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And dazzling Wheels fit for Enchanters' wagons.
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 lectured night and morn
Of sparks and flames to have an awful dread,
Allowed by a prophetic dam and sire

To play with fire.
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 hoaxed Astronomers look up and stare
From tall observatories, dumb and dizzy,
So 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 connection 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!

One solitary night - true is the story,
Watching those forms that Fancy will create
Within the bright confusion of the grate,
I saw a dazzling countenance of glory!

Oh Dei gratias !

That fiery facias 'Twas thine, Enchantress of the Surrey Grove ;

And ever since that night,

In dark and bright,
Thy face is registered within my stove!

Long may that starry brow enjoy its rays,
May no untimely blow its doom 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 !

THE DOUBLE KNOCK.

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 him 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 play -
Drury — 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!”

Glistened her eye as the impatient girl Listened, 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 ! ”

LINES TO MARY.

(AT No. 1, NEWGATE, FAVOURED BY MR. WONTNER.)

O Mary, I believed 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 snatched 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 preferred,
To bring your coldness to repentance,
Before I hammered 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 looked and lingered,
Altho’ it stole away my heart,
Had been held up as one light-fingered !

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!

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