Take my advice, 'tis given without a fee,

Drown, drown your book ten thousand fathoms deep
Like Prospero's beneath the briny sea,
For spells of magic have all gone to sleep!
Leave no decillionth fragment of your works,
To help the interests of quacking Burkes ;
Aid not in murdering even widow's mites,-
And now forgive me for my candid zeal,
I had not said so much, but that I feel
Should you take ill what here my Muse indites,
An Ode-ling more will set you all to rights.

TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE REMOVAL OF SMITHFIELD

MARKET.

"Sweeping our flocks and herds."--DOUGLAS.

PHILANTHROPIC men !—

For this address I need not make apology—
Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen,
And planting further off its vile Zoology-
Permit me thus to tell,

I like your efforts well,

For routing that great nest of Hornithology!

Be not dismay'd although repulsed at first,

And driven from their Horse, and Pig, and Lamb parts,
Charge on !-you shall upon their hornworks burst,
And carry all their Bull-warks and their Ram-parts.

Go on, ye wholesale drovers!

And drive away the Smithfield flocks and herds!
As wild as Tartar-Curds, )

That come so fat, and kicking, from their clovers,
Off with them all!—those restive brutes, that vex

Our streets, and plunge, and lunge, and butt, and battle;
And save the female sex

From being cow'd-like Iö-by the cattle!

Fancy, when droves appear on

The hill of Holborn, roaring from its top,

7

Your ladies-ready, as they own, to drop,
Taking themselves to Thomson's with a Fear-on!

Or, in St. Martin's Lane,

Scared by a Bullock, in a frisky vein,-

Fancy the terror of your timid daughters
While rushing souse

Into a coffee-house,

To find it-Slaughter's.

Or fancy this :

Walking along the street, some stranger Miss,
Her head with no such thought of danger laden,
When suddenly 'tis "Aries Taurus Virgo !"
You don't know Latin, I translate it ergo,
Into your Areas a Bull throws the Maiden!
Think of some poor old crone
Treated, just like a penny, with a toss !

At that vile spot now grown

So generally known

For making a Cow Cross!

Nay, fancy your own selves far off from stall,
Or shed, or shop-and that an Ox infuriate
Just pins you to the wall,

Giving you a strong dose of Oxy-Muriate!

Methinks I hear the neighbours that live round
The Market-ground

Thus make appeal unto their civic fellows-
“Tis well for you that live apart—unable
To hear this brutal Babel,

But our firesides are troubled with their bellows.

"Folks that too freely sup

Must e'en put up

With their own troubles if they can't digest;
But we must needs regard

The case as hard

The others' victuals should disturb our rest,

That from our sleep your food should start and jump us!

We like, ourselves, a steak,

But, Sirs, for pity's sake!

We don't want oxen at our doors to rump-us!

"If we do doze-it really is too bad!

We constantly are roar'd awake or rung,
Through bullocks mad

That run in all the Night Thoughts' of our Young!"

Such are the woes of sleepers-now let's take
The woes of those that wish to keep a Wake.
Oh think! when Wombell gives his annual feasts,
Think of these "Bulls of Basan," far from mild ones;
Such fierce tame beasts,

That nobody much cares to see the Wild ones!

Think of the Show woman, "what shows a Dwarf," Seeing a red Cow come

To swallow her Tom Thumb,

And forc'd with broom of birch to keep her off!

Think, too, of Messrs. Richardson and Co.,
When looking at their public private boxes,
To see in the back row

Three live sheep's heads, a porker's and an Ox's!
Think of their Orchestra, when two horns come
Through, to accompany the double drum !

Or, in the midst of murder and remorses,
Just when the Ghost is certain,
A great rent in the curtain,

And enter two tall skeletons-of Horses!

Great philanthropics! pray urge these topics!
Upon the solemn Councils of the Nation,
Get a Bill soon, and give, some noon,
The Bulls, a Bull of Excommunication!

Let the old Fair have fair-play as its right,
And to each show and sight
Ye shal. be treated with a Free List latitude,
To Richardson's Stage Dramas,

Dio-and Cosmo-ramas,

Giants and Indians wild,

Dwarf, Sea Bear, and Fat Child,

And that most rare of Shows-a Show of gratitude!.

TO MARY

AT NO. I, NEWGATE.
Favoured by Mr. Wontner.

MARY, I believ'd you true,
And I was blest in so believing;

But till this hour I never knew

That you were taken up for thieving!

Oh! when I snatch'd a tender kiss
Or some such trifle when I courted,
You said, indeed, that love was bliss,
But never owned you were transported!

But then to gaze on that fair face-
It would have been an unfair feeling,

To dream that you had pilfered lace

And Flints had suffered from your stealing!

Or when my suit I first preferr'd,

To bring your coldness to repentance,
Before I hammer'd out a word,

How could I dream you'd heard a sentence !

Or when with all the warmth of youth

I strove to prove my love no fiction,
How could I guess I urged a truth
On one already past conviction!

How could I dream that ivory part,

Your hand--where I have look'd and linger'd,

Altho' it stole away my heart,

Had been held up as one light-finger'd!

In melting verse your charms I drew,

The charms in which my muse delighted

Alas! the lay I thought was new,
Spoke only what had been indicted!

Oh! when that form, a lovely one,
Hung on the neck its arms had flown to,
I little thought that you had run

A chance of hanging on your own too.

You said you pick'd me from the world,
My vanity it now must shock it—

And down at once my pride is hurl'd,

You've pick'd me--and you've pick'd a pocket.

Oh! when our love had got so far,

The bans were read by Dr. Daley,

Who asked if there was any bar—

Why did not some one shout "Old Bailey ?"

But when you rob'd your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies?

And when the parson came to say,
My goods were yours, if I had got any,

And you should honour and obey,

Who could have thought-"O Bay of Botany."

But, oh, the worst of all your slips

I did not till this day discover-
That down in Deptford's prison ships,
Oh, Mary! you've a hulking lover!

No. II.

"Love, with a witness."

HE has shaved off his whiskers and blacken'd his brows,

Wears a patch and a wig of false hair,

But it's him-Oh it's him!-we exchanged lovers' vows, When I lived up in Cavendish Square.

He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same,
And his voice was as soft as a flute-