The Mis'ries of Life is a work all the go,

But the author, poor fellow, don't half of them know;
In all his whole book I don't think you'll find any
That fairly can cope with a hoarse Catalani.

A concert she gives; but don't think her a ninny,
She makes John Bull pay for each ticket a guinea;
Don't talk of hard times and high taxes-'t is wrong,
When five hundred pounds can be got for a song.

The bills were dispers'd, to the rooms we all ran,
There waited three hours ere the concert began;
At last, when expecting this nightingale's note,
An apologist told us, she'd caught a sore throat.

Of more cry than wool" you have heard before now,
And of "going ten miles to milk a dry cow;"

So, in this case, a goldfinch we went to hear sing,

But she croak'd like a crow-took the gold, then took wing.

Had you seen the sweet misses make пр their wry faces,
Depriv'd of such warbling, trills, quavers, and graces,
You'd have thought, by their grief and distortion of features,
That a mis'ry more keen ne'er befel human creatures.

In justice, however, 't is right I should mention,
Had she come back again, 'twas her stedfast intention,
For our night's disappointment, time and trouble both scorn,
ing,

To have giv'n us a few of her airs in the morning.

The author of Mis'ries has my full permission
To put this mishap in some future edition;

And I think a new mis'ry you've found by this time,
That of hearing a song void of reason or rhyme.

IMPROMPTU, TO LORD STRANGFORD.

BY MR. PRATT.

[From the General Evening Post, April 28.]

Y sober city men, 't is said,

BY

The thriving gentlefolk in trade,
Sworn enemies to wit,

That Bards, and all the sing-song Nine,
Who boast a pedigree divine,

Are for this world unfit.

The monied elves, with purse-proud spite,
Bless their good stars, they never write,
Except to note the needful;

While poets, scrawling volumes o'er,
At once are prodigal and poor,

Of the main chance unheedful.

And if to shillings, pounds, and pence,
Or business, they make pretence,

Poets are men of straw!

Better to join by way of joke,

Tiny Tom Thumb with great Lord Coke,
That giant of the law!

That this is false, I've vouchers plenty,
And in a minute could count twenty,

To prove trade-sneers abusive;
From Addison and Aaron Hill,
To Roscoe, Rogers, living still,
Brin. Sheridan inclusive.

Nay, a Lord Chancellor *, who late
Was made a pillar of the state,

Beats all the dunces hollow;

For though o'er parchments he can plod,
His bosom labours with the god,

The poet's god, Apollo!

And who could once more near the heart

Than Fox the tuneful strain impart,

* Lord Erskine.

While

While state affairs were planning?
Or who, presenting each in season,
More sweet can rhyme, or better reason,
Than Secretary Canning?

And you, beyond dispute, my Lord,
Another happy proof afford,
As all the Muses know;

The gentle Camoens by your side,
The double task you well divide,
Foet and plenipo.

Your kindred Sydney, too, is fir'd
By all that talents e'er inspir'd,
By all but those call'd stoic;
And though the lyre he may not use,
The brave are lov'd by every muse,
Or tender or heroic!

His ardent mien, impassion'd eye,
Of verse sublime the fire supply,
His countenance the proem;
Whether poetical or no,

He glows with all the bard can glow,
And looks an epic poem!

Long may ye both, by flood and field,
Of peace and war the symbols wield,
Then to lov'd Britain come;
There bless the isle-ah! bless'd alone,
Long may she mark ye for her own,
Long give the sweets of home!

And health, the choicest boon of Heaven,
In bounty large to both be given ;
For oh! without its aid,

The Bard forgets his Cherub birth,
The struggling hero siuks to earth,
And life itself 's a shade.

EPIGRAM,

WRITTEN IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, DURING A LATE DEBATE ON THE OUDE PAPERS.

F

[From the Morning Chronicle, April 29.]

OLKSTONE exclaims, "Ye honest Members all,
At Wellesley's want of justice take a peep!"

In vain Hear! hear! the honest Members bawl,
The sound of justice lulls the House to sleep!!!

R. N. N.

WHEN yielded Greece to Philip's conq'ring sword,
And prostrate own'd a Macedonian lord;
Then first her wilful wretchedness reveal'd
The truths her former vanity conceal'd.
Then did she feel what keen unnumber'd woes
Cabal, intrigue, and indolence disclose;
Then first perceiv'd, with unavailing pain,
What horrors follow in Corruption's train;
What direful destiny awaits the realm,

Where wrangling impotence has seiz❜d the helm;
And nations' slumb'ring energies obey
Some canting knave or doating driveller's sway.
How vain the tardy zeal that flash'd so bright-
A fitful flame in' Chæronea's fight,

Then drooping, died, and sunk in endless night!
And Greece-her rights betray'd-her warriors slain-
Submissive trails the vaunting victor's chain.

What Greece has known, may England never know-
A feeble government, her veriest foe;

What Greece has felt, may England never feel-
That listlessness which saps the public weal;

But watch, with hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'd,
The rights she bled for, and enjoys, to guard.
Of all the fatal omens that await

The ling'sing fortunes of a fallen State,

A nation's

A nation's apathy, unerring sign!

Most surely marks and hurries her decline.
While Britain's energies are now confin'd
To the dark precincts of a quibbler's mind;
To lawyers' logic or a jester's wilė,
When pointless puns provoke a moody smile
While Perceval affects to hold the rein,
A monkey frisking on a lion's mane-
He who in such a pregnant hour can see
All that made Britain great and kept her free,
Submitted to a jester's blythe commands,
Or mould'ring in a puny bigot's hands;
And yet perceive no growing dangers near,
No ills to guard against, no foes to fear;
Betrays the fever of a palsied mind,
Stupidly rash, or desperately blind.

Oh! that such fears prove false! may ages live
To see Old England gloriously survive
The wreck of all her foes, and proud retain
Her ancient empire o'er her native main.

THE MIRROR OF FASHION.

[From the same, May 3.]

———to show

The very age and body of the time, its form
And pressure."

FASHIONS FOR MAY.

THIS article, so often repeated in our Chronicle, has occasioned some perplexity; and we have received several letters from ladies, who desire to adjust themselves according to the prescribed laws, inquiring whether the information contained in these monthly statutes be retrospective or prospective? It is humbly presumed, that if they are for May, they partake of the latter character, and enjoin passive obedience; but if of the former, they are merely an historical record to show how one was dressed in April, and how one must dress

no more.