Once a white wand, like thine, my father bore: But now, alas! that white wand is no more! Yet though his pow'r be fled,

Nor Bailiff wait his nod nor Gaoler;

Bright honour still adorns the head
Of my Papa, Sir Robert Taylor!
Ah, might that honour on his son alight!
On this auspicious day

How my little heart would glow,
If, as I bend me low,

My gracious King would say,

Arise, SIR MICHAEL ANGELO!

O happiest day, that brings the happiest Knight!

III.

Thee, too, my fluttering Muse invokes,

Thy guardian aid I beg,

Thou great ASSESSOR, fam'd for jokes,

For jokes of face and leg!

So may I oft thy stage-box grace,

(The first in beauty as in place,)

And smile responsive to thy changeful face!

For say, renowned mimic, say,

Did e'er a merrier crowd obey

Thy laugh-provoking summons,

Than, with fond glee, enraptur'd sit,
Whene'er with undesigning wit

I entertain the Commons?

Lo! how I shine St. Stephen's boast!

There, fust of Chicks, I rule the roast!

There I appear

Pitt's Chanticleer,

The Bantam Cock in opposition!

Or, like a hen

With watchful ken,

Sit close, and hatch-the Irish Propositions!

IV.

Behold, for this great day of pomp and pleasure,
The House adjourns, and I'm at leisure!
If thou art so, come muse of sport,
With a few rhymes

Delight the times,

And coax the Chamberlain, and charm the Court!
By Heaven she comes!-more swift than prose,
At her command, my metre flows;

Hence, ye weak warblers of the rival lays!
Avaunt, ye Wrens, ye Goslings, and ye Pies!
The Chick of Law shall win the prize!
The Chick of Law shall peck the bays!
So, when again the State demands our care,
Fierce in my laurel'd pride, I'll take the chair!-
GILBERT, I catch thy bright invention,

With somewhat more of sound retention* !
But never, never on thy prose I'll border-
Verse, lofty-sounding Verse, shall "Call to Order!"
Come, sacred Nine, come one and all,
Attend your fav'rite Chairman's call!

O! if I well have chirp'd your brood among,
Point my keen eye, and tune my brazen tongue!
And hark! with Elegiac graces,

"I beg that gentlemen may take their places!"

*No reflection on the organization of Mr. Gilbert's brain is intended here; but rather a pathetic reflection on the continual Diabetes of so great a Member!

Didactic Muse, be thine to state

The rules that harmonize debate!

THINE, mighty CLIO, to resound from far,

"The door! the door!--the bar! the bar!"

Stout Pearson damns around at her dread word;~ "Sit down!" cries Clementson, and grasps his silver

sword.

V.

But lo! where Pitt appears to move Some new resolve of hard digestion !

Wake then, my Muse, thy gentler notes of love, And in persuasive numbers, "put the Question." The question's gain'd!--the Treasury-Bench rejoice! "All hail, thou least of men" (they cry), with mighty voice!

-Blest sounds! my ravish'd eye surveys

Ideal Ermine, fancied Bays!

Wrapt in St. Stephen's future scenes,

I sit perpetual chairman of the Ways and Means! Cease, cease, ye Bricklayer crew, my sire to praise, His mightier offspring claims immortal lays! The father climb'd the ladder, with a hod;

The son, like General Jackoo, jumps alone, by God!

NUMBER XII.

ODE,

By MAJOR JOHN SCOTT, M. P. &c. &c.

I.

WHY does the loitering sun retard his wain,
When this glad hour demands a fiercer ray?
Not so he pours his fire on Delhi's plain,
To hail the Lord of Asia's natal day.
There in mute pomp and cross-legg'd state,
The Raja Pouts MAHOMMED SHAH await.
There Malabar,

There Bisnagar,

There Oude and proud Bahar, in joy confederate.

II.

Curs'd be the clime, and curs'd the laws, that lay
Insulting bonds on George's sovereign sway!
Arise, my soul, on wings of fire,
To God's anointed tune the lyre;
Hail! George, thou all-accomplish'd King!
Just type of Him who rules on high!
Hail inexhausted, boundless spring
Of sacred Truth and holy Majesty!
Grand is thy form-'bout five feet ten,
Thou well-built, worthiest, best of men!

2

Thy chest is stout, thy back is broad-
Thy Pages view thee, and are aw'd!
Lo! how thy white eyes roll!
Thy whiter eyebrows stare!
Honest soul!

Thou 'rt witty, as thou'rt fair!

III.

North of the Drawing-room a closet stands:
The sacred nook St. James's Park commands !
Here, in sequester'd state, Great GEORGE receives
Memorials, treaties, and long lists of thieves!
Here all the force of sov'reign thought is bent,
To fix reviews, or change a government!

Heav'ns! how each word with joy Caermarthen takes!
Gods! how the lengthen'd chin of Sydney shakes!
Blessing and bless'd the sage associates see,
The proud triumphant league of incapacity.
With subtle smiles,

With innate wiles,

How do thy tricks of state, Great GEORGE, abound! So in thy Hampton's mazy ground,

Winding runs th' eternal round.

Perplex'd, involv'd, each thought bewilder'd moves; In short, quick turus the gay confusion roves ; Contending themes th' embarrass'd listener baulk, Lost in the labyrinths of the devious talk!