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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!

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But, no, 'tis in vain-the grand impulse is give:-
Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will
claim;

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven,
Be theirs, who have forged them, the guilt and

"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,
When proudly their fathers in panoply stood,
Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of power
To the despot on land and the foe on the
flood:

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.

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Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go,
Like crabs, the other way.

Write on, write on, &c.

Even now I feel the coming light-
Even now, could Folly lure
My Lord M-ntc-sh-l, too, to write,
Emancipation's sure.

By geese (we read in history)

Old Rome was saved from ill;

And now, to quills of geese, we see
Old Rome indebted still.

Write on, write on, &c

Write, write, ya Peers, 14 stoop to style,
Nor beat for sese about--
Things, little worth a Noble's while,

You're better far without.

Oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore,
Such miracles were done;

For, write but four such letters more,
And Freedom's cause is won!

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 ;
I hear a Voice, from shore to shore,
From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore,
And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone,
"Great Tithe and Small are dead and gone!"

Even now, I behold your vanishing wings,
Ye Tenths of all conceivable things,
Which Adam first, as Doctors deem,
Saw, in a sort of night-mare dream,'
After the feast of fruit abhorr'd-
First indigestion on record!—

Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks,

Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics,
Or of Calvin's most select depraved,

In the Church must have your bacon saved ;

Ye fields, where Labor counts his sheaves,
And, whatsoe'er himself believes,

Must bow to th' Establish'd Church belief,
That the tenth is always a Protestant sheaf;-
Ye calves, of which the man of Heaven
Takes Irish tithe, one calf in seven;2

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,
Eggs,' timber, milk, fish, and bees' wax;
All things, in short, since earth's creation,
Doom'd, by the Church's dispensation,
To suffer eternal decimation-

Leaving the whole lay-world, since then,
Reduced to nine parts out of ten;

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?—
The whole put down, in the simplest way,
By the souls resolving not to pay!
And even the Papists, thankless race,
Who have had so much the easiest case-
To pay for our sermons doom'd, 'tis true,
But not condemn'd to hear them, too-
(Our holy business being, 'tis known,
With the ears of their barley, not their own,)
Even they object to let us pillage,
By right divine, their tenth of tillage,
And, horror of horrors, even decline
To find us in sacramental wine!

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er,
Ah, never shall rosy Rector more,
Like the shepherds of Israel, idly eat,
And make of his flock "a prey and meat."
No more shall be his the pastoral sport
Of suing his flock in the Bishop's Court,
Through various steps, Citation, Libel--
Scriptures all, but not the Bible;
Working the Law's whole apparatus,
To get at a few pre-doom'd potatoes,
And summoning all the powers of wig,
To settle the fraction of a pig!-
Till, parson and all committed deep
In the case of " Shepherds versus Sheep,"
The Law usurps the Gospel's place,
And, on Sundays, meeting face to face,
While Plaintiff fills the preacher's station,
Defendants form the congregation.

918

So lives he, Mammon's priest, not Heaven's,
For tenths thus all at sixes and sevens,
Seeking what parsons love no less
Than tragic poets-a good distress.
Instead of studying St. Augustin,
Gregory Nyss., or old St. Justin,

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;
Thus they foulen Christ's fay."

Among the specimens laid before Parliament of the sort

(Books fit only to hoard dust in,)
His reverence stints his evening readings
To learn'd Reports of Tithe Proceedings,
Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy,
Which forms his only ancient study;-
Port so old, you'd swear its tartar
Was of the age of Justin Martyr,
And, had he sipp'd of such, no doubt
His martyrdom would have been—to gout.

Is all then lost ?-alas, too true-
Ye Tenths beloved, adieu, adieu !
My reign is o'er, my reign is o'er-
Like old Thumb's ghost, "I can no more."

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,
Ye cursed improvements, cease;
And let poor Nick V-ns-tt-t drop
Into his grave in peace.

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.

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