THE DEJEUNE CHAMPETRE.

257

But the fair hostess checked the progress of this amatory ditty, by warmly observing, that it was too much about himself: "I does n't like a hegotist," said she. What a document for Sir John C!

At the end of the first course of pigs' cheeks and Chelsea buns, a letter was brought, post, from the Prad and Swimmer (Horse and Dolphin), in Hedge Lane, to apologize for the absence of Mister Molineux, who had set out for Yorkshire on that morning, on the top of the Highflyer, to be in ready training to meet Tom Crib in the Campus Martius. "How d-'d unlucky!" exclaimed the Ladies. "Not at all," answered Dr. Bosky; " for things, in general, looked black enough without him :" then, pointing to the portrait of the sinewy Negro, which was pasted over the fire-place, he emphatically ejaculated" Hic niger est, hunc tu Cribbe caveto."

By the way of intermezzo or Troja Ludus, the elegant hostess had provided that incomparable corps. de ballet, called the Dancing Dogs, who presented us with the Siege of Troy, in a grand style: here was a dramatic lesson for the Mimi; as, unlike our modern tragedians, they appeared to feel, as well as act. This immortal siege was carried on with due vigour and decency, until one of the canine principals, who dishonoured Agamemnon, as his representative, made a faux pas in discipline, by slyly disemboguing upon Miss Flyblow's pantoufle; when the enraged Belle gave the poor animal such an Amazonian kick, as (in the heroic language of the Moniteur) sent him, like a tennis-ball, hors de combat!

Sic transit gloria mundi

Saturday's pride is dead on Sunday!

"

As a treaty of marriage was on the tapis between Mr. Silverthumb the Bruiser, and Miss Wallup, the enamoured fair was requested to repeat the following invocatory

invocatory lines on the occasion, which the Doctor had taught her, as my aunt teacheth her parrot, by rote. It will be perceived that they are a free trans-lation from a love-sick passage in Virgil, viz.

Huc ades, O formose puer. Tibi lilia plenis
Ecce ferunt Nymphæ calathis, &c.

Hither, dear Silverthumb, while nymphs prepare
Big wreaths of daisies for thy yellow hair':
Lo piscatory Sal with strides advance,
Fairest of dames! the pride of Petty France !
-But turn not to her, she's a shrew, and rude,

Her beads (eyes) shed murder, and her songs delude i
'Tis mine to offer you pearmains and nuts,
Unskinn'd by hunger, and unsmear'd by sluts !
Come, lovely Costermonger, hold me fast,

Make me thy pal (wife), and give me all thou hast ;
For who like thee can cut a swell (swagger), and then
Tickle the damoiselles, and mill (beat) the men?

As the Ladies now began to wriggle, and show symptoms of saltation, the blind Fiddler was lifted, upon one of the shelves of the corner cupboard, and country-dances were commenced in the ensuing order:

It was intended to have had a Donkey-race; but as Asses were scarce in Tothill Fields, a Naumachia was substituted: it took place in a stagnant pond, near the Cowhouse, where two young sweeps were launched in washing-tubs, to splash each other into a state of

comparative

THE DEJEUNE CHAMPETRE.

259

comparative purification. At the termination of this engagement, Mr. Trivox, the prodigious ventriloquist, entertained the company with a spirited imitation of Buonaparte's Physician curing young Nap of a colic, while the Prince of Benevento mopped his Imperial catastrophe; and concluded with the amorous parley of two Pigs in a Sty. The charming hostess was deprived of the company of the Mayor of Garrat, as his Worship was up to his ears in business, cleansing a sewer in Peter Street!

Madame la Boue, the clear-starcher, having refused to hob or nob with Master Bang, because his mamma lived, incontinently, with a potatoe merchant in Off Alley, the dispute was referred to the Doctor, who decided that the crooked circumstance of the young Gentleman's being a son of a w, might affect his rank but not his fashion! The company drank deep, until the third cock. The Ladies were freely indulged in potations of whiskey and brown stout; and the Gentlemen with purl and tobacco. The leading toasts were, "The King"-"The Prince"

The Royal Family"-" The Navy"" The Army”—and “Gin Spinning." No calamity occurred, excepting what befel Lady Dimsdell, and the Misses Blowzy, and that was not extremely important. In the absence of Luna, her Ladyship drove her buggy, unluckily, against a post, at the corner of Dirty Lane, and spilt (upset) her fair companions in a muck-heap, from whence they were instantaneously dug out, without any material injury.

This helegant breakfast will ne'er be forgot

By those who were there, and by those who were not,
Vide PADDY O'ROURKE'S FESTIVAL.
NOW PLNP.

ON THE WISH OF JOSEPH BUONAPARTE TO BE" AUT CESAR AUT NIHIL," WITH RESPECT TO SPAIN.

[From the British Press.]

A FOOLISH wish! why separate the two?
Art thou not both, Cæsar and Nothing too * ?

**

OCCASIONAL ADDRESS TO THE ROUND ROBIN,

A MUSICAL FARCE,

WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY MR. DIBDIN.

[WRITTEN BY MR. TAYLOR.]

[From the same.]

THE vet'ran Bard who courts your favour now,
Might fairly hope to smooth the sternest brow;
For oft your Sires have heard him with delight,
And hence, indeed, your kind support to-night
May well be offer'd as a filial rite:

At length, by Time subdu'd, no more he sings,
Yet still with patriot warmth he strikes the strings.
When first with youthful hand he touch'd the lyre,
Our Naval Heroes rous'd his Muse's fire,
And long as Britain for their valour calls,
Or their dread thunder ev'ry foe appals,
His songs will echo through her wooden walls
Prompt them with dauntless ardour to the fight,
And cheer on Saturday their jovial night.
Nor only for our Heroes of the Main
He tun'd his lays, but for our Martial Train,
Who urge
in distant lands their glorious way,

To rescue Nations from a Tyrant's sway:

For them the votive strain he pours with zeal,

His fav'rite object still his country's weal.

}

* Quidni alterutrum velit, cum utrumque assequi possit, ut Cæsar

in nomine, et re nihil?-De Cæsare Borgia.

While Britain's Heroes chiefly claim'd her song,
His Muse has varied with Life's motley throng;
Yet ne'er from Virtue have you seen her stray,
Whether she struck the plaintive or the gay
Whate'er the changes of her tuneful art,
His purpose still was to refine the heart;
And all his countless labours only tend,
By pleasing means to gain a moral end.
Shall then the vet'ran, in declining age,
By sickness dooni'd to quit the public stage,
See his last hope destroy'd by hostile rage!
No-gen'rous Britons, though ill-nature snarls,
Poor Jack's" sweet Cherub" will protect Old Charles.

ON THE QUANTITY OF ODD SHOES LOST IN THE CROWD AT CARLETON HOUSE.

[From the General Evening Post, July 4.]

OF shoes a vast collection made is,

For all the Ladies thence to choose:
The shoes were odd-without the Ladies;
The Ladies odd-without the shoes.

C.

BUONAPARTE.

FROM A POEM JUST PUBLISHED, ENTITLED
CONSOLATIONS OF ERIN,'

[From the same.]

HIS aid is murder in disguise;

His triumph Freedom's obsequies;
His faith is fraud, his wisdom guile;
Creation withers in his smile-
'Mid ruin upon ruin hurl'd,

He flares--the Etna of the world!
No off'ring can avert his wrath,
No human feelings cross his path:
See Spain in his embraces die,
His ancient friend, his firm ally!