I HAVE heard that your Duke's in a dangerous way,
And the doctors desponding have wish'd him good day;
It becomes then my duty (I trust in your sight,
My presumptuous hopes stand excus'd, if I write,
To declare my intention of asking a poll,
Of the dignified voters who stand on your roll),
The Chancellor's seat to affect, which is bare
The moment His Grace is defunct, you're aware.
I will not, 't were fruitless to look for foundation,
On which to indulge in this fond expectation,
In personal merit; an A double S
On merit like this should not lay any stress;
But I ask your permission to state, as a fact
Of no trivial weight in my cause, that I'm back'd
By His Majesty's favour, and Perceval's name,
That passport to pensions, preferment, and fame.
So I'll not intrude further upon you at present,
Only hoping your daughter digested the pheasant;
I've to beg that this letter you'll use at your ease,
Not forgetting to state th' above fact, if you please.
My name I don't sign, not deeming it clear
That this letter may please, so I'll end with an R.
REGRET not, dear Fanny, the distance of May,,
Which was wont o'er those features to shine:
With a look thou canst chase tyrant Time far away;
Speak a word, and the triumph is thine.
Condemn then the miscreant to endless disgrace,
His spells you may safely defy,
Since Love holds his empire of smiles on thy face,
And his mandate's proclaim'd from thine eye!
Yet should the proud tyrant be deaf to thy praise,
This truth must still strike him with dread,
That the warmth of thy kiss all the wonder displays.
Of a Lazarus rais'd from the dead!
ON THE GENERAL FAST, ADDRESSED TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.
[From the Morning Chronicle, March 23.]
THY sapience, Perceval, we greet,
And own thy talents vast;
When those who nothing have to eat,
Are call'd upon to fast!
W—b-n, March 18, 1811.
ANOTHER.
[From the same.]
HILE taxes are so very high,
And likely long to last,
Most sure 't is needless to apply
An order for a fast.
ON THE LATE EXPEDIENT FOR PRESERVING A CERTAIN
[From the Morning Post, March 23.]
OHN Bull, who loves old England's pride,
Her honour and renown,
Declares, though press'd on every side,
He'll still preserve her Crown.
ON THE INCREASED VALUE OF A CERTAIN COIN.
[From the same, March 25.]
WHILE, to enrich his boasted state,
Proud Boney's means are ceasing,
Old England sees, with pride elate,
Her CROWN in worth increasing.
THE ADDRESS OF A NOBLE DUKE TO THE CAMBRIDGE SENATE.
[From the Morning Chronicle, March 25.]
HAVE, doubtless, oft heard sage philosophers tell, While there's life, there's a chance the sick man may get well:
But, the poor Duke of Grafton as doctors give over,
(The doctors you 'll blame if His Grace should recover,)
I boldly come forward your votes to entreat
For the honour of filling the Chancellor's seat.
My pretensions! some Jacobin fellow may cry ;
I'll deign to inform him-no claims are so high:
My pretensions are sanctioned by M-jy's self
Now I think I've dumbfounded this impudent elf.
But if not, I can easily set him at rest,
And prove, past contradiction, my party the best.
Listen, Cambridge Electors! and brighten each face!
Mr. Perceval says I'm the man for the place.
This settles the business at once-you'll all bend
To the mighty First Lord of the Treasury's friend.
You 're parsons, two-thirds of you-parsons, no fear,
At the mention of Perceval prick up the ear.
The loaves! hungry voters! the loaves! I'll be sworn,
You all flock to my standard, like rats to the corn.
ON THE FRENCH GENERAL VICTOR'S DEFEAT BEFORE
[From the Morning Herald, March 26.]
IS VICTOR vanquish'd, and his eagle taken,
Boney will stay at home to save his bacon;
Sip caudle with his wife, and for young Nap
Make with parental daddle sugar'd pap!
Content to see the nurs'ry colours fly,
By holding out his bantling's clouts to dry!
THE mountain's labour now is o'er; they've given us their mus;
VICTOR, who Cadiz went to take, has run away VICTUS.
ON THE DEFEAT OF MARSHAL VICTOR,
VICTOR no more is victor," Quibble cried
Why?" because Victor's vanquish'd," he replied.
A VICTOR formerly the battle won,
But now a Victor is in fight undone.
No wonder that, on Cadiz' glorious coast,
Britain's proud arms so happily should fare:
One Victor only have the French to boast,
While we have got some thousand victors there.
VICTOR VANQUISHED.
[From the same.]
GALLIA's boastful Emperor
Is once more foil'd by us;
His mighty General Victor,
Graham has made Victus.
THE BATTLE OF BARRÖSA AND MASSENA'S RETREAT.
To our gallant Heroes in Spain and Portugal.
BY WILLIAM THOMAS FITZGERALD, ESQ.
WHILE ruin'd nations heave the inward groan,
And waste their blood to prop a tyrant's throne
They see Britannia, in that awful hour,
Foe to his crimes, but rival of his power!
Where'er her gallant sons the falchion wield,
The Gallic legions, vanquish'd, quit the field:
Iberia's plains the glorious truth attest,
Where vict'ry plumes her wings on Graham's crest!
Numbers, in vain, oppose his valiant bands,
Who hold their country's honour in their hands;
Resolv'd to die, or conquer, they advance,
And tear the Eagle from presumptuous France;
Through hosts of foes they cut their glorious way,
And fame immortal marks Barrosa's day!
To those who fell let grateful tears be shed,
For glory crowns the living and the dead.
On every side the patriot turns his eye,
And sees his country's flag triumphant fly!
Near Tagus' banks, on Lusitania's shore,
Thrice-laurel'd Wellesley gains one trophy more;
One trophy more! to those so nobly won,
From Orient Regions to the Western Sun!
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