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maxims of the volume, as they stand, would form a proper supplement to “The Whole Duty of Man;" and, turned into dialogue, or dramatized into a story, they would be rendered fit accompaniments for “Sinful Sally, “ Poor Joseph," and the unfortunate Footman of Mr. and Mrs. Fantom, the philosophers. To maiden members of the House of Commons the volume would be indispensable ; and I would not advise any one to stand candidate for F.R.S. or F.S.A. without first duly studying its pages. In the two Universities it would become a necessary adjunct to the College courses ; and its introduction would afford a fit opportunity for following the example of Trinity College, Dublin, by banishing from the lecture-room the dangerous and schismatic writings of Locke. You will, therefore, Mr. Editor, be pleased to submit this paper to Mr. Colburn; and if his hands are too full to embark in the concern, you will give it publicity for the benefit of the trade, by an insertion in some early number of the New Monthly Magazine.
Wilt thou not leave a single charm
Of all that now my idol grace,-
No one where, free from change or harm,
The others' likeness I may trace ?
Well, take her eye's unearthly blue,
Ay, and her roseate blushes too;
The freshness of her loving lip;
The lightness of her fairy trip;
Steal on, till not a beauty's left,-
1 'll laugh at every petty theft.
The soul that kindled up her cheek,
That gave her silent glance to speak,
That made her kiss so warm for bim
She doted on,—blest heaven! for me,-
That motion'd every beauteous limb
With maiden grace and dignity,-
That soul thou shalt not, canst not, claim ;
Nor hurt-it mocks thy deadliest aim.
The spirit which, in youth's full burst
Of feeling, shone throughout her frame,
May shrink from all the deeds accurst
In the world's guilty bosom nurst,
Back to the heart froni whence it came;
But ev'o when that hath own’d thy sway,
And thou shalt seek the nobler prey
Within, thy dark intent shall miss ;
For, though thou seizest as thine own
The chill and mouldering chrysalis,
Thou ’lt find the butterfly is flown.
PYRAMUS and Thisbe, of dashing renown,
Dwelt in houses adjoining in Babylon's town,
And flirted in circles of fashion :
They had vow'd love eternal-squeezed hands at Almack's,
But their cursed crabbed relatives would not relax,
And swore to extinguish their passion.
Ah, but Love is like steam in an engine, inclined
Still the stronger to burst out, the more it's confined,
Parents chuckled in vain at their art in
Bribing spies who reported a parcel of Aams;
So to watch them with house-maids and valet de shams,
all in my eye Betty Martin !
Love-letters between them in walnut-shells pass'd,
Though, alas, wicked jaws crack'd the secret at last,
Then, O Lord, what a rumpus was brew'd up!
What carpeting, storming, hysterics, and prayers,
Tears and rummaging trunks! till the young folks up-stairs
Were in garrets respectively mew'd up.
'Twas a harsh step, no doubt, that the homes of their sires
Were made bridewells for bridling their bridal desires,
And a justification here isn't meant ;
But the Habeas Corpus had just been put down,
And no lawyer would budge in all Babylon's town
For a writ’gainst their wrongous imprisonment.
Night came and no nightingale sang o'er their heads,
But the cats squawld duets among chimneys and leads,
And the owls kept toowhooing and staring;
In her chamber poor Thisbe lay weeping a flood,
While Pyramus in his, damn'd the old people's blood,
In soliloquies cursing and swearing.
At last, like old Bajazet, rising in rage,
And resolved with his brains to bespatter his cage,
Head foremost he dash'd; but the gable
Was not battery-proof for a skull-piece so new
And so solidly built that it fairly went through
Bricks as old as the building of Babel.
The Lady at first, you may guess, got a shock,
That a gentleman's head at her chamber should knock,
And so unceremoniously enter,
Like a thief on the pillory hanging his phiz ;-)
Recognizing at length by the rush-light 'twas his,
** Lord,” she cried, “ what a charming adventure!
“Yet oh, Mister Pyramus, dearest of lambs,
What a blow for your skull! 'twould have broken a ram's;
Let me fetch you some eau de Cologne for ’t."-
"No, no, sweetest Thisbe, sit down tête à tête,
And a smack from your lips for the smack on my pate
Will be far more acceptable comfort."
VOL. X. NO. XXXVII.
Now to paint all the kissing and holy delights
That took place at this holey partition o' nights,
Might, perhaps, seem to some folks improper ;
So I've only to note, where the bricks had been broke,
That the damsel by day-time suspended her cloak,
And the youth hung his old Aannel wrapper.
Thus woo'd they in attics—but somehow their taste
Was not Attic enough for two attics so placed ;
And their hearts growing ardent as Ætna, They began to converse about parsons and rings, Post-chaises, and such other rapturous things,
In a word, of eloping to Gretna.
All things being managed by means of a nurse,
With her muff and her monkey, and cash in her purse,
From an old sentimental attorney,
Little Thisbe one moon-shiny morning at three
Whipt away to the sign of the Mulberry-tree,
Half a mile out of town for their journey.
Now here let me state, (for in matters of fact
It is right to be plain, conscientious, exact,)
You must pin not a tittle of faith on
Old Ovid's narration-but mine's to be met
In a genuine antique Babylonish gazette
That was publish'd by Sanchoniathon.
But to follow my story-conceive her despair
When arrived at the inn and no Pyramus there,
Nor a light in the whole habitation;
Not a pair, nor a post-chaise to drive thein from town,
Not a boy on the saddle to bob up and down-
Do wonder she wept with vexation ?
While thus in the coach-yard bewailing her pickle,
The tears of the damsel continued to trickle,
As salt as a mine-spring of Cracow,
Outsprang a chain'd mastiff-affrighted she ran,
While away went her wits, and her muff and her fan,
And away went unfortunate Jacko.
Poor pug was soon eat up, and so would the muff,
If its wadding and fur had been eatable stuff,
But 'twas torn and the spot was still bloody,
When the youth of her soul, whose unhappy delay
Had been caused by his drinking some wine by the way,
Arrived with his brains rather muddy.
All was hush'd (for the dog having sated his maw,
Laid his jowls very quietly down in the straw)
When Pyramus halloo'd out, “ There lies.
Both the blood and the muff of my mistress so sweet !"-
She, to tell you the truth, had slipt down a by-street,
To escape from the Cyprians and Charlies.
A groom on a bulk, who had during the death
Of poor pug slept as sound as the grooms in Macbeth,
Woke at length ;-but small comfort he gave, he Had no doubt that the young lady's blood had been shed, But that he had not injured a hair of her head
He was ready to make affidavy.
“But there's ruffians," says he, “that goes roaming the streets, And abusing all decent young women they meets,
More especially them as be virgins ;
So the lady, I'll wager my head to that muff
Has been ravish'd and murder'd and stript to the buff,
And her body's been sold to the surgeons."
Rash Pyramus, founding too stable belief
On a stable-boy's words, in a phrenzy of grief
From his pocket a small pistol popt out,
Which he aim'd at his noddle to finish his woes;
But his head that broke bricks was not doom'd to oppose
The lead ball, for it luckily dropt out.
So he fell, rather wondering he wasn't quite dead,
As the flash had but stunn'd him and blister'd his head !
And his fate he continued to rave at,
Till the inn-folks came out, and supposing his brains
Had been partially spilt, to secure the reinains
They bound up his head with a cravat.
By this time his Thisbe took courage enough
To return for her lover, her monkey, and muff-
In his arms Mister Pyramus lock'd her;
But the landlord sent each to a separate bed,
And at morning, believing them wrong in the head,
Sent to Bedlam express for a doctor.
The physician, a smug little prig of a man,
Who believing two heads to be better than one
A gold head on his cane always carried,
Examined his patients with questions profound,
Rubb'd his nose, and by skill in nosology found
They were both going mad to be married.
So says he (for his heart was the kindest on earth
Towards people of fortune and fashion and birth)
“ Let not Gretna your fancies enamour,
But keep here, and observe the prescriptions I've writ,
And they'll help you to marriage-bonds pleasanter knit
Than a Gretna-Green blacksmith could hammer."
To the youth 'twas enjoiu'd he should foam in his speech,
And bite all who came near him excepting his leech,
Shamming hypochondriacal vapours ;
Whilst the lady was loudly to smack with her lips,
Pirouette like a top-practise opera skips,
And alarm the whole house with her capers.
Ere long, in their coaches appear'd at the inn's
Gate old spectacled noses and nutcracker chins,
In whose looks you might see civil war lower ; 'Twas relations in quest of the fugitive brace, When the short physic man with a very long face
Made his bow in the Mulberry parlour, “ Well, Doctor, what news of the culprits ?”. He sigh’d. “Let us see them.”—“ No, not for the world,” he replied.
“ Then for God's sake explain what their plight is.”“Oh, a dreadful disorder, whose symptoms consist In a rage to dance, bite, and to kiss and be kiss'd,
We, the faculty, call it Smackitis,
“Even now (and the charge in your bill is to come) The
poor youth has just bit off the head-waiter's thumb,
So inveterately herce his disease is ;
And the lady has fatal prognostics, I fear,
Of her dancing and chirruping fit being near,
Which will end in a Hyperuresis.
He had scarce spoke the words when above little Miss
Smack'd her lips,-ah! with none to return her the kiss ;
Then away she went wheeling and jumping,
And she so figurante'd them out of their wits,
That her Aunty below lay a figure in fits,
While her father and mother sat glumping.
At last cried the crusty old carle, " Afore Gad,
She deserves to be smother'd, the gipsy—she's mad!”
Quoth the doctor, “Sir, spare that infliction-
She may die in a trice, the poor dear rantipol,
Or the rest of her life be a mere dancing doll,
If you offer the least contradiction."
Oh, there's nought like a dance to make people change sides,
And a doctor may rule in a house that divides,
One did once in our own House of Commons;
So our leech having gain'd the majority's will,
Sat like Addington carrying the Medical bill,
And would bend his opinion to no man's.
The mother of Thisbe cried “ Monster! and fool!
Talk of smothering my child in a manner as cool
As of smothering a rabbit in cookery!"
In a trice her poor helpmate grew meek as a lamb,
And sat twirling his thumbs-for he knew the old dam
Had a tongue that would bother a rookery.
Then said Pyramus' father, “ Let's first, if you please,
Cure this smack-what d'ye call it—teetotum disease,
Ere we set to dispute with our spouses ;
For to see one's own progeny
bite like a bear, Or go skipping like apes at a Bartemy fair,
Would assuredly grieve both our houses. “ Let the doctor restore the young folks if he can"Here the women supported him all to a man,
And the doctor, who solemn and budge meant, To a merry conclusion grave matters to bring, Look'd as wise as a kitten at play with a string,
While they swore to abide by his judgment.
“ As to smothering, with two featherbeds it is done,
But my clinical treatment requires only one,
And the help of a conjugal tether;
So I order a ring from the jeweller's shop,
And prescribe the afflicted young couple to hop
To the temple of Hymen together." “Ha! a biting disease,” cried the churls ; " and we're bit !” Their wives, though they long'd at each other to spit,
Saw their fate, and gave in-the curmudgeons Sent for lawyers to town, order'd dinner at six, And when ask'd by the landlord what fish they would fix,
Groan'd, and answerd “ A couple of gudgeons.”