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DEAR LORD BYRON,- Though this Volume should possess no other merit in your eyes, than that of reminding you of the short time we passed together at Venice, when some of the trifles which it contains were written, you will, I am sure, receive the dedication of it with pleasure, and believe that I am,

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THOUGH it was the wish of the Members of the Poco-curante Society (who have lately done me the honor of electing me their Secretary) that I should prefix my name to the following Miscellany, it is but fair to them and to myself to state, that, except in the "painful pre-eminence " of being employed to transcribe their lucubrations, my claim to such a distinction in the title-page is not greater than that of any other gentleman, who has contributed his share to the contents of the volume.

I had originally intended to take this opportunity of giving some account of the origin and objects of our Institution, the names and characters of the different

members, etc. but as I am at present preparing for the press the First Volume of the "Transactions of the Poco-curante Society," I shall reserve for that occasion all further details upon the subject, and content myself here with referring, for a general insight into our tenets, to a Song which will be found at the end of this work and which is sung to us on the first day of every month, by one of our oldest members, to the tune of (as far as I can recollect, being no musician,) either "Nancy Dawson " or " He stole away the Bacon."

It may be as well also to state for the information of those critics who attack with the hope of being answered, and of being thereby brought into notice, that it is the rule of this Society to return no other answer to such assailants, than is ca tained in the three words "non curat Hippoclides," (meaning, in English, Hippoclides does not care a fig,") which were spoken two thousand years ago by the first founder of Poco-curantism, and have ever since been adopted as the leading dictum of the sect.

THOMAS BROWN.

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And a Fandango, 'faith, they had,
At which they all set to, like mad
Never were Kings (tho' small the ex-
pense is

Of wit among their Excellencies)
So out of all their princely senses.
But ah! that dance. - that Spanish

dance

Scarce was the luckless strain begun, When, glaring red, as 't were a glance Shot from an angry Southern sun, A light thro' all the chambers flamed, Astonishing old Father Frost, Who, bursting into tears, exclaimed,

"A thaw, by Jove we 're lost, we 're lost!

"Run, France - a second Waterloo "Is come to drown you -sauve qui peut!"

Why, why will monarchs caper so

In palaces without foundations? Instantly all was in a flow,

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decora-
tions -

Those Royal Arms, that lookt so nice,
Cut out in the resplendent ice-
Those Eagles, handsomely provided

With double heads for double deal-
ings-

How fast the globes and sceptres glided

Out of their claws on all the ceilings! Proud Prussia's double bird of prey Tame as a spatch cock, slunk away; While just like France herself, when she

Proclaims how great her naval skill isPoor Louis's drowning fleurs-de-lys Imagined themselves water-lilies.

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