Nor abfent he-well skilled in tripping tricks,
Carlile the blooming beau of―forty-six,
A fm.rt debater, and a pretty vote,
Graceful to turn a fentence, or a coat,
Great judge of reasons, greater ftill of lace,
Great of the colours that become his face,
Exact to feafons, and to fashion true,

115

He chang'd his friends to change his ribbon's hue. Such are thy triumphs! fuch thy envied boast! O, may thefe offerings foothe thy grinning ghoft! 120 "Till hungry fubalterns with Richmond dine, 'Till Beaufoy's brewage fhall be quaft for wine,

NOTES.

narvon is the name by which this meft illuftrious Jacobin Alarmist, is hailed by his admiring fellow-citizens? It is faid, that when he was only Baron Porchefter, he went to dine with the fociety of Friends of the People, affaciated for the Reform of Parliament, and approving highly of the objects thofe gentlemen propofed to themfelves by their affociation, only expreffed an apprehenfion, that they would ftop at half-meafures, and not go far enough to fatisfy men fo fincere in the caufe as himfelf. The fecret of his anxiety is now come out. If the affociation had taken his advice, probably he would have been a marquis, or an archbishop-Who knows?

Ver. 110.] Tommy Tyrrwhitt. An eminent feceder from the Whig Club. There were many others who could not bear to fit in the fame company with thofe determined Jacobins the Duke of Portland, Earl Fitzwilliam, &c. &c.

Ver. 112.] Carlifle. This nobleman cannot be accused of a vulgar preference to "folid pudding," over "empty praise," after his very wife remark on the Duke of Devonshire's blue ribbon; which he affirmed, with no fmall exultation, was the only fubftantial thing the whigs had obtained for themfelves by the Marquis of Rockingham's adminiftration in 1782.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 112.] Originally thus:

From Fox to Pitt the change was green to blue,
And the whole difference in his ribbons hue.

Ver. 119 to 128.]

IMITATIONS.

Such are thy triumphs

Till hungry fubalterns.

Hac tibi femper erint

Dum juga montis aper, &c.

Semper bomas, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt.

"T

*Till Shuckborough's vifage fhall be lefs uncouth,
'Till Lincoln's bifhop fhall be trapp'd in truth,
'Till felf-conceit in Pybus fhall be cur'd,
'Till Hardinge's jokes fhall be awake endur'd,
Or brainless Rollo's weight of fcull furpafs'd,
Thy praise, thy honours, and thy name thall laft!

BURGESS.

125

What gifts, fweet Rofe, are to thy numbers due?
O, smooth in fong, as in thy budgets true! 103
What mortal meed fhall match these heavenly strains?
Take-take this German faufage for thy pains.
But foft-my Herriott whispers at the door,
Marat farewell! for I can fing no more-
The printer's devil chides my long delay,
Scarce have I writ one useful fib to-day;
Reft thou in death, for I my prefs muft mind,
Duft be to duft, and lead to lead configned!

Ver. 129.

IMITATIONS.

What gifts, fweet Rose!

Quæ tibi, quæ tali reddam pro carmine dona?

VOTES.

Ver. 129.] What gifts-are to thy numbers due?
Another pun!-

135

At first we were rather at a lofs to account for our poet's frequent recourfe to this fpecies of wit; but there is now every reafon to think he does it to compliment his new correfpondent Sir Richard Hill, Bart. whofe various poetical compofitions difperfed about his pleasure grounds at Harkstone, fuch as witty infcriptions on a pair of croffed whalebones, pathetic lamentations on half-devoured rabbits, and above all, that elegant addrefs to Neptune's Whim (by which name the facetious member for Shropfhire has been pleased to distinguish a certain very useful building on his premifes) have lately made a diftinguished appearance in the under-fecretary's favourite news-paper. Such indeed is the charming picity of this laft little poem, that we should confider ourselves highly to blame did we withhold it from our

readers.

Neptune! thy province is to fwim,
Not to regard this little whim;
Art thou with water difcontent,

That thou hast chang'd thy element ?"

We requeft the learned will favour us with their comments on thefe, as well as the reft of the worthy baronet's ftanzas.

Ver. 133.] Herriott-an obfcure paragraph writer.

COM

THE GIPSY's SONG.

OME, cross my hand! my art furpaffes
All that did ever mortal know:
Come, maidens, come! my magic glaffes
Your future husband's form can thow.
For 'tis to me the power is given

Unclos'd the book of fate to fee;
To read the fix'd refolves of heaven,
And dive into futurity.

I guide the pale moon's filver waggon;
The winds in magic bonds I hold;
I charm to fleep the crimfon dragon,
Who loves to watch o'er buried gold.
Fenc'd round with fpells, unhurt I venture,
Their fabbath ftrange where witches keep;
Fearless the forcerer's circle enter,

And woundless tread on fnakes afleep.
Lo! here are charms of mighty power!
This makes fecure an hufband's truth;
And this, compos'd at midnight hour,
Will force to love the coldest youth.
If any maid too much has granted,
Her iofs this philtre will repair;

This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,
And this will make a brown girl fair.
Then filent hear, while I difcover
While I in fortune's mirror view;

And each, when many a year is over,
Shall own the gipfy's faying true.

Though this article paffed to the prefent collection through the medium of a newspaper, it is understood to have been taken in the first from Mr. Lewis's Novel, The Monk.

FINIS.