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T would still keep a taste for Hell's music alive,
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Popery cry ;-
That yell which, when chorus'd by laics and clerics,
So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone,
That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics,

To think that Religion should make it her own.

So, having sent down for the original notes

Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir, With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats

Of myself and some others, who sing it "with fire,"

Though I "if the Marseillois Hymn could command

Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing To serve for our times quite as well as the Peer;To bring thus to light, not the wisdom alone

Of our ancestors, such as we find it on shelves, But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown, To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves! Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth and send him safe home,Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way; With his wisdom kept snug, from the light let him

come,

And our Tories will hail him with "Hear" and "Hurra!"

Such audience, though yell'd by a Sans-culotte What a God-send to them-a good-obsolete man,

crew,

What wonders shall we do, who 've men in our band,

Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader;

That not only wear breeches, but petticoats too." Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, as fast as you can,

Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, your

Highness,

And the L-nsd-les and H-rtf-rds shall chuse him for

leader.

Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their Chosen ; And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men,

I'm forced to confess-be the cause what it will, Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shy-To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen,

ness,

Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill. The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key, The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee

At the York music-meeting, now think it precarious. Even some of our Reverends might have been war

mer

But one or two capital roarers we've had;
Doctor Wise is, for instance, a charming performer,
And Huntingdon Maberly's yell was not bad.
Altogether, however, the thing was not hearty;—
Even Eld-n allows we got on but so so;
And, when next we attempt a No-Popery party,
We must, please your Highness, recruit from below.
But, hark, the young Black-leg is cracking his whip-
Excuse me, Great Sir-there's no time to be
civil;-

The next opportunity shan't be let slip,
But, till then,

I'm, in haste, your most dutiful

MR. ROGER DODSWORTH.

DEVIL.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

SIR,-Living in a remote part of Scotland, and having but just heard of the wonderful resurrection of Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where he had remained, bien frappe, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject.

Yours, etc.

LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI.

WHAT a lucky turn-up!-just as Eld-n's withdrawing, To find thus a gentleman, frozen in the year

1 Con fuoco-a music-book direction.

So alter'd, thou hardly canst know it again. And Eld-n will weep o'er each sad innovation Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he Has been also laid up in a long congelation, And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee

THE MILLENNIUM.
SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND
MR. IRV-NG "ON PROPHECY."

A MILLENNIUM at hand!-I'm delighted to hear it-
As matters, both public and private, now go,
With multitudes round us all starving, or near it,
A good rich Millennium will come a propos.
Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold,
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags,
A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold,

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags

A city, where wine and cheap corn' shall abound,—
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves
We may swear the best things of this world will be
found,

As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves!

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian,2
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach
Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision

Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each ;Thanks, thanks for the hope thou hast given us, that

we

May, even in our own times, a jubilee share, Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee,

And so often has fail'd, we began to despair.

1 "A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny."-Rev. c. 6.

2 See the oration of this reverend gentleman, where he

2 This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the describes the connubial joys of paradise, and paints the Reading election.

| angels hovering around "each happy fair."

There was Whiston,' who learnedly took Prince Eugene

For the man who must bring the Millennium about; There's Faber, whose pious predictions have been

All belied, ere his book's first edition was out;— There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., Who discoursed on the subject with signal eclat, And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see

A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh !2 There was also-but why should I burden my lay With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less deserving,

When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way
To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv-ng.
Go on, mighty man,-doom them all to the shelf-
And, when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy

sconce,

Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself
Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at

once !

Dr. Eady, less bold, I confess,

Attacks but his maid of all work.' Dr. S-they, for his grand attack, Both a laureate and senator is; While poor Dr. Eady, alack,

Has been had up to Bow-street, for his!

And truly, the law does so blunder,

That, though little blood has been spilt, he May probably suffer as, under

The Chalking Act, known to be guilty.

So much for the merits sublime

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) Of the three greatest lights of our time, Doctor Eady and S-they and Slop! Should you ask me, to which of the three Great Doctors the preference should fall, As a matter of course, I agree

Dr. Eady must go to the wall.

But, as S-they with laurels is crown'd,
And Slop with a wig and a tail is,
Let Eady's bright temples be bound
With a swinging "Corona Muralis!"'*

THE THREE DOCTORS.

Doctoribus lætamur tribus.

THOUGH many great Doctors there be,
There are three that all Doctors o'ertop,-
Dr. Eady, that famous M. D.

Dr. S-they, and dear Doctor Slop.
The purger-the proser-the bard-
All quacks in a different style;
Dr. S-they writes books by the yard,
Dr. Eady writes puffs by the mile!

Dr. Slop, in no merit outdone

By his scribbling or physicking brother, Can dose us with stuff like the one,

Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other.

Dr. Eady good company keeps

With "No Popery" scribes on the walls; Dr. S--they as gloriously sleeps

With "No Popery" scribes, on the stalls.

Dr. Slop, upon subjects divine,

Such bedlamite slaver lets drop,
That, if Eady should take the mad line,
He'll be sure of a patient in Slop.

Seven millions of Papists, no less,

Dr. S-they attacks, like a Turk ;*

EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. LAMENT, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,

Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd A Viscount to a Marquis yet.

Beside him place the God of Wit,

Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, Apollo for a star he'd quit,

And Love's own sister for an Earl's.

Did niggard fate no peers afford,

He took, of course, to peers' relations; And, rather than not sport a lord,

Put up with even the last creations.

Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em

With "Lord" and "Duke," were sweet to call. And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum

Was better than no Lord at all.

Heaven grant him now some noble nook,
For, rest his soul, he'd rather be
Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke,
Than saved in vulgar company.

THE PETITION

OF THE ORANGEMEN OF IRELAND.

1 When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay To the People of England, the humble Petition in which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks with revelation, the Prince is said to have replied that "he was not aware he had ever had the honour of being known to St. John."

Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing

every irreligious and seditious journalist, every open aut 2 Mr. Dobbs was a Member of the Irish Parliament, and, every insidious enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity." on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible per- 1 See the late accounts in the newspapers of the appear. son. He chose Armagh as the scene of the Millennium, onance of this gentleman at one of the police-offices, in conse account of the name Armageddon, mentioned in Revelation! quence of an alleged assault upon his "maid of all work." 3 This Seraphic Doctor, in the preface to his last work 2 A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to per (Vindicia Ecclesia Anglicana,) is pleased to anathema-sons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon wallstize not caly all Catholics, but all advocates of Catholics :-such as scaling them, battering them, etc. No doubt, "They have for their immediate allies (he says) every fac-writing upon them, to the extent that Dr. Eady does, would tion that is banded against the State, every demagogue, equally establish a claim to the honour.

hat sad, very sad, is our present condition;— That our jobs are all gone, and our noble selves going;

That, forming one seventh-within a few fractionsOf Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, We hold it the basest of all base transactions

To keep us from murdering the other six parts ;

That, as to laws made for the good of the many,
We humbly suggest there is nothing less true;
As all human laws (and our own, more than any)
Are made by and for a particular few ;-

That much it delights every true Orange brother
To see you, in England, such ardour evince,
In discussing which sect most tormented the other,
And burn'd with most gusto, some hundred years
since;-

faint,

That we love to behold, while Old England grows Messrs. Southey and Butler near coming to blows, To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied saint, Ever truly and really pull'd the devil's nose; Whether t' other saint, Dominic, burnt the devil's paw

Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mother

And many such points, from which Southey doth draw

Conclusions most apt for our hating each other.

That 't is very well known this devout Irish nation Has now, for some ages gone happily on, Believing in two kinds of Substantiation,

One party in Trans, and the other in Con;2

That relying on England, whose kindness already
So often has help'd us to play the game o'er,
We have got our red coats and our carabines ready
And wait but the word to show sport, as before.
That, as to the expense-the few millions, or so,
Which for all such diversions John Bull has to

pay

"T is, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know That to Orangemen's pockets 't will all find its way.

For which your petitioners ever will pray,

etc. etc. etc. etc. etc

A VISION.

BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL

One hasty orison whirl'd me away
"Up!" said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray
To a limbo, lying-I wist not where—

Above or below, in earth or air;

All glimmering o'er with a doubtful light,
One could n't say whether 't was day or night,
And crost by many a mazy track,
One did n't know how to get on or back;
And, I felt like a needle that's going astray
(With its one eye out) through a bundle of hay;
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whisper'd me,
"Thou 'rt now in the Court of Chancery!"

Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms
Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms;
(Like bottled up babes, that grace the room
Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home)-
All of them things half kill'd in rearing;
Some were lame-some wanted hearing;
Some had through half a century run,
Though they had n't a leg to stand upon.

That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right
Of the said monosyllable, ravaged the lands,
And embezzled the goods, and annoy'd, day and Others, more merry, as just beginning,

night,

Around on a point of law were spinning;

Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for Or balanced aloft, twixt Bill and Answer,

Trans;

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Lead at each end-like a tight-rope dancer.-
Some were so cross, that nothing could please 'em ;-
Some gulp'd down affidavits to ease 'm ;-
All were in motion, yet never a one,
Let it move as it might, could ever move on.

These," said the Spirit, "you plainly see,
Are what are called Suits in Chancery ""'
I heard a loud screaming of old and young,
Like a chorus by fifty Velutis sung;
or an Irish Dump ("the words by Moore")

At an amateur concert scream'd in score:-
So harsh on my ear that wailing fell
Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwell!
It seem'd like the dismal symphony
Of the shapes Eneas in hell did see;

1 To such important discussions as these the greater part of Dr. Southey's Vindicia Ecclesie Anglicane is devoted. 2 Consubstantiation-the true reformed belief; at least, Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of Melanc-Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook,

thon also.

3 When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the To cry all night, till life's last dregs, time the dispute between "ex" and "per" was going on,) "Give us our legs!-give us our legs!" he found the Turks, we are told, "laughing at the Chris- Touch'd with the sad and sorrowful scene, tians for being divided by two such insignificant particles." I ask'd what all this yell might mean? When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee, "T is the cry of the suitors in Chancery

4 The Arian controversy.-Before that time, says Hooker, "in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used."

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look'd, and I saw a wizard rise, With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes. In his aged hand he held a wand, Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band,

And they moved, and moved, as he waved it o'er, But they never got on one inch the more ; And still they kept limping to and fro, Like Ariels round old ProsperoSaying, "Dear Master, let us go;" But still old Prospero answer'd, "No." And I heard the while, that wizard elf, Muttering, muttering spells to himself, While over as many old papers he turn'd, As Hume ere moved for, or Omar burn'd. He talk'd of his Virtue, though some, less nice, (He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his ViceAnd he said, "I think"-"I doubt"—" I hope," Call'd God to witness, and damn'd the Pope; With many more sleights of tongue and hand I could n't, for the soul of me, understand. Amazed and posed, I was just about To ask his name, when the screams without, The merciless clack of the imps within, And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, That, startled, I woke—leap'd up in my bedFound the Spirit, the imps, and the conjurer fled, And bless'd my stars, right pleased to see That I was n't as yet, in Chancery.

NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. DEAR COZ, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper, But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends As you chance to pick up from political friendsBeing one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down, To transmit you the last newest news that's in town.

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things could n't look better

His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster) Had just taken Rhodes, and despatch'd off a letter

To Daniel O'Connel, to make him Grand Master; Engaging to change the old name, if he can,

From the Knights of St. John to the Knights of St.
Dan)-

Or, if Dan should prefer, as a still better whim,
Being made the Colossus, 't is all one to him.

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In N. lat. 21.)-and his Highness Burmese,

Being very hard prest to shell out the rupees,
But not having much ready rhino, they say, meant
To pawn his august golden foot' for the payment.—
(How lucky for monarchs, that can, when they chuse,
Thus establish a running account with the Jews!)
The security being what Rothschild calls "goot,"
A loan will be forthwith, of course, set on foot ;--
The parties are Rothschild-A. Baring and Co.,
And three other great pawnbrokers-each takes a toe,
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us leg-bail,
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail.

This is all for the present,-what vile pens and paper!
Yours truly, dear Cousin,-best love to Miss Draper

AN INCANTATION.

SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT.

AIR" Come with me, and we will go Where the rocks of coral grow."

COME with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go ;
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope
Drew from Fancy-or from soap;
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent
From its frothy element !
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles as we go.
Mix the lather, JOHNNY W-LKS,
Thou who rhymest so well to "bilks :"
Mix the lather-who can be
Fitter for such task than thee,
Great M. P. for Sudsbury!

Now the frothy charm is ripe,
Puffing Peter, bring thy pipe,-
Thou, whom ancient Coventry,
Once so dearly loved, that she
Knew not which to her was sweeter,
Peeping Tom or puffing Peter--

Puff the bubbles high in air,
Puff thy best to keep them there
Bravo, bravo, PETER M-RE!
Now the rainbow humbugs' soar,
Glittering all with golden hues,
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews-
Some, reflecting mines that lie
Under Chili's glowing sky;
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep
Cloister'd in the southern deep;

1 This Potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Gold en Fout.

2 Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when

On all the distinguish'd old ladies now going. (While I write, an arrival from Riga-"the Bro-he wrote

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"Sir Edward Sutton, The foolish knight who rhymes to mutton.”

3 An humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who in a poem against war, after describing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, apostrophizes him-thou rainhow

ruffian !"

Others, as if lent a ray
From the streaming Milky Way,
Glistening o'er with curds and whey
From the cows of Alderney!

Now's the moment--who shall first
Catch the bubbles ere they burst?
Run, ye squires, ye viscounts, run,
BR-GD-N, T-YNH-M, P-LM-RST-N;-
JOHN W-LKS, junior, runs beside ye,
Take the good the knaves provide ye!'
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands,
Where the Chareman,2 BR-GD-N, stands,
Gaping for the froth to fall

Down his swallowlye and all !
See!

But hark, my time is out--
Now, like some great water-spout,
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder,
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder!

Here the stage darkens,--a discordant crash is heard from the orchestra-the broken bubbles descend in a a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the heads of

A goodly man, with an eye so merry,
I knew 't was our Foreign Secretary,
Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile,
Like Waterton on his crocodile;
Cracking such jokes, at every motion,

As made the turtle squeak with glee,
And own that they gave him a lively notion
Of what his own forced-meat balls would be.
So, on the Sec., in his glory, went,
Over the briny element,

Waving his hand, as he took farewell,
With a graceful air, and bidding me tell
Inquiring friends, that the turtle and he
Were gone on a foreign embassy-
To soften the heart of a Diplomate,
Who is known to doat upon verdant fat,
And to let admiring Europe see,
That calipash and calipee

Are the English forms of Diplomacy!

A VOICE FROM MARATHON.

the Dramatis Persona, and the scene drops, leaving O For a voice, as loud as that of Fame, the bubble hunters-all in the suds.]

A DREAM OF TURTLE.

BY SIR W. CURTIS.

"T WAS evening time, in the twilight sweet
I was sailing along, when-whom should I meet,
But a turtle journeying o'er the sea,
"On the service of his Majesty !"'*

When I spied him first, in the twilight dim,
I did not know what to make of him;
But said to myself--as low he plied
His fins, and roll'd from side to side,
Conceitedly over the watery path--
""Tis my Lord of ST-W-LL, taking a bath,
And I hear him now, among the fishes,
Quoting Vatel and Burgerdiscius!"

But, no-'t was, indeed, a turtle, wide
And plump as ever these eyes descried;
A turtle, juicy as ever yet
Glued up the lips of a baronet!

Ah, much did it grieve my soul to see
That an animal of such dignity,
Like an absentee, abroad should roam,
When he ought to stay and be ate, at home.

But now," a change came o'er my dream,"
Like the magic lantern's shifting slider ;-
I look'd, and saw by the evening beam,
On the back of that turtle sat a rider,-

1 "Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee."

2 So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the cà, in the word "Chairman."

3 We are told that the passport of the late grand diplomatic turtle described him as "on his Majesty's service."

dapibus supremi

Grata testudo Jovis

To breathe the word-Arise!
From Pindus to Taygetus to proclaim-

Let every Greek arise!

Ye who have hearts to strike a single blow,
Hear my despairing cries!

Ye who have hands to immolate one foe,
Arise! arise! arise!

From the dim fields of Asphodel beneath,

Upborne by cloudy sighs

Of those who love their country still in death,-E'en I-e'en I-arise!

These are not hands for earthly wringing-these!-
Blood should not blind these eyes!—

Yet here I stand, untomb'd MILTIADES,
Weeping-arise! arise!

Hear ye the groans that heave this burial-field ?—
Old Græcia's saviour-band

Cry from the dust-" Fight on! nor DARE to yield!
Save ye our father-land!

"Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear!

Break it within your breast;

Then come, brave Greek! and join your brothers here

In our immortal rest!"

Shall modern DATIS, swoln with Syrian pride, Cover the land with slaves?—

Ay-let them cover it, both far and wide,

Cover it with their graves!

Much has been done-but more remains to do-
Ye have fought long and well!

The trump that, on the Egean, glory blew,
Seem'd with a storm to swell!

Asia's grim tyrant shudder'd at the sound,

He leap'd upon his throne!

Murmur'd his horse-tail'd chieftainry around— "Another Marathon!"

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