Professor of a Fiery Necromancy,

Oddly thou charmest the politer sorts
With midnight sports,

Partaking very much of flash and fancy!

What thoughts had shaken all

In olden time at thy nocturnal revels,
Each brimstone ball,

They would have deemed an eyeball of the
Devil's!

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

about

which t'other four whirled round

With wond'rous motion."

Such are the very sights

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' 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?

1

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

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 worseCupid - 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!