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To Juries, Bench, Exchequer, Seals,
To Chanc'ry Court, and Lords, I'll bid adieu;
No more demurrers nor appeals;
My writs of error shall be judg'd by you.
And if perchance great Doctor Arnold should retire,
BEARCROFT *, my friend,
His aid will lend,
And set to music all I write;
Let me then, Chamberlain without a flaw,
For June the fourth prepare
The praises of the King
Until they rend the air,
And prove my equal fame in poesy and law!
*This Gentleman is a great performer upon the Piano Forte, as well
as the Speaking Trumpet and Jew's Harp.
BY NATHANIEL WILLIAM WRAXALL, Esa. M. P.
MURRAIN seize the House of Commons!
Hoarse catarrh their windpipes shake!
Nor e'en the Speaker, tyrant, shall have force
Descend from globes to statesmen's aid!
Truths unheard, though not untold:
Come, and once more unlock this vasty world-
Begin the song, from where the Rhine,
The Elbe, the Danube, Weser rolls-
Upon a marish flat and dank
States, Six and One,
Dam the dykes, the seas embank,
A gridiron's form the proud Escurial rears,
1 burn! I burn! I glow! I glow!
Why were thy Pyramids, O Egypt! rais'd,
I take my stand,
And eye thy moss-clad needle, Cleopatra grand!
Hail once, ye Greeks, ye Romans, Carthaginians!
Hail, wonder-working Magi!
Hail, Ouran-Outangs! Hail, Anthropophagi!
Hail, all ye cabinets of every state,
From poor Marino's Hill, to Catherine's Empire great!
All have their chiefs, who speak, who write, who seem to think, Caermarthens, Sydneys, Rutlands, paper, pens, and ink!
Thus, through all climes, to earth's remotest goal,
In chaises and on floats,
Mahommed's tomb, Killarney's lake, the fane of Ammon, With all thy Kings and Queens, ingenious Mrs. Salmon*: Yet vain the majesties of wax!
Vain the cut velvet on their backs
GEORGE, mighty GEORGE, is flesh and blood-
His heart is good!
(As a King's should,)
And every thing he says is understood!
* Exhibits the Wax-work, in Fleet Street.
ODE FOR NEW-YEAR'S DAY,
By SIR GREGORY PAGE TURNER, BART. M. P.
Lord Warden of Blackheath, and Ranger of Greenwich Hill, during the Christmas and Easter Holidays,
O DAY of high career!
First of a month-nay more-first of a year!
And with her at hop-step-jump-play,
Ye too, ye Maids of Honour, young and old,
With a neat warming patentiz'd machine!
But ah! no roses meet the sight;