TO FANNY.

"Gay being, born to flutter!"-SALE'S GLEE.

Is this your faith, then, Fanny!
What, to chat with every Dun!
I'm the one, then, but of many,
Not of many, but the One!

Last night you smiled on all, Maʼam, That appeared in scarlet dress; And your Regimental Ball, Ma'am, Looked a little like a Mess.

I thought that of the Sogers

(As the Scotch say) one might do, And that I, slight Ensign Rogers, Was the chosen man and true.

But 'Sblood! your eye was busy
With that ragamuffin mob;
Colonel Buddell - Colonel Dizzy —
And Lieutenant-Colonel Cobb.

General Joblin, General Jodkin,

Colonels Kelly, Felly, with

Majors

Sturgeon, Truffle, Bodkin,

And the Quarter-master Smith.

Major Powderum

Major Dowdrum

Major Chowdrum - Major ByeCaptain Tawney - Captain Fawney, Captain Any-one- but I!

Deuce take it! when the regiment
You so praised, I only thought
That you loved it in abridgment,
But I now am better taught!

I went, as loving man goes,

To admire thee in quadrilles ; But Fan, you dance fandangoes With just any fop that wills!

I went with notes before us,

On the lay of Love to touch; But with all the Corps in chorus, Oh! it is indeed too much!

For the Army-seemed my own; But now you laugh with all the Staff,

And I may sigh alone!

I know not how it chances,

When my passion ever dares, But the warmer my advances, Then the cooler are your airs.

I am, I don't conceal it,

But I am a little hurt;

You're a Fan, and I must feel it,
Fit for nothing but a Flirt!

I dreamt thy smiles of beauty
On myself alone did fall;
But alas!" Cosi Fan Tutti ! "

It is thus, Fan, thus will all!

You have taken quite a mob in
Of new military flames;

They would make a fine Round Robin
If I gave you all their names !

STANZAS.

WRITTEN UNDER THE FEAR OF BAILIFFS.

ALAS! of all the noxious things

That wait upon the poor,

Most cruel is that Felon-Fear

That haunts the "Debtor's Door!"

Saint Sepulchre's begins to toll,

The Sheriffs seek the cell:
So I expect their officers,

And tremble at the bell!

I look for beer, and yet I quake
With fright at every tap;
And dread a double-knock, for oh!
I've not a single rap!

FUGITIVE LINES ON PAWNING MY
WATCH.

"Aurum pot-a-bile :" — - Gold biles the pot. - FREE TRANS

LATION.

FAREWELL then, my golden repeater,
We're come to my Uncle's old shop;
And hunger won't be a dumb-waiter,
The Cerberus growls for a sop!

To quit thee, my comrade diurnal,
My feelings will certainly scotch;

But oh! there's a riot internal,

And Famine calls out for the Watch!

Oh! hunger's a terrible trial,

I really must have a relief,—
your dial

So here goes the plate of

To fetch me some Williams's beef!

As famished as any lost seaman,

I've fasted for many a dawn,

And now must play chess with the Demon, And give it a check with a pawn.

I've fasted, since dining at Buncle's,
Two days with true Perceval zeal
And now must make up at my Uncle's,
By getting a duplicate meal.

No Peachum it is, or young Lockit,
That rifles my fob with a snatch;
Alas! I must pick my own pocket,

And make gravy-soup of my watch!

So long I have wandered a starver,
I'm getting as keen as a hawk;
Time's long hand must take up a carver,
His short hand lay hold of a fork.

Right heavy and sad the event is,
But oh! it is Poverty's crime;
I've been such a Brownrigg's Apprentice,
I thus must be "out of my Time."