Excuse the materials-though rotten and bad, They're the best that for money just now could be

had;

And, if echo the charm of such houses should be You will find it shall echo my speech to a T.

As for actors, we've got the old Company yet, The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set;

51

And consid'ring they all were but clerks t'other day,
It is truly surprising how well they can play.
Our Manager, (he, who in Ulster was nursed,
And sung Erin go Brah for the galleries first,
But, on finding Pitt-interest a much better thing,
Changed his note of a sudden, to God save the King,)
Still wise as he's blooming, and fat as he's clever,
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever,
Here offers you still the full use of his breath,
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death.

THE SALE OF THE TOOLS.

Instrumenta regni.-TACITUS.

HERE'S a choice set of Tools for you, Ge❜mmen and Ladies,

They'll fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is; (Except it be Cabinet-making ;—no doubt, In that delicate service they're rather worn out; Though their owner, bright youth! if he'd had his own will,

Would have bungled away with them joyously still.)

You can see they've been pretty well hack'd-and alack!

What tool is there job after job will not hack?
Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd,
And their temper, like Ellenb'rough's, none of the
best;

But you'll find them good hard-working Tools, upon trying,

Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth the buying;

They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and screens, And are, some of them, excellent turning machines.

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chancellor) Heavy concern to both purchaser and seller. Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis, "Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice." Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou shapest;

Twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a Papist;
Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall
Of some church that old women are fearful will fall;
Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at random,)
A heavy drag-chain for some Lawyer's old Tandem.
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir—
Once, twice,-going, going,-thrice, gone!it is
yours, Sir.

To pay ready money you shan't be distress'd,
As a bill at long date suits the Chancellor best.

Come, where's the next Tool?-Oh! 'tis here in a

trice

This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was a Vice;
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get ;)
But it since has received a new coating of Tin,
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in.
Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on,
We'll the sooner get rid of it-going-quite gone.
God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knock'd
down,

Might at last cost their owner-how much? why a Crown!

The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or

Away then, cheek by jowl, Little Man and little Soul

Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor

REINFORCEMENTS FOR LORD WELLINGTON.

Suosque tibi commendat Troja Penates Hos cape fatorum comites.

VIRGIL.

1813.

As recruits in these times are not easily got,
And the Marshal must have them-pray, why should

we not,

As the last and, I grant it, the worst of our loans to him,

Ship off the Ministry, body and bones to him?
There's not in all England, I'd venture to swear,
Any men we could half so conveniently spare;
And, though they've been helping the French for
years past,

We may thus make them useful to England at last.
Castlereagh in our sieges might save some disgraces,
Being used to the taking and keeping of places;
And Volunteer Canning, still ready for joining,
Might show off his talent for sly undermining.
Could the Household but spare us its glory and

IN the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard,

Unembitter'd and free did the tear-drop descend; We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had err'd, And wept for the husband, the father, and friend. Oh, proud was the meed his integrity won,

And gen'rous indeed were the tears that we shed, When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had done, And, though wrong'd by him, living, bewail'd him, when dead.

Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude,

"Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state, Had known what he was-and, content to be good, Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspired to be great.

Where FUM had just come to pay Huм a short visit

Near akin are these Birds, though they differ in nation,

(The breed of the HUMS is as old as creation ;) Both, full-craw'd Legitimates-both, birds of prey, Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half way "Twixt the goose and the vulture, like Lord CASTLE

REAGH.

While FUM deals in Mandarins, Bonzes, Bohea, Peers, Bishops, and Punch, HUM, are sacred to thee! So congenial their tastes, that, when FUM first did light on

The floor of that grand China-warehouse at Brighton,

The lanterns, and dragons, and things round the dome

Were so like what he left, "Gad," says FUм, "I'm

at home."

Prose,)

"Zooks, it is,"

Quoth the Bird, "Yes-I know him-a Bonze, by his phiz

“And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low "Can be none but our round-about godhead, fat Fo!" It chanced at this moment, th' Episcopal Prig Was imploring the PRINCE to dispense with his wig,

Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his head,

And some TOBIT-like marks of his patronage shed, Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idolatrous eye, That, while FUм cried "Oh Fo!" all the court cried "Oh fie!"

But, a truce to digression;-these Birds of a feather

Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State matters together; (The PRINCE just in bed, or about to depart for't, His legs full of gout, and his arms full of HERTFORD,)

"I say, HUм," says FUм-FUM, of course, spoke Chinese,

But, bless you, that's nothing-at Brighton one sees Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease"I say, HUм, how fares it with Royalty now? "Is it up? is it prime? is it spooney—or how?”. (The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree Under BARRYMORE, YARMOUTH, and young Master

LEE,)

“As for us in Pekin”—here, a devil of a din From the bedchamber came, where that long Man

darin,

Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those, Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career, And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its close:

Whose vanity flew round him only while fed

By the odor his fame in its summer-time gave:— Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead, Like the Ghole of the East, comes to feed at his

grave.

Oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow,
And spirits so mean in the great and high-born;
To think what a long line of titles may follow
The relics of him who died-friendless and lorn!

How proud they can press to the fun'ral array

Of one, whom they shunn'd in his sickness and

sorrow:

How bailiffs may seize his last blanket, to-day, Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow!

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epicure's dream, Incoherent and gross, even grosser had pass'd, Were it not for that cordial and soul-giving beam, Which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness

cast;

No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies thee With millions to heap upon Foppery's shrine;No, not for the riches of all who despise thee, Though this would make Europe's whole opu lence mine ;