too much.

? 1818.

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

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.

Was croak'd and gabbled at.

then, should you,

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 BEFORE

HAND

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.

I

LITTLE Daisy-very late spring. March. Quid si vivat? Do all things in Faith. Never pluck a flower again! Mem.

[I do not think Coleridge took this vow in public-but Landor did (Faesulan Idyll' in Gebir, Count Julian, etc., 1831).

' And 'tis and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely.

I never pluck the rose: the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank

And not reproacht me the ever-sacred

cup

Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold.'--ED.]

like a mighty Giantess

Sick Nature struggled long and strange

wind

O'er fern and heath-flowers.

32

A long deep lane So overshadow'd, it might seem one bower

thus ended:

mouldy moss.