But now thy flaming Meteors cause no fright;
A modern Hubert to the royal ear,
Might whisper without fear,
'My Lord, they say there were five moons to-night! Nor would it raise one superstitious notion
To hear the whole description fairly out:
'One fixed-which t'other four whirl'd round about With wond'rous motion.'
Thou workest, Queen of Fire, on earth and heaven,
Between the hours of midnight and eleven,
Turning our English to Arabian Nights,
With blazing mounts, and founts, and scorching dragons,
Blue stars and white.
And blood-red light,
And dazzling Wheels fit for Enchanters' waggons.
Thrice lucky woman! doing things that be
With other folks past benefit of parson;
For burning, no Burn's Justice falls on thee,
Altho' night after night the public see
Thy Vauxhall palaces all end in Arson!
Sure thou wast never born
Like old Sir Hugh, with water in thy head,
Nor lectur'd night and morn
Of sparks and flames to have an awful dread,
Allowed by a prophetic dam and sire
O didst thou never, in those days gone by,
Go carrying about-no schoolboy prouder-
Instead of waxen doll a little Guy;
Or in thy pretty pyrotechnic vein,
Up the parental pigtail lay a train,
To let off all his powder?
Full of the wildfire of thy youth,
Did'st never in plain truth,
Plant whizzing Flowers in thy mother's pots,
Turning the garden into powder plots?
Or give the cook, to fright her,
Thy paper sausages well stuffed with nitre?
Nay, wert thou never guilty, now, of dropping
A lighted cracker by thy sister's Dear,
So that she could not hear
The question he was popping?
Go on, Madame! Go on-be bright and busy
While hoax'd Astronomers look up and stare
From tall observatories, dumb and dizzy,
To see a Squib in Cassiopeia's Chair!
A Serpent wriggling into Charles's Wain!
A Roman Candle lighting the Great Bear!
A Rocket tangled in Diana's train,
And Crackers stuck in Berenice's Hair!
There is a King of Fire-Thou shouldst be Queen!
Methinks a good connexion might come from it;
Could'st thou not make him, in the garden scene,
Set out per Rocket and return per Comet;
Then give him a hot treat
Of Pyrotechnicals to sit and sup,
Lord! how the world would throng to see him eat,
He swallowing fire, while thou dost throw it up!
Long may that starry brow enjoy its rays;
May no untimely blow its dooni forestall;
But when old age prepares the friendly pall,
When the last spark of all thy sparks decays,
Then die lamented by good people all,
Like Goldsmith's Madam Blaize !
RAT-TAT it went upon the lion's chin,
'That hat, I know it!' cried the joyful girl;
'Summer's it is, I know him by his knock,
Comers like him are welcome as the day!
Lizzy! go down and open the street-door,
Busy I am to any one but him.
Know him you must-he has been often here;
Show him up stairs, and tell hin I'm alone.'
Quickly the maid went tripping down the stair
Thickly the heart of Rose Matilda beat;
Sure he has brought me tickets for the playDrury-or Covent Garden-darling man!—
Kemble will play-or Kean who makes the soul
Tremble; in Richard or the frenzied Moor-
Farren, the stay and prop of many a farce
Barren beside-or Liston, Laughter's Child-
Kelly the natural, to witness whom
Jelly is nothing to the public's jam-
Cooper, the sensible-and Walter Knowles
Super, in William Tell, now rightly told.
Better-perchance, from Andrews, brings a box,
Letter of boxes for the Italian stage-
Brocard! Donzelli! Taglioni! Paul!
No card, thank heaven-engages me to-night!
Feathers, of course-no turban, and no toque-
Weather 's against it, but I'll go in curls.
Dearly I dote on white-my satin dress,
Merely one night-it won't be much the worse-
Cupid-the New Ballet I long to see-
Stupid! why don't she go and ope the door!'
Glisten'd her eye as the impatient girl
Listen'd, low bending o'er the topmost stair,
Vainly, alas! she listens and she bends,
Plainly she hears this question and reply:
Axes your pardon, Sir, but what d'ye want? '
Taxes,' says he, and shall not call again! '
(AT NO. I NEWGATE, FAVOURED BY MR. WONTNER)
O 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 thiev-
ing!
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 trans-
ported!
But then to gaze on that fair face-
It would have been an unfair feeling, 10
To dream that you had pilfered lace—
And Flints had suffer'd 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 sen-
tence!
He has shav'd 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
Like a Lord or a Marquis he look'd, when he came
To make love in his master's best suit.
If I lived for a thousand long years from my birth,
I shall never forget what he told;
How he lov'd me beyond the rich women of earth,
With their jewels and silver and gold!
When he kiss'd me, and bade me adieu with a sigh,
By the light of the sweetest of moons,
Oh how little I dreamt I was bidding good-bye
To my Missis's tea-pot and spoons!
'I'd be a parody.'-Bailey.
WE met 'twas in a mob-and I thought he had done me—
I felt I could not feel-for no watch was upon me;
He ran the night was cold-and his pace was unalter'd,
I too longed much to pelt-but my small-boned legs falter'd.
I wore my bran new boots-and unrivall'd their brightness;
They fit me to a hair-how I hated their tightness!
I call'd, but no one came, and my stride had a tether,
Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!
And once again we met and an old pal was near him,
He swore, a something low-but 'twas no use to fear him;
I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only,
And stept as he deserv'd-to cells wretched and lonely;
And there he will be tried-but I shall ne'er receive her,
The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver;
The world may think me gay,-heart and feet ache together,
Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather.
'Good heaven! Why even the little children in France speak French!'-Addison.
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