THE TEMPLE OF RAGS.

The devil's work 's far easier than of old;
No longer forc'd to bait his hooks with gold,
Now knaves, for rags, their souls and country sell,
And Nick, with joy, more crowded finds his hell.
Their fatal toils the paper-crew prolong,
A dread Report at length confounds the throng;
A rag half-finish'd trembling in her hand,
Sudden the goddess calls her frighten'd band.
"The foe," she cries, " attempts our reign to end ;
Rouse, rouse, my sons-our gainful sway defend.
What blessings, tell, uncertain rags uphold;
What ills unheard of, spring from steady gold!
To industry what powerful motives grow,

When melt its hard-earn'd fruits like vernal snow!
When labour's hopes no more its pains assuage,
Nor toil of youth secures the ease of age!

No more our comforts, wealth, and power we draw
From native vigour nurs'd by equal law :
To rags alone we trace our happy state;
Meat, drink, and clothing, magic rags create.
Lands, houses, all, our wond'rouş rags bestow,
Domestic plenty, safety from the foe;

Triumphant Germans, bless the glorious hour
Your paper sav'd you from Napoleon's power.
"Gold tempts invasion; bless'd with paper stores,
What mad invader would assail our shores?
Rags, rags alone, afford the sure relief;
With empty pockets we defy the thief.

No raging thirst within his bosom glows,

To crush these isles that still his plans oppose,

That from his grasp the world's great prize withhold,-
No! his ambition aims at bits of gold!

Nor is it gold the caitiff would purloin,

He longs for nothing but our gold in coin!
Oh, thought sublime! To save a sinking state
Melt coin to bars, or else convert to plate.
Vile guineas banish, and his schemes you mar-
He loves our guineas more than ships of war!
"Forbear, my sons, with principles to rack
Your muddy noddles, but assail with fact.

VOL. XV.

193

Facts

Facts unexplain'd are manag'd still with ease,
Turn any way, and prove whate'er you please:
With partial facts then make your en'mies stare,
Ye know not whence they come, nor how they bear.
Be partial facts in wild disorder us'd;

To puzzle others, be yourselves confus'd,
Of clear deduction fly the dang'rous goal,
Avoid great views, and ne'er display the whole.
Dull facts, alas! with principles agree;

you

and me.

And such, my sons, are not for
Thus haply furnish'd, show with skill profound,
An oblong bar, not worth itself, when round:
Face demonstration-prove the dead alive-
That black is white-that two and two make five.
Loud 'gainst the foes of loyal paper rave,
Call, party, traitor, jacobin, and knave;
Let fools for nought their country's bruises heal,
Or prop, in blood-stain'd field, the public weaf;
Be ours the nobler part, ye paper elves,
To gull the nation, and enrich ourselves."

LINES

TO THE MEMORY OF OUR BRAVE COUNTRYMEN WHO FELL ON THE HEIGHTS OF BARROSA, VINDICATING THE RIGHTS OF OUR INJURED ALLIES, AND ADVANCING THE GLORY OF THE BRITISH ARMS, MARCH 5, 1811.

[From the British Press, April 26.]

PEACE, peace to the turf of the slain!

Their toils and their conflicts are o'er;

Of the bugle the soul-stirring strain
Shall resound in their battles no more.
The strength of the bravest hath fail'd
On thy heights, O Barrosa! afar;
In the tombs that proud vict'ry entail'd,
Sleep the sons of the mighty in war.
Their voices shall never be heard

At the grim-setting watch of the night;
The shadow of death is their guard,
And silent their camp on the height.

They

THE CIRCUS VERSUS COVENT GARDEN.

They liv'd by their country ador'd,

Fear'd by those 'neath the tyrant's command, Who tremble at liberty's sword

In a Briton's invincible hand.

They fell 'mid the shouts of the brave,
Like the bright setting glories of day,
While vict'ry's broad banner did wave
O'er the fields where the warriors lay.
From the foe the proud trophy they won;
That boast let the tyrant forego;
His eagle, that soar'd to the sun,

'Neath the standard of Freedom lies low.
Kind Muse, who so often hast strung
The harp of green Erin with praise,
Oh let not her sons be unsung,

Who fell in the battle's bright blaze.
Peace, peace to the souls of the slain!
Their toils and their conflicts are o'er ;
They rest on the hills of their fame,

To mix in the battle no more.

Glasgow, April 18, 1811.

195

W. Y.

THE CIRCUS VERSUS COVENT GARDEN.

[From the Morning Chronicle, April 29.]

Haud secus exarsit quam Circo taurus aperto. OVID. As pleas'd as John Bull when the Circus is open'd.

Free Translation.

THOUGH Kemble and Elliston change their pursuits,
Their actors are at their old habits again;

The men at the Circus still acting like brutes,
The brutes at the theatre acting like men.

To say Covent Garden 's most vulgar, is malice
Its muse is a well-bred equestrian wench;
The Stable Yard surely is near the King's Palace,
The Circus, as surely, is near the King's Bench.
Then, Kemble, continue your four-footed fun,
'Tis the taste of the public, not yours, that is base;
The Muses, or Pyeballs, to you 't is all one-
You get all the money, they all the disgrace.

K 2

When

When Betty, and Mudie, and brats, were the rage,
To thousands of noodles they lisp'd out their story;
Your infantry drove common-sense from the stage,

And why should not cavalry share in the glory?
While you hear the cash rattle, be deaf to their din;
The sense of the public all folly surpasses :
They pay and abuse, while you laugh, Sir, and win;
They smile at the horses, and you at the asses,

H.

EPIGRAM.

[From the same.]

BEING ask'd, "Why in England we've paper for gold?" A satirical jade, who let nothing escape her,

Gave an answer at once both convincing and bold— "Where there's plenty of rags, there is plenty of paper."

QUIZ.

INTENDED DEVICE FOR AN ILLUMINATION. [From the same, April 29.]

AMONG the expected illuminations through the

town, none, according to report, are to be more brilliant than those preparing for exhibition at the Bank of England. A large sun is to surmount the grand entrance, surrounded by many smaller stars, emblematic of the paper system. One great luminary, the national bank, in the centre, and its tributary planets, the country banks, revolving round it, some of them in orbits so eccentric, as to give a lively idea of insolvency-the various transparencies are executed with a spirit and ingenuity that do infinite credit to the talents of the different artists. A colossal portrait of Mr. Pitt on silver paper, is much talked of; the feet rest on the shoulders of the Directors, who are represented kissing them with the utmost devotion! the head terminates in a kite. In another compartment

are

VERSES WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER, ABBEY. 197

are the signs of the zodiac brilliantly coloured-Sir John Sinclair is mounted on Aries, who is represented as galloping backwards; Mr. G. Wilson holding up his tail-motto, Abstract currency. Lord Castlereagh was so condescending as to sit for Virgo, and the likeness is said to be striking. Libra is properly omitted, as there are no more guincas to weigh; and the partnership is dissolved between Gemini (as the Papists split one of the commandments), to complete the number of the signs, and atone for the necessary omission. To enumerate all the devices, would be an endless task: suffice it to say, that in splendour, taste, and magnificence, if this illumination has ever been equalled, it has never been, nor ever will be, surpassed.

EPIGRAM ON THE RETREAT OF MASSENA. [From the General Evening Post, April 30.]

MASSENA, Fortune's favourite son,

Swore he would make the Britons run;

And did so-How?-Refrain from laughter-
He ran away, and they ran after.

OWEN AP HOEL.

VERSES WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY,

WH

AFTER THE FUNERAL OF

THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES JAMES FOX,

OCT. 10, 1806.

By Samuel Rogers, Esq.

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

7HOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Mark where the small remains of greatness lie *.

Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c.
Bossuet, Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon,