But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, My own pye-house daughter's good prog to devour, sir.

Ergo, peace-on your duty your squeamishness throttle,

And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny third bottle.

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees,

A fig for all dunces and Dominie Grundys;

A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, and west, sir,

Speats and raxes ere five for a famishing guest,

sir;

And as Fatsman and I have some topics for haver, he'll

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Peveril, Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne.

you a

Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your Janua.

1824.

LIFE OF NAPOLEON.

Life of Scott, vii. 391.

"The rapid accumulation of books and MSS., [while Scott was engaged on the Life of Napoleon,] was at once flattering and alarming; and one of his notes to me, about the middle of June, had these rhymes by way of postscript:

WHEN with Poetry dealing,
Room enough in a shieling:
Neither cabin nor hovel
Too small for a novel :
Though my back I should rub
On Diogenes' tub,

How my fancy could prance
In a dance of romance!
But my house I must swap

With some Brobdignag chap,

Ere I grapple, God bless me! with Emperor

DOGGEREL,

ON LEAVING MRS. BROWN'S LODGINGS.

July 13, 1826.

So, good-bye! Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,
Where lodgers fight not,

Where below you chairmen drink not,
Where beside you gutters stink not,
But all is fresh and clear and gay,
And merry lambkins sport and play,

And they toss with rakes uncommonly short hay, Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day,

And where oats are at twenty-five shillings a boll,

they say,

But all's one for that, since I must and will away.

Life of Scott, viii. 380.

LINES TO SIR CUTHBERT SHARP.

Life of Scott, ix. 165.

"Sir Cuthbert Sharp, who had been particularly kind and attentive to Scott when at Sunderland, happened, in writing to him on some matter of business, to say he hoped he had not forgotten his friends in that quarter. Sir Walter's answer to Sir Cuthbert (who had been introduced to him by his old and dear friend, Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth,) begins thus:

FORGET thee! No! my worthy fere!
Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer!
Death sooner stretch me on my bier!

Forget the universal shout

Forget thee? No.

When "canny Sunderland" spoke out—
A truth which knaves affect to doubt-

Forget thee? No.

Forget you? No-though now-a-day
I've heard your knowing people say,
Disown the debt you cannot pay,
You'll find it far the thriftiest way—

But I? O no.

Forget your kindness found for all room,
In what, though large, seem'd still a small room,
Forget my Surtees in a ball-room—