Talk of leaves of the Sibyls!-more meaning convey'd is In one single leaf such as now we have spell'd on, Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the old ladies That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to Eld-n. THE ANNUAL PILL. Supposed to be sung by OLD PROSY, the Jew, in the character of Major C-RTW-GHT. VILL nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill, Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say! "Tis so pretty a bolus!-just down let it go, And, at vonce, such a radical shange you vill see, Dat I'd not be surprish'd, like de horse in de show, If your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh ought to be! But, no, 'tis in vain-the grand impulse is give:- Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, "Twill cure all Electors, and purge away clear Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir hands— "Twill cure, too, all Statesmen, of dulness, ma tear, Though the case vas as desperate as poor Mister VAN'S. Dere is nothing at all vat dis Pill vill not reach Give the Sinecure Shentleman von little grain, Pless ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de leech, And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, up again! Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. "Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to paint But, among oder tings fundamentally wrong, It vill cure de Proad Pottom'-a common complaint Among M. P.'s and weavers-from sitting too long. Should symptoms of speeching preak out on a dunce, (Vat is often de case,) it vill stop de disease, And pring avay all de long speeches at vonce, Dat else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees! Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill, Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say! 1 Meaning, I presume, Coalition Administrations. a Written, after hearing a celebrated speech in the House of Lords, Jane 10, 1828, when the motion in favor of Catholic the shame. "If the slave will be silent-vain Soldier, be ware There is a dead silence the wrong'd may assume, When the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair, But clings round the heart with a deadlier gloom ;- When the blush, that long burn'd on the suppliant's cheek, Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute hue; And the tongue, that once threaten'd, disdaining to speak, Consigns to the arm the high office-to do. If men, in that silence, should think of the hour, That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the west, To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant alarms; Emancipation, brought forward by the Marquis of Laxsdowne, was rejected by the House of Lords. Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, Write on, write on, &c. Even now I feel the coming light- By geese (we read in history) Old Rome was saved from ill; And now, to quills of geese, we see Write on, write on, &c Write, write, ya Peers, 14 stoop to style, You're better far without. Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, For, write but four such letters more, SONG OF THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF TITHE. "The parting Genius is with sighing sent."-MILTON. Ir is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er ; Even now, I behold your vanishing wings, Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks, Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics, In the Church must have your bacon saved ; Ye fields, where Labor counts his sheaves, Must bow to th' Establish'd Church belief, 2 "The tenth calf is due to the parson of common right; and if there are seven he shall have one."-REES's Cyclopædia, art. "Tithes." Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, Leaving the whole lay-world, since then, Or as we calculate thefts and arsonsJust ten per cent. the worse for Parsons! Alas, and is all this wise device For the saving of souls thus gone in a trice?— It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er, 918 So lives he, Mammon's priest, not Heaven's, 1 Chaucer's Plowman complains of the parish rectors, that "For the tithing of a duck, Or an apple or an aye, (egg,) They make him swear upon a boke; Among the specimens laid before Parliament of the sort (Books fit only to hoard dust in,) Is all then lost ?-alas, too true- THE EUTHANASIA OF VAN. "We are told that the bigots are growing old and fast wearing out. If it be so, why not let us die in 1"peace LORD BEXLEY's Letter to the Freeholders of Kent. STOP, Intellect, in mercy stop, Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun, Young Freedom, veil thy head; Let nothing good be thought or done, Till Nick V-ns-tt-t's dead! Take pity on a dotard's fears, Who much doth light detest; And let his last few drivelling years Be dark as were the rest. You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, Speed not so fast away Ye rags, on which old Nicky gloats, A few months longer stay.* Together soon, or much I err, You both from life may goThe notes unto the scavenger, And Nick-to Nick below. Ye Liberals, whate'er your plan, Be all reforms suspended; of Church rates levied upon Catholics in Ireland, was a charge of two pipes of port for sacramental wine. 3 Ezekiel, xxxiv. 10. Neither shall the shepherds feed themselves any more; for I will deliver my flock from their mouth, that they may not be meat for them." Perituræ parcere charts. |