Poor Credit 's sick-she sobs and frets

O'er India Bonds, and Strahan's Gazettes,-
And snarls like old Erasmus.
Call Galen from the dusty dead;
I fear she's water in the head,
Or else some curs'd tenesmus !

The World is craz'd-the Virtues flout,
Hope's candles are almost burnt out,
And inundate the sockets!-
While Ex-Professors kick my shins,
I feel the finger of the Ins,
For taxes, in my pockets!

Opposing Journalists, all-wise,
Give me, each day, succeeding lies,
Which each next day 's denying!
Now Buonaparte's gone to pot;
And now it is, and now 't is not;
-Can nations live by lying?

Poor Hymen's sticking in the mud!
'Tis here, each month, some Belle of blood

Is to his altar carried;

And then she's Gallants in a drove ;
Our Beaux, alas! won't fall in love
Until the Lady 's married!

Old maids, who, years ago, as soon
Would touch the demon as a loon,
Now wheedle, leer, and smile!
Decrepitude wears a toupee,
And boys use spectacles, who'd see
A Bailiff half a mile!

They brew sloe-juice, and call it Port!
My Drapers have their yards too short!
Were Fraud an imp, they 'd court her!
Use succedanea as they please,

Sell heath-caught herbs for Chinese teas,
And neutralize my porter!

They grind old beans, from age turn'd blue,
With alum, chalk, and ashes too,

And

WHIGS OR TORIES?

And mix it with my bread; Sir;
Blow up my veal with ulcer'd lungs !
My birth-day suits are botch'd by Dungs!
I wish that I were deady Sir!

Though all are sprigs of Error's race,
Each claims exemption from disgrace;
They call opponents Asses !
Though all enact what Folly wills,
Yet each regards the other's ills
With raagnifying-glasses !

When George the Third, an honest soul
As e'er drank nectar from a bowl,

Hears some Arch-Priest must die, Sir;
Fat Priests, from all the Isle, in rows,
Crowd James's Court, like cawing crows;
But when 't is o'er, they fly, Sir!
When I feel pinch'd, and grumble on,
They'll quote the fall of Babylon!
I say it's quite ridiculous:

And how should I know this is true?
But each will frown, and growl askew,
Read Diodorus Siculus ! :

The Lordlings too, to gain their ends,
Swear they and I are constant friends,
And stroke my huge, sleek belly:
By Gd, I hate what's insincere ;
Sooner than thus, I'd rather hear
A song by Rubinelli!

When I demand what England's case is,
They poze me with new-fangled phrases,
And evanescent mummery';
Knowing good eating's my desire,
They snatch the shovel from the fire,
And stuff me full of flummery!

Ah! could I cram me, like a bomb,
With windy peas and fetid scum,

73

Full

Full as George Rose's cup;
I'd steal amid the piebald throng,
Wait for the zenith of their song,
Then burst and blow 'em up!

My sister Peg seeks peace in pray'r,
While Pat is grappling with Despair,
To drown him in his claret.—
The lib'ral Arts are clogg'd with tricks,
And Knav'ry drives his coach and six,
While Merit's in—a garret!

The Nation's debt too, on the slate,
Makes Credit moan, and Reason prate,
And foreign Empires talk:
Denied a sponge, I'll crawl so sad,
Swear that the heart-burn made me mad,
And lick off all the chalk!

I dream'd last night a luckless Bear,
Crossing a river, Lord knows where,
Was stung by Gnats to madness:
Another Swarm, who saw th' affray,
Offer'd to chase this Gang away,

And take their posts with gladness.

Ah, no!' the suffering Beast replied;
These plagues are now near satisfied,
And fill'd with my best juices:
You're lank, and want my blood, 't is plain;
I'll e'en endure my present pain,

Nor open deeper sluices!"

Divine some cure to solace me,
(For I'm no conjuror, you see,)
I've tried both Whigs and Tories :
When out, they all use sugar'd words;
When in, the milk is turn'd to curds,
And all tell diff'rent stories!"
Then thus the radiant God began :
"The Ins and Outs are, to a man,

But

advertisement extraordinARY!

But birds of the same feather:
While Wy grins, and G-

-y grins, and Ge pouts,

We'll d--n the Ins, and d--n the Outs,
And d--n them all together!"

CARD-TABLE EPITAPH.

75

ON Á BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, WHOSE RUIN BY BEING A GREAT FREQUENTER OF CLUBS OCCASIONED HER PREMATURE DEATH.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Nov. 20.]

CLARISSA reign'd the queen of hearts,
Like sparkling diamonds were her eyes;
But through the knave of clubs' false arts,
Here bedded by a spade she lies.

J. B.

ON THE FRENCH TYRANT'S BURNING DECREE.

[From the Morning Post, Nov. 23.]

FELL Buonaparte, mad with savage ire,

To rapine and to murder now adds fire;
But needless was this crime to brand his name,
Since he has long been Europe's burning shame!

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY!
[From the British Press, Nov. 29.]

SAM

AM Scribble takes this method of introducing himself to public notice. His friends and enemies are informed, that he has taken that large and airy. waterproof garret opposite the sign of the "Cat and Fiddle," where he intends to establish himself as an Author, for the accommodation of the Treasury Journals exclusively; and, from the dulness and insipidity of their columns at present, he has every reason to believe that they will consider him a very valuable acquisition.

He has just received from the Head-quarters of the Allied Army in Portugal, via Lisbon, a few interesting articles, among which are five different modes of starving Massena ; to one of which is prefixed, a Plan for hedging in the Cuckoo.

** These articles are all entitled to drawback, and will be sold cheap. 1. 1

A

IN THE PRESS,

The following valuable works, by Mr. Scribble:: No. 1.-A Treatise upon Invasion, by King Joachim Murat; showing how an army may be safely landed upon an enemy's territory, and may be kept there. This work, which is dedicated to General Sir John Stuart, is adorned with plates; including a view of Scylla and Charybdis; and the French Sportsman, who cleared the ditch by falling over his horse's head, leaving the animal behind.

No. 2.-A Supplement to the Pantheon; or, An Account of a. 66 monstrous Deity," unknown to the ancient Mythologists, yeleped the Majesty of the People." He has a thousand head's, a thousand tongues, and a thousand hands: he has also a thousand feet, with which he sometimes kicks ambitious demagogues into the gulf of public contempt.

No. 3. The Nineteenth Edition of that valuable work, entitled "Claw me, and I'll claw you; or, The old System. of indirect Puffing, as successfully practised by the Morning Post and the Morning Chro nicle." In 49 volumes, chiefly composed from those two papers. This work will be sold by weight, with an allowance of 75 per cent. tare.

No. 4.-Beauties of the same two precious Journals! The novelty of this book will sufficiently recommend it. The buyer will receive a good Microscope gratis, to enable him to enjoy his purchase, the beauties being legible to common eyes!

not

N.B.