too much.

62

LINES

TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABUSIVE REVIEW

WHAT though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking chorus

From the rank swamps of murk Reviewland croak:

So was it, neighbour, in the times before

us,

When Momus, throwing on his Attic cloak,

Romp'd with the Graces; and each tickled Muse

(That Turk, Dan Phoebus, whom bards call divine,

Was married to at least, he kept-all

nine)

Fled, but still with reverted faces ran; Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse,

They had allured the audacious Greek

to use,

Swore they mistook him for their own good man.

60 SENTIMENTAL

? 1818.

THE rose that blushes like the morn, Bedecks the valleys low;

And so dost thou, sweet infant corn,
My Angelina's toe.

But on the rose there grows a thorn
That breeds disastrous woe;
And so dost thou, remorseless corn,
On Angelina's toe.

61

THE ALTERNATIVE

1824.

✓

AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS 'A HEAVY wit shall hang at every lord,' So sung Dan Pope; but 'pon my word, He was a story-teller, Or else the times have altered quite, For wits, or heavy, now, or light Hang each by a bookseller.

S. T. C.

Quoted in News of Literature, Dec. 10, 1825. See Arch. Constable and his Literary Correspondents, 1873, iii. 482.

But when the said report was found
A rumour wholly without ground,

Why, then, what said the city?
The other nine parts shook their head,
Repeating what the tenth had said,
'Pity, indeed, 'tis pity!'
Keepsake, 1829.

68

CHOLERA CURED BEFOREHAND

Or a premonition promulgated gratis for the use of the Useful Classes, specially those resident in St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, etc.; and likewise, inasmuch as the good man is merciful even to the beasts, for the benefit of the Bulls and Bears of the Stock Exchange.

PAINS ventral, subventral,
In stomach or entrail,

Think no longer mere prefaces

For grins, groans, and wry faces; But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl!

Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all.

Now to 'scape inward aches,
Eat no plums nor plum-cakes;
Cry avaunt! new potato-
And don't drink, like old Cato.
Ah! beware of Dispipsy,
And don't ye get tipsy!
For tho' gin and whiskey
May make you feel frisky,
They're but crimps to Dispipsy;
And nose to tail, with this gipsy
Comes, black as a porpus,
The diabolus ipse,

Call'd Cholery Morpus;

Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion to feed him,

Tho' being a Devil, no one never has seed him!

Ah! then my dear honies,
There's no cure for you
For loves nor for monies :-
You'll find it too true.

door.

12

GOD no distance knows,

All of the whole possessing!

face.

20

THE quick raw flesh that burneth in the

wound.