas, no sly advances No marriage hints-all goes on badly: "Twixt Parson Malthus and French dances, We girls are at a discount sadly. "Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell) Declares not half so much is made By licences-and he must know wellSince vile Quadrilling spoil'd the trade." She ceased-tears fell from every MissShe now had touch'd the true pathetic :— One such authentic fact as this, Is worth whole volumes theoretic. Instant the cry was "COUNTRY-DANCE!" And the maid saw, with brightening face, 1 Another old English country-dance. The steward of the night advance, The fiddles, which awhile had ceased, SONG. FOR THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY. To those we love we've drank to-night; Of those for whom-we care not. For royal men, howe'er they frown, For slavish men who bend beneath For priestly men who covet sway And wealth, though they declare not; Who point, like finger-posts, the way They never go—we care not. For martial men who on their sword, Redeem'd and pure-we care not. For legal men who plead for wrong, And, though to lies they swear not, Are not more honest than the throng Of those who do-we care not. For courtly men who feed upon The land like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf where they can sun Their reptile limbs-we care not. For wealthy men who keep their mines For prudent men who keep the power For all, in short, on land and sea, In court and camp, who are not, Who never were, nor e'er will be Good men and true-we care not THE following Fugitive Pieces, which have appeared from time to time in the most popular London journa (THE TIMES,) are very generally attributed to MR. MOORE, and, though not acknowledged by that Gentleman, their wit, grace, variety, and spirit, sufficiently attest the truth of the report, and sanction their insertion in a complete collection of his Poetical Works. AN AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK. Is all then forgotten?-those amorous pranks ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES "Legiferæ Cereri Phœboque."-Virgil. You and I, in our youth, my dear Government, DEAR Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know play'd When you call'd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, That a dashing, expensive young couple should do, But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you? And is it then vanish'd ?-that "hour (as Othello GOVERNMENT. EVEN So, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be, This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee There must soon be a stop to our bill-ing and cooing. Propagation in reason-a small child or two Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to: So,-hard as it is on a pair who 've already (Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,) Adorn'd with somniferous poppies to show Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee, An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches, Great Queen of Mark-lane (if the thing does n't bore thee,) Thou 'It read o'er the last of his-never-last Ah! Ceres, thou know'st not the slander and scorn ed; Improving on Hunt's scheme, instead of the Corn, "T is now the Corn-growers, alas! that are roasted! There's B-nth-m, whose English is all his own Who thinks just as little of settling a nation As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking (What he, himself, calls) his "post-prandial vibration." Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence; -s, too, whom those that like Through all that's unreadable, call very clever;— And, whereas M- Senior makes war on good breeding, M- Junior makes war on all breeding whatever! In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages;— With which of these classes we, landlords, have sided, Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few pages For therein I ve prov'd, to my own satisfaction, 2 It appears that Ovid, however, was a friend to the re- That 't is the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detracsumption of payment in specie:- finem, specie cœleste resumta, Luctibus imposuit, venitque salutifer urbi." Met. 1. xv. v. 743. 4 To distinguish her from the "Aurea." 3 Hon. F. Robinson. poor people are found of cheap eating 1 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. "In vain are laws pass'd, There's nothing holds you fast, Though you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you- As other Sovereigns did before you. "I flirt with Silver, true But what can ladies do, When disown'd by their natural protectors? I shall soon be false enough, DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND A ONE POUND NOTE. "O ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavel acres Agua lupos, capreæque leones."-Hor. SAID a Sovereign to a Note, Where they met, in a neat purse of leather, "How happens it, I prithee, That though I'm wedded with thee, Fair Pound, we can never live together? "Like your sex, fond of change, And of lots of young sixpences be mother; Of Wth see so little of each other!" The indignant Note replied "Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, SirOne cannot look askance, But, whip! you're off to France, Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. "Your scampering began From the moment Parson Van, Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter, 'For better or for worse' Is the usual marriage curse: But ours is all 'worse' and no 'better.' 1 "Road to Ruin." Dicta Fames Cereris (quamvis contraria semper This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the natural history of the unicorn, which is supposed to be something between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees Cyclopedia tells us, has a particular liking for any thing chaste. AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. "Quein das finem, Rex magne, laborum?"-Virgil. How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,' When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, "T is hardly worth while being very high born! Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life, A question-like asking one, "How is your wife?"— You might see, my dear Baron, how bored and dis |