BLESSINGTON HATH A BEAMING EYE.

Tune-Nora Creina.

MR. GEORGE TIERNEY SINGS.

BLESSINGTON hath a beaming eye

But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left it seems to fly,

But what it looks at, no one dreameth; Sweeter 'tis to look upon

C-y though he seldom rises;
Few his truths-but even one,
Like unexpected light surprises.
Oh, my crony C―y, dear,

My gentle, bashful, graceful C—y,
Others' lies

May wake surprise,

But truth, from you, my crony C—y.

Erskine wore a robe of gold,

But ah-too loosely he had lac'd it,

Not a rag retains its hold,

On the back where Grizzle* plac'd it.

But oh Vansittart's gown for me!

That closer sticks, for all our breezes ;

Were it mine then whiggery

Might sink or swim, as heaven pleases.

Yes, my crony C-y, dear,

My simple, gentle, crony C-y,

Office dress,

Is gilded lace,

A dress you'll never wear, my C—y.

Earl Grey, we presume.—ED.

Hobhouse hath a wit refin'd,

But when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell, if they 're design'd,

To dazzle merely, or confound us.
On the Treasury Bench, at ease,
Londonderry still reposes;

Bed of peace!-Whose roughest place,
Is still, my C-y a bed of roses.
Oh!-my crony C-y, dear -

My hungry, craving, crony C-y!
While on roses

WHILE J-Y G―e J-s the memorial was keeping
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But oh, what a grin on his visage shone bright,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame-
'Midst his soi-disant betters,

In vilely-form'd letters,

The Doctor beheld little Wn's name!

Hail, imp of sedition !" he cried, while he nodded His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes, Magnanimous pigmy since Carlile's been quoded, We wanted some shopman, about of your size! For, though many we've had, yet unbless'd was their lot,

When Murray and Sharpe with the constable came,
And for want of good bail

They were sent off to jail,

And their mittimus sign'd with an alderman's name."

Then, come, the last crown of thy toils is remaining,

The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!

High perch'd on that counter, where Carlile once stood,*
Issue torrents of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,

Well secured with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little W———n's name.

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

THE Old Whig Club is meeting, Duke,
'Tis now the time for eating, Duke,

How sweet to joke,

To sing and smoke,

While these foolish men stand treating, Duke!
Then harangue, and not in vain, my Duke,

* In consequence of the imprisonment of himself and several assistants, Carlisle, the infidel publisher, adopted a plan, (borrowed, we believe, from the late ingenious Mr. Jonathan Wild,) at his notorious shop in Fleet Street. No employé was to be seen; the purchaser signified on a dial-the index at the same time pointing out the price—what he required, and, on handing the money through a sliding panel, received the volume, which was dropped down a sort of wooden chimney from a room above.

At them again, and again, my Duke!
The best of all ways

To speak in these days,

Is to steal a few thoughts from Tom Paine, my Duke !

Now all the Whigs are sleeping, Duke,

But the mob, thro' the casement peeping, Duke,

At

you, and your star,

Which we really are

Surprised at your meanness in keeping, Duke!
Go home, your task is done, my Duke,
The watchmen's boxes shun, my Duke,
Or, in watching the flight

Of traitors by night,

They may happen to take you for one, my Duke!

THE IDLE APPRENTICE TURNED INFORMER.

A NEW BALLAD, BY T. C., ESQ.*

Tune-" When I was a maid, oh then, oh then."

I ONCE was a placeman, but then, but then,
I once was a placeman, but then

'Twas in the pure day

Of Lansdowne and Grey,

And the rest of the talented men-men!

And the rest of the talented men !

Mr. Creevy, on bringing forward a motion for the reform of the Board of Control, March 16, 1822, took occasion to observe : "It happened that he had himself been Secretary, once upon a time, to this Board; during the thirteen months he was there, there was no board at all that he ever saw. His right honourable friend (Mr. Tierney) sat in one room, himself in another, and the

I had been a lawyer, but then, but then,

I had been a lawyer, but then
I hated the fag

Of the wig and the bag,

And envied the Parliament men-men,
And envied the Parliament men.

So I married a widow, and then, and then,
So I married a widow, and then

Folks wonder'd to see

That a woman could be

So fond of a face like a wen—wen,

So fond of a face like a wen.

But she had a borough, and then, and then,
She had a borough, and then,

By the help of the dame,

I got into the same,

But never could do it again—again,
Never could do it again.

gentlemen commissioners in a third. *** He must also state, that during all the time he was there, there was not business enough for the situation." An admission which elicited the following sarcasm from Mr. Canning. "It seemed," said the latter, 66 a little extraordinary, that the idle secretary should be the person who called for such an inquiry. This was reform with a vengeance. This was no unfaithful picture of those principles on which reform was usually clamoured for. If they traced the principles of those who raised that clamour to their source, it would be found that habites reum confitentem, and that, nine times out of ten, the evil existed only when the clamour was raised. It was beyond his hopes that any Hon. Gent. should be so blinded by his fancies as to come forward with such a notice under such circumstances, crying aloud, Me, me, adsum qui (non) feci !' I am the man who did nothing; and I now call upon you to inquire why those men associated with me, and who were diligent, failed to follow my example."