Since the Sun gilds the East, and the morning is bright,

Let the sports of the day crown, with rapture, the night.

THE SKAITER's MARCH.

[Composed for the Skaiter's Club at Edinburgh.]

HIS snell and frosty morning, With rhind the trees adorning,

TH

Tho' Phoebus below,
Through the sparkling snow,
A skaiting we go,

With a fal, dal, lal, lal, lal, lal,

To the sound of the merry merry horn.

From the right to the left we're plying,
Swifter than winds we're flying,
Spheres with spheres surrounding,
Health and strength abounding,
In circles we sweep,
Our poise still we keep,
Behold how we sweep,
The face of the deep,

With a fal, tal, lal, lal, lal, lal,
To the sound of the merry merry horn.

Amaz'd at this, I ask'd the reason why, Follies, he said, on Fashion's pinions fly. They soar a loft secure, the more you fire, You only scare them, and they mount the higher.

What can no birds within our reach be found?

I'll look about me-this is sporting ground;

Sure lawyers, husbands, wives, and lobby phantoms,

Are black game, cuckoos, wagtails, crowing bantams;

Of rooks and pigeons I see various races, Besides the sea-gulls from the watering places!

As for the city fowls, they've had their trimming,

And lame ducks now in the canals are swimming.

"And catch the manners, living as they

rise;"

Where catch 'em? here-their field for exercise.

Suppose the scene quite tragic, all in high woe,

Out thunders, "What's the play ?"-"Sir how do I know?"

"Do you know me?"" No, dam'me! hold your bother !"

"Sir, I'm a gentleman."-" Sir, I'm another."

(Audience) Go on! go on! "Oh wretched lost Evander." (Actor)

Sir, my name's Mr. Gosling"- "And mine O'Gander."

(exchanging cards.)

171

"Drops for the ladies there! unloose their

lockets"

"We can't their handkerchiefs !”? "They've no pockets."

"Silence below there! Let us hear the play." (Sailor in the Gallery.) "Ladies and Gentlemen, one word I pray." (Actor.)

"De'el take ye, is this Babel, Heel, or London?" (Scotchman in the Pir.) "Are you the Manager ?" (Irishman) "No, Sir, I'm Munden."

Such are the manners of our age, nor less

Doth folly hold diminion over dress. All things disordered are from sole to crown,

The youthful stripling is old square-toes

grown

With gills tight braced-his head seems out of joint,

A crazy ruin prop'd at every point.

Though war, through Europe, through the world may cease,

And plenty gild the olive branch of peace; Though actors quit the field, their labour's done,

Our bard comes forth, with double-barrell'd gun,

From luxury and ease new follies spring, And he is resolved to catch them on the

Behold him, Sirs !-the character is new" (Serj) "O spare my blushes-it is my debut."

(Aud.) We can't believe it." (Serj.) "By my coif 'tis true,"

Attorney. (From Pit.) "Where's your affidavit? (a universal cry) "Affidavit !

Swear it! affidavit !" (Serj.) "You shall have it."

The Serjeant goes off, and returns with an Affidavit.

I, Serjeant. do depose and say, I (meaning self,) wrote th' Epilogue to the Play

Of Folly as it Flies."-(Attorney) "Amen! Amen!

"You'll never have a brief from me again!

Non dil, non bomines! nor Judge nor Jury, Henceforth in Common Pleas will e'er endure ye.

Heav'n forbid my Clients e'er should know it,

That for a Lawyer I've retain'd a Poet!'' Manager,

"Your mercy, Sir! nor think my friend too clever ;

Depend upon it he's as dull as ever; The cart-horse, sure, may sometimes sco:n his meres,

And sport and frolic in his heavy geersGo view the learned Serjeant in his court, There shall you find him full of dull report,

There you'll see Judges bowing to his