COOKE AND THE YELLOW FEver.

Yet I, by the Mass, am not merry;
For though my heart's sound,
My cheeks are not round,
And I'm sour as any gooseberry!

PANG THE SECOND."

"I ne'er will go abroad again,
Nor either will I roam;

For he is but a silly oaf

Who wanders far from home.

"There's nine in ten of Englishmen,
Who through these regions roam,
Though craz'd in mind, they'll never find,
That worth they left at home."

* PANG THE THIRD AND LAST.

To the Tune of“ I that once was a Plowman.”

I that once was an Actor, a Stroller am now;
"There's no crow that e'er caw'd in the sky,
To see grubs and mollusca turn'd up by the plough,
Was so gay and so careless as I!

But my friend was a Manager, and livid at New York,
And he begg'd me to go and take shipping at Cork;
And so teasing did keep,

That I left Covent Garden to plough the salt deep.
Now no more shall the Prompter brawl thus in the morn
"Get up, and be d- d to you, George Cooke, d'ye mind,
And leave all your fleas and vagaries behind.”

I had scarce been on shipboard, and got snug in my berth,
When a gale of wind sprung up in the night;

Such a sea struck the vessel as extinguish'd my mirth,
For it pitch'd me on the floor, in affright!

Then I scrambled up the hatch way, and fell over some planks, Which tore half a yard of skin from my miserable shanks. "Ah! cried I, who would roam,

When they've got fame, and fortune, and good brandy, at home? 7

Now no more shall I share some purl-hot at the Brown Bear; But puke o'er the ship's side, and be sicker at my heart Than when any modern dramatist brings me a new part!"

As

As I wak'd t' other morning, after half an hour'a résť,
While Phoebus leer'd into my room,

I saw myriads of bugs scudding over my breast,
Just like pilgrims tow'rds Mahomet's tomb!
But I lifted my arm, and tremendously swore,
And annull'd them, by legions, and scatter'd the whole corps.
Yet the stench that arose even agoniz'd my hose';'
So I threw away my shirts

And skulk'd, like a nudity, besmear'd, but unhurt ;
While sweet Decency Ipray'd to come and mop me,likeamaids
Curse light upon the Manager, and a south-eastern wind,
That made me go and leave Johnny Bull behind!

But, lo! a wan spectre, green, yellow, and grim,
Which they call Yellow Fever so dread,

Grins, and beckons poor George from the Atlantic's brim,
And shakes her fell fist at my head!

"George Cooke, ay George Cooke, it's to you, man, I call," Squeaks the damnable fiend, so lank, fetid, and tall, "Leave your curs'd l'eau de vie, and come along with me.” And so potently she spake,

1

That I walk'd to her arms, like a sparrow to a snake!
"Now your exit is near," roar'd this de'il in his ear;
Then she dash'd him in his grave, like a stone in a brook, 2.
While Folly peep'd, and laugh'd, and cried, " Bon soir,
George Cooke!"

DE HOTTENTOT FENUS

TO THE GREAT LORD GRINWELL,

Who desire her to write him what she tink of dis Country

[From the Morning Post, Nov. 9.].

MY GREAT LORD,

VEN you first ax me write you my tink on tings I hear, I no understood Inglis very well; but now I understand it better, I give my tink. I now see what you say quite right, I now see dat Inglish peoples

See vol. xiv. p. 269.1

is

TO THE GREAT LORD GRInwell.

64

is ruined by King's Ministers, and I now tink em disgraced by de measures em dopt. Dey make beat de French, and help peoples oppressed, dat good. You tell me talents wanted, me tink no. Perhaps you mean talents want, me say "yes" but let dem still want. But I now tell you what I see, what I hear. Toder day man came here from debate-shop. Him open mouth and make cursed ugly face; den I tink he laugh me, and spit at him. He do it agen, den L claw face, and bite. Den I told it way he got, he no do it to make game me. I say it bad way, and wish him leave off dat and toder bad ways. Dis he no do. Dey den tell me he want engage me; I laugh. He den introduce Beauty from Forum; I laugh at her, she so dam frightful. He den say he want me speak with her, at debate-shop; I say me no go where such a set. Den he grin, Beauty frown, me no care Debate man repeat nonsense, he want me speak; I laugh louder—he, fool, may go Newgate. I turn back on him, and send him out of room. Beauty faint; dat very common, she used to it. I give slap of face; she come back, get up, and say, "I rise blow you up, you dam Hottentot." I give her nother slap; she run out, and call Jack. Her leave an old wig behind, and little beggarly bag; cosmetic in it, and little cards-dem me told tickets of pawn man. Dat very bad; oh fie! She sad one.

Den, my Lord, I hear great noise about report of Bullying Committee. Me told it false report. I no understand. All me know is Bullys made a Bull. Dat funny., 94 97

Well, den I hear great row; I ask what about; dey tell me Gost. I say, what? Dey say, Gost of Sam Ford. It great oddity. with me. Me no objection.

Talk of showing sit

Want to see Gost.

See vol. xiv. p. 327,

Dey

Dey say slap and pinch. Me no fear dat. He fond of fair-sex, would like to see me. He only slap and pinch in dark. Me like to go to Sam Ford. Gost me know has done great tings. It been enough to make parson swear.

Me here much of de play; great row been dere about O. P.: debate-shop say should not raise price; dat very good ven demselves raised admission to hear dere trash from sixpence to shilling.

Dere many good tings in dis country; plenty money and plenty to eat: de worst is de bread so dear; dey charge great deal for small loaf; dis very bad, as plenty of corn; must be bad rogues somewhere. Hang de rascals, or pillory, as toder day in the Haymarket. People tell me Mare look into it: if Mare look into it, why he not lower de bread more den penny, when ought to fall seven-pence? Dey say baker bread-men be ruined if do, 'cause dey buy much flour at high price whose fault dat? dey no obliged to run before market; dey buy when high, tinking it will be great deal more dear. Dey fools to believe dat liar Cobbett and speculate. What business dey speculate? Me tink Mare ought to say, "If you baker bread-men gamble, must take consequence; you no business to speculate if can't afford to run risk. What de devil right have you to expect de public to suffer because you fools? If ruined, serve you right. No tell me bread ought not fall dis week, 'cause must rise next; better say will be dear next year, so ought to sell at halferown dis. If you out in calculations like de Newgate bird, you is de peoples dat should suffer, and not de poor honest hard-work man; so no dam nonsense, lower de quartern loaf." Dat me tink should be said by Mare.

2

My Lord, your sarvant,

-DE-HOTTENTOT FENUS.

WHIGS OR TORIES? OR, JOHN BULL AT
CONFESSION!

BEING A POLITICAL, HORNBOOK FOR PARLIAMENT-MEN,
FOR THE YEAR 1910.

JOHN

[From the Morning Herald, Nov. 15.]

OHN Bull, (poor wight!) oppress'd with evils,
Increasing taxes and blue devils,

To Delphos took his troubles;

To ask the bright responsive god,
To mark the signs, by speech or nod,
"Twixt Patriots and Bubbles!

"I'm here," quoth John, " a willing elf,
As e'er heap'd sorrows on a shelf,

And do as I'm directed;

I love my King, yet, dire mishap,
My coat is losing all its nap,

And sure my brain's infected.

In good old times. men spoke plain sense,
Now they give reason much offence,
Each argument is knotted;

This beats the foe, then yields his prey!
That robs the till, then runs away-
By Jove, they 're all besotted.

My Prelates leave me in the lurch,
D.D.'s at Bath, forsake the church,
And leave the mob to sectaries!
Who rave 'bout grace on ruin's brink,
While charity and morals sink;

Ah! call them to their rectories!

My calculators bring their books,

With fronts of brass, and swagg'ring looks,

And hem! and ha! and vapour!

They swear I'm richer every day,

Yet send my bullion all away,

And leave me only-paper!

Poor