And he, by friar's lanthern led,

Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set;
When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end.
Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend;
And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength :

And, crop-full, out of door he flings
Ere the first cock his Matins rings.

Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of Nursery Tales and prattling Lullabies; and, if he will studiously cultivate his talent, he need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr NEWBERY's shop window: unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to proscribe those empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the World has been too long abused.

From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another species of hum.

Towered cities please us then,

And the busy hum of men ;

Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold :
With store of Ladies, whose bright eyes

Rain influence, and judge the Prize
Of Wit or Arms; while both contend

To win her grace, whom all commend.

To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of Wit is indeed with the Poets a legitimate species of humming: but would not, we may ask, the rain from these Ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their lustre ? Or is there any quality in a shower of influence; which, instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate ?

Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep out of the way of these "Knights and Barons bold": for, if he has nothing but his Wit to trust to, we will venture to predict that, without a large share of most undue influence, he must be content to see the Prize adjudged to his competitors.

Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said. The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the Actors and Musicians: though his head is still running upon ORPHEUS and EURYDICE and PLUTO, and other sombre personages; who are ever thrusting themselves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion of mirth and gaiety.

He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of festive pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, that he closes with a couplet which would not have disgraced a STERNHOLD.

These delights if thou canst give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

Of Mr. M.'s good intentions there can be no doubt; but we beg leave to remind him that there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes perhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible: for every one must observe in how different a strain he avows his attachment now, and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was If I give thee honour due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crew!

But having, it should seem, established his pretensions; he now thinks it sufficient to give notice that he means to live with her, because he likes her.

Upon the whole, Mr. MILTON seems to be possessed of some fancy and talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments which often unfit men for acting a useful part in life without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulging his poetical humour; we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of COCKER and common industry, he may become a respectable Scrivener but it is not all the ZEPHYRS, and AURORAS, and CORYDONS, and THYRSIS's; aye, nor his "junketing Queen MAB" and "drudging Goblins," that will ever make him a Poet.

W. HUNNEMAN.

Old King COLE, his life and death.

I.

[? Written between 1830 and 1837

LD King COLE was a merry old Soul,
And a merry old Soul was he:

He called for his Pipe, and he called for
his Glass,

And he called for his Fiddlers three.

There were PA-GAN-IN-I and SPAGNIO

LETTI,

And to make up the three, MORI:

For King COLE he was fond of a Tri

O, fond of a Trio was he.

For old King COLE was a merry old Soul,

And a merry old Soul was he:

He called for his Pipe, and he called for his Glass,
And he called for his Fiddlers three.

2.

Old King COLE kept Court at the "Hole

'o the Wall" in Chancery

lane, near the street which is termèd " Fleet" (A queer name for Chancery!):

So his subjects to cloak from the very provoking Bills of an Attorney;

Old King COLE turned his eyes to COKE,

and a very good Lawyer was he.

For old King COLE, &c.

3.

Old King COLE, though a merry old Soul,
Not read nor write could he;

For to read and write, 'twere useless quite
When he kept a Secretary.

So his mark for Rex was a single "X,"

And his drink was ditto double :

For he scorned the fetters of four and twenty Letters,
And it saved him a vast deal of trouble.

For old King COLE, &c.

4.

Old King COLE was a musical Soul,

So he called for his Fiddlers three;

And he served 'em out a dozen pounds of best German resin,

And they played him a Symphony.

SPAGNIOLETTI and MORI, they play an Oratori;

While the great PA-GAN-IN-I

Played God save the King, on a single string;
And he went twelve octaves high!

For old King COLE, &c.

5.

Old King COLE loved smoking to his Soul,

And a Pipe hard, clean, and dry;

And Virginny and Canaster, from his Baccy Box went faster Than the "Dart" or the Brighton "Fly."

With his Fiddlers three, and his Secretary,

He'd kick up such a furious fume;

You'd think all the gas of London in a mass
Had met in his little back room,

For old King COLE, &c.

.

6.

Old King COLE was a mellow old Soul
And he loved for to lave his clay :

But not with water; for he had in that quarter
An hy-dro-pho-bi-a.

So he always ordered Hemp for those that joined a Temperance Society;

And he swore a Drop too much, should always finish such As refused for to wet t'other eye.

For old King COLE, &c.

7.

On old King COLE's left cheek was a mole,

So he called for his Secretary;

And bade him look in a Fortune-telling Book,

And read him his destiny.

And the Secretary said, when his fate he had read,

And cast his nativity,

A mole on the face boded something would take place; But not what that something might be.

For old King COLE, &c.

8.

Old King COLE, he scratched his poll;

And resigned to his fate was he:

And he said, “It is our will, that our Pipe and Glass you fill,

And call for our Fiddlers three."

So PAGAN-IN-I took VIOTTI in G ;

And his Concerto played he:

But at page forty-four, King COLE began to snore:

So they parted company.

For old King COLE, &c.