ON A WHIP HAVING BEEN GIVEN BY HIS
MAJESTY TO BE RUN FOR IN IRELAND,

That sycophants might have their rights,
Great George, returning from his trip,
Bequeathed Hibernian parasites

A fitting legacy—a whip!

TO MR. BLISS, THE TREASURER OF A BIBLE ASSOCIATION.

Some say the Bible points the road to bliss,—
Here, sir, you own that truth is not a libel;
Reverse the question and 'tis simply this,-
That Bliss is a conductor to the Bible.

THE TWO FIDDLĖS.

A Scotchman, delighted when Soloman play'd,
Would tender his hand; but, "No," Soloman said

Though your flattery greatly allures,

This mark of your kindness I needs must repel;
My fiddle you like, and that's all very well,-
But I'm not over partial to your's.'

ON HEARING THE CHARITY CHILDREN SING THE OLD 100TH PSALM, AT THE ANNIVERSARY.

"What thought you of the singing at St. Paul's?"

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Cried Miss to Ma, as by her side she sat :

Why, if I must speak plainly," Madam bawls"'Twas like our table-beer, by far too flat?"

GOOD NEWS.

I met my coal-merchant the other day,"Good morrow, sir; and how are coals, I pray?" "Ah, sir," said he, " I pity the poor souls, This dreadful frosty time, for coals are coals." "That's good," cried I; "the news my heart elates, For half of those you sent me last were slates."

OLD BAILEY EPIGRAM.

The following lines were written by Cockerill*, in the condemn'd pew, at the Old Bailey, on the Sunday prior to his execution, February 19, 1826.

No doctor will extract one tooth,
No strumpet exercise her trade,
No parson preach eternal truth,
Without their labour's amply paid.

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THE FORCE OF ELOQUENCE.

My speech was such the other day,"
Canning ran away;

Said H-g-e,

66

My arguments were such, that all

Perceived he could not choose but fall."
No doubt-if he had kept his seat,
The house had seen him fall,-asleep.

NOVELTY IN WIT.

Curio, 'tis said, a comedy has writ,
Replete thoughout with novelty and wit:
If it has wit,-to both will I agree;
For wit from Curio must be novelty.

* Executed for forgery, Tuesday, Feb. 21, 1826.

DOCTOR O. N,

A man of superhuman eloquence." Merchant.

The Doctor's Wine

What says that meek divine, O. N.
When urg'd extortion to forego?
What! why, in terms polite and plain,
The doctor cries, "You wretch, N O.”

A JUNIOR TO AN ELDER BROTHER.

If I am poor, the fault lies not with me;
If thou art rich, the wealth belongs to thee:
But, that the eldest and the youngest might
Be like, divide; and set the balance right.

66

A MOTTO FOR M'ADAM.

My essay on roads” quoth M'Adam, “lies there,
Result of a life's lucubration;

But does not the title-page look rather bare?

I long for a Latin quotation!"

A Delphin edition of Virgil stood nigh,

To second his classic desire;

Where the road-maker hit on the shepherd's reply, "Miror magis"-" I rather add mire!"

ON SEEING A FALSEHOOD RECORDED ON A TOMB-STONE.

Here both they lie, upon my life,-
The tell-tale marble, and the wife,

ON THE SHOT FIRED AT THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON, AT PARIS, IN 1816.

Imitation of the French.

The shot has missed, I'll tell you why,—
Our laurell'd chief no danger ran:
The erring marksman aim'd too high-
He thought the duke a greater man.

ON JUSTICE.

A poor man once a judge besought
To judge aright his cause,

And with a pot of oil salutes

This judger of the laws.

"My friend," quoth he, "thy cause is good :"
He glad away did trudge;
Anon his wealthy foe did come

Before this partial judge.

A hog well-fed this churl presents,
And craves a strain of law;
The hog receiv'd, the poor man's right
Was judg'd not worth a straw.

Therewith he cried, "O! partial judge,

Thy doom has me undone;

When oil I gave, my cause was good,
But now to ruin run."

"Poor man," quoth he, "I thee forgot,
And see thy cause of foil;

A hog came since into my house,
And broke thy pot of oil."

ON SEEING A PRIEST DECORATED.

In days gone by, when time was young,
The culprit on a cross was hung:
Oh, strange reverse! 'tis now in vogue,
The cross should hang upon the rogue.

ON A MAN MARRYING HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW'S

SISTER.

My wife my father's sister is!
My sister is my mother!

My wife my father's daughter is!

My father is my brother!

THE PARSON ASTONISHED.

A reverend divine, as it is stated,
Was curate in a parish in this town;
And one day, while at the grave's head,
Burying a man reported dead,

A woman, seemingly much agitated,

Pluck'd him most violently by the gown :

"Sir," says the woman, "I must speak with you."
Says he, "That, now, you cannot do;

Come to me when the funeral's done."
"Sir, what I have to say is of importance."

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Say on, then," says the parson, seeing no chance
Of stopping her before her yarn was spun.

"Your conduct, sir, is much too bad; it
Is, upon my honour (here she cried),—
To bury one who of the small pox died,
Next to my husband, sir, who never had it."