After fatigue, how dear to me
The maid who suits me to a T,

And makes the water bubble
From her red hand when I receive
The evergreen, I seem to give
A T. T. L. to trouble.

I scorn the hop, disdain the malt,
I hate solutions sweet and salt,
Injurious I vote 'em ;

For tea my faithful palate yearns,
Thus, though my fancy never turns,
It always is tea-totum !

Yet some assure me whilst I sip, That thou hast stained thy silver lip With sad adulterations!

Slow poison drawn from leaves of sloe, That quickly cause the quick to go And join their dead relations.

She warns me of tea-dealer's tricks, Those double-dealing men who mix Unwholesome drugs with some tea; 'Tis bad to sip-and yet to give Up sipping's worse; we cannot live, "Nec sine tea, nec cum tea."

Yet, still tenacious of my tea,

I think the grocers send it me

Quite pure ('tis what they call so),
Heedless of warnings still I get

"Tea veniente die, et

Tea decidente," also.

Yours, T.

CLUBS.

Tune-" Bow, wow, wow.”

If any man loves comfort, and has little cash to buy it, he Should get into a crowded club,-a most select society; While solitude and mutton cutlets serve infelix uxor, he May have his club (like Hercules) and revel there in luxury.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

Yes, clubs knock taverns on the head! e'en Hatchett's can't

demolish them;

Joy grieves to see their magnitude, and Long longs to abolish them.

The inns are out! hotels for single men scarce keep alive on

it,

While none but houses that are in the family way thrive on

it!

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

There's first the Athenæum club, so wise, there's not a man

of it

That has not sense enough for six (in fact, that is the plan

of it :)

The very waiters answer you with eloquence Socratical, And always place the knives and forks in order mathematical.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

Then opposite the mental club you'll find the regimental

one,

A meeting made of men of war, and yet a very gentle one;
If uniform good living please your palate, here's excess of it,
Especially at private dinners, when they make a mess of it!
Bow, wow, wow, &c.

E'en Isis has a house in town! and Cam abandons her city!
The master now hangs out at the United University;
In Common Room she gave a rout (a novel freak to hit
upon),

Where Masters gave the Mistresses of Arts no chairs to sit

upon!

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

The Union Club is quite superb; its best apartment daily is The lounge of lawyers, doctors, merchants, beaux cum multis

aliis:

At half-past six, the joint concern, for eighteen pence, is

given you

Half-pints of port are sent in ketchup-bottles to enliven you! Bow, wow, wow, &c.

The travellers are in Pall Mall, and smoke cigars so cozily, And dream they climb the highest Alps, or rove the plains of Moselai;

The world for them has nothing new, they have explored all parts of it,

And now they are club footed! and they sit and look at

charts of it.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

The Orientals homeward bound, now seek their clubs, much

sallower,

And while they eat green fat, they find their own fat growing yellower;

Their soup is made more savoury, till bile to shadows dwindles 'em,

And Messrs. Savory and Moore with seidlitz draughts rekindles 'em.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

Then there are clubs where persons Parliamentary prepon

derate,

And clubs for men upon the turf (I wonder they ar'nt under it);

Clubs where the winning ways of sharper folks pervert the use of clubs,

Where knaves will make subscribers cry "Egad! this is the deuce of clubs!"

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

For country squires the only club in London now is Boodle's, sirs,

The Crockford Club for playful men, the Alfred Club for noodles, sirs;

These are the stages which all men propose to play their parts upon,

For clubs are what the Londoners have clearly set their

hearts upon.

VOL. II.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

THE COCKNEY COLLEGE.

Tune-" Run, neighbours, run."

RUN, sweepers, run, 'tis now the time for lecturing:
Ev'ry man must learned be in these wise days;
Freedom's own island, shop-boys, recollect you 're in,

Whose native oaks we mean to graft with classic bays.
First of all discover (if you 're able) where is Gower-street,
The terra incognita of Alfred-place and Store-street;
Get safely through Carmarthen-street, escape will be a mercy
t'ye,

And on your right, at number ten, you'll see the university. Run, sweepers, run, 'tis now the time for lecturing, Ev'ry man must learned be in these wise days.

'Tis there British genius, so admirably seconded, Soon shall blaze all o'er the world in glory bright, Since Reason to Freedom so elegantly beckon did,

To come and share the pleasures of dispensing light. Conjointly there these goddesses apprentice boys now call ye, Esquired by Messrs. Campbell, Grote, and Zachary Macauley,

To study arts and sciences most fitted to your stations, sirs,
And raise this isle of Britain to the wisest of all nation, sirs,

Run, sweepers, run, 'tis now the time for lecturing.
Ev'ry man must learned be in these wise days.

The tinkers soon shall worship Pan-while all the London shavers, sirs,

Disdain the unread Barbari, their quondam friends;

The cobblers, at Minerva's lap, turn sutors for her favours, sirs,

And leave un'tended in their stalls their soles and ends.