A NEW STYLE OF BLANK VERSE.
EVEN is come; and from the dark Park, hark,
The signal of the setting sun-one gun!
And six is sounding from the chime, prime time
To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,—
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,-
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch ;-
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split
Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.
Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But frightened by Policeman B. 3, flee,
And while they're going, whisper low, “No go!”
Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble-"Drat that cat!"
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.
Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;—
But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed, Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games, And that she hears-what faith is man's-Ann's banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice: White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows'
DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.
"I REALLY take it very kind,
This visit, Mrs. Skinner! :
I have not seen you such an age-
(The wretch has come to dinner!)
"Your daughters, too, what loves of girls
What heads for painters' easels !
Come here and kiss the infant, dears,
(And give it p'r'aps the measles !)
"Your charming boys I see are home
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
"Twas very kind to bring them both,-
(What boots for my new Brussels !)
"What! little Clara left at home?
Well now I call that shabby:
I should have loved to kiss her so,-
(A flabby, dabby, babby!)
"And Mr. S., I hope he's well,
Ah! though he lives so handy,
He never now drops in to sup,-
(The better for our brandy!)
"Come, take a seat-I long to hear
About Matilda's marriage;
You're come of course to spend the day!—
(Thank Heaven, I hear the carriage !)
"What! must you go? next time I hope
You'll give me longer measure;
Nay-I shall see you down the stairs-
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
"Good-bye! good-bye! remember all,
Next time you'll take your dinners!
(Now, David, mind I'm not at home
In future to the Skinners!")
COMPOSED ON READING A DIARY LATELY PUBLISHED
THAT flesh is grass is now as clear as day,
To any but the merest purblind pup,
Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay,
My Lady Bury comes and rakes it up.
WHEN I resign this world so briary,
To have across the Styx my ferrying,
O, may I die without a DIARY!
And be interred without a BURY-ing!
THE poor dear dead have been laid out in vain, Turned into cash, they are laid out again!
IT will seem an odd whim
For a Spirit so grim
As the Devil to take a delight in ;
But by common renown
He has come up to town,
With an Album for people to write in!
On a handsomer book
Mortal never did look,
Of a flame-colour silk is the binding,
With a border superb,
Where through flow'ret and herb, The old Serpent goes brilliantly winding!
By gilded grotesques,
And embossed arabesques,
The whole cover, in fact, is pervaded;
But, alas! in a taste
That betrays they were traced
At the will of a Spirit degraded!
As for paper-the best,
But extremely hot-pressed,
Courts the pen to luxuriate upon it,
And against every blank
There's a note on the Bank,
As a bribe for a sketch or a sonnet.
Who will care to appear
In the Fiend's Souvenir,
Is a question to morals most vital;
But the very first leaf,
It's the public belief,
Will be filled by a Lady of Title!
THE SUPERIORITY OF MACHINERY.
A MECHANIC his labour will often discard
If the rate of his pay he dislikes;
But a clock-and its case is uncommonly hard-
Will continue to work though it strikes.
"A Day after the Fair."-OLD PROVERB.
JOHN DAY he was the biggest man
Of all the coachman-kind,
With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.
The very horses knew his weight
When he was in the rear,
And wished his box a Christmas-box
To come but once a year.
Alas! against the shafts of love,
What armour can avail ?
Soon Cupid sent an arrow through
His scarlet coat of mail.
The bar-maid of the Crown he loved,
From whom he never ranged,
For tho' he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.
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