REMARKS ON BISHOP CORBET'S POEMS.

of that smoky land have all left their marks in our features. We can stand it no longer, for they grow more ridiculous, and we more witty every day. Therefore, we intend, for the future, laughing by proxy; and if the gentle reader know of a wide-mouthed, shrewd, idle fellow of an acquaintance, let him be shipped instantaneously in the City of Edinburgh Steam-Boat, under cover, to Christopher North, Esq. He shall be grinner-general of Auld Reekie, and fugleman to the whole world. For when Christopher or his deputy laughs, who shall be grave?

But seriously, the world is growing very dull. There is not a joke stirring. Even the two giant wits of the sister isle, Norbury and O'Doherty, have become chap-foundered. The Ensign has lost all his powers, since he forswore whisky, and grew good. And his brother-wit has been taken with what the sages of Stephen's Green denominate the teasy weasy. The Irish bar has so much changed for the worse, that Charles Philipps himself has betaken his youth and eloquence to Westminster, and English jurors have been lately so bepreached out of bullism by him, as to give upwards of sixpence damages for a broken head. To be sure, the Templars plead very justly in de fence of their dullness, that they laugh too much over Blackwood, and have not leisure for original wit. They may mean this as a compliment, but we don't take it as such. We reckon upon such ascendancy as a matter of course, and entreat our worthy young friends, in return, not to be cast down by the excellence of what they can never come in competition with; and warn them, what a reproach it is to be grave with such ridiculous personages cocked up before 'em, as Lawyer Scarlett, and Attorney Brougham.

Physic is no better than law, and has grown as stupid as an inauguration essay. From the top to the bottom of the profession-from Sir Henry Halford, down to Gale Jones and Dr Drumgoole, it is stale, flat, unprofNo; not always unprofitable. But for the church to acquiesce in the general torpor-the profession of Sterne and Swift-it is a bad sign;" there's something rotten in the state of Denmark." You know us, my worthy public, for a fellow of open arms. We love you all, as in duty bound, by the laws of reciprocal affection; and therefore beg of VOL. X.

you, when we do give you, or any set of you, a box on the ear, to think nothing of it. Suppose us over our third bottle at Oman's, acting the editor over his mahogany, argufying for the bare life, (the more the nonsense, the greater the spunk, as the Adjutant says,) and putting forth our gouty foot foremost to shew our magnanimity.

We are at this moment deeply engaged in a dispute, (we have in full perfection that female faculty of writing and speaking at the same time) about the superior intellectuality of the profession. Our opponent waxes angry, (a general trick of our opponents) and has flung at our head Burke's pic ture of Grenville, and his eulogium on bar-education. "Bar that!" exclaim we. This was too much ;-the superexcellent pun upset him, like a Congreve rocket; and so pleased are we with the victory, and the instrument of it, that we intend shipping a cargo of our worst and most spareable puns on board the next whaler, that we may vie with Sir William, and "leap mast high" at contributing to the slaughter of the monsters of the deep.

But independent of this ruse, we had the best of the argument. We maintained, that with respect to the subject matter of study, the professions could not be compared. As to heresies, what so contemptible as Whiggism? With many more sage proofs and vinous reasoning, till we came to issue upon wit and humour, and the tendency of the different modes of life to produce it. The advocate for the pre-eminence of medical wit overpowered us at first with a large catalogue of names we had never heard of-wicked wags of decayed magazines and provincial towns, "Now breaking a jest, and now setting a bone."

He was marvellously obstreperous-we heard him out-and turned him out; then fell to ourselves, tooth and nailsurplice against long robe. We came at last to something like a compromise, allowing supereminence to the law in stray jests and Joe Millerisms, while, in supporting a continuous and original vein of humour, we maintained the superiour vis comica of divinity, and clinched our proof by an overwhelming lot of names, for any of which we were not much indebted to the present age. Our divines, however learned, sage, and exemplary they may be, are

M

sadly deficient in fun, and have no longer the humour they used to have. This change may be for the better, we hope so, considering it was ourselves who had the chief hand in producing it. We have out-witted the whole world, and there is no use in attempting humour, if it be not equal to Blackwood, which is "a moral impossible." Therefore we are not surprised at the clerics having degenerated in this quality from their predecessors, and we fear there is no hope of seeing a humorous account of the coronation feast issue from the bench of Bishops. It was otherwise of old, as thou shalt know, my public, when you come to it.

We trust, that we have thus far satisfactorily illustrated the genius and writings of Bishop Corbet,-proved

the anachronisms of his biographers, the negligence of his editors, and the malice of his enemies; and thrown that light upon his real character, of which he has been so long and so unjustly deprived. Mr Octavius Gilchrist, who last edited this reverend poet-but we must not weigh down our buoyant publication with squabbles about editors and editions. To make a long story short, Dr Corbet, afterwards Bishop of Norwich, was present in Windsor, not at a coronation feast, but something very like it, seemingly an installation of the Garter, about two hundred years ago, and has left a humorous account of it in a poetic epistle to the Lord Mordaunt. Our readers may judge for themselves, what little alteration two centuries have made in royal feasts and beef-eaters.

"To this good sport rode I, as being allow'd
To see the King, and cry him in the crowd,
And at all solemn meetings have the grace

To thrust, and to be trode on by my place."

The Bishop proceeds: he must have made a slight mistake of Windsor for Westminster, and of the 17th for the 19th century.

"Imagine now the scene lies in the Hall,
(For at high noon we are recusants all,)
The church is empty as the bellies were
Of the spectators that had languished there;

And now the favourites of the Clerk o' the Check,
Who oft had groan'd, and stretch'd out many a neck,
'Twixt morn and evening, the dull feeders on
Patience and the Raysins of the Sun;

They who lived in the Hall five hours at least,
As if 'twere an arraignment, not a feast;

And look so like the hangings they stand near,
None could discern which the true pictures were;
These now shall be refreshed; whiles the bold drum
Strikes up his frolic, through the Hall they come," &c.

"So to the Hall made I, with little care
To praise the dishes, or to taste the fare;
Much less t'endanger the least tart or pye
By any waiter there stolen and set by;
But to compute the value of the meat,
Which was for glory, not for hunger eat;
Nor did I fear Stand back! who pass'd before
The Presence, or the Privy-chamber door;
But woe is me, the guard, (those men of war,
But two weapons do use, beef and the bar,)
Began to gripe me, knowing not in truth
That I had sung John Dory in my youth,
Or that I knew the day that I could chaunt
Chivie, and Arthur, or the Siege of Gaunt;
And though these be the virtues which must try
Who is most worthy of their courtesy,
They profited me nothing, or no notes

Will move them, now they're deaf in their new coats;

Wherefore on run I, afresh they fall, and show
Themselves more active than before, as though
They had some wager laid, and did contend
Who should abuse me furthest at arms-end:
One I remember with a grizled beard,
And better grown than any of the herd," &c.
"This Ironsides takes hold, and suddenly
Hurls me, by judgment of the standers by,
Some twelve foot by the square; takes me again,
Out-throws half a bar; and thus we twain
At this hot exercise an hour had spent,
He the fierce agent, I the instrument:
My man began to rage, but I cry'd, Peace,
When he is dry or hungry, he will cease;

Peace for the Lord's sake, Nicholas, lest they take us,
And use as worse than Hercules did Cacus.'

And now I breathe, my lord, and have the time

To tell the causes, and confess the crime;

I was in black-a scholar straight they guess'd:
Indeed I colour'd for it; at the least,

I spake them fair, desired to see the Hall,
'em reasons for it, this was all:

And gave

By which I learn, it is a main offence,

So near the Clerk o' the Check to utter sense," &c.

"Much more good service was committed yet,
Which I in such a tumult must forget;
But shall I smother that prodigious fit,
Which past in clear invention and pure wit?
As thus, a nimble knave, though somewhat fat,
Strikes on my head, and fairly steals my hat.
Another breaks a jest, yet 'twas not much,
Although the clamour and applause were such,
As when Sir Archy, or Garrat, doth provoke 'em.
And with wide laughter and a cheat-loaf choak 'em,
What was the jest, d'ye ask? I dare repeat it,
And put it home before ye shall entreat it ;
He call'd me Bloxford-man; confess I must,
'Twas bitter; and it grieved me in a thrust,
That most ingrateful word Bloxford to hear
From him whose breath yet stunk of Oxford beer.
But let it pass, for I have now pass'd through
Their halberds, (and worse weapons,) their teeth, too,
And of a worthy officer was invited

To dine, who all their rudness hath requited," &c.

"But as it stands, the persons and the cause
Consider'd all, my manners and their laws,
"Tis no affliction to me, for even thus
St Paul hath fought with beasts at Ephesus,
And I at Windsor; let this comfort then
Rest with all able and deserving men :

He that will please the guard, and not provoke
Court-wits, must sell his learning, buy a cloak:

For at all feasts and masques the doom hath been,
A man thrust forth, and a gay cloak let in.""

The author of "The Specimens of British Poets," has summarily given the merits of this author, saying merely, "that he has left some good strokes of humour against the Puritans." In our opinion, the only bad things he has left, are those little ballads against the Puritans; the wittiest of his poems, his Journey to France, quoted by that author of the Specimen, is a satire on the

Roman Catholics, which, as it has appeared there, 'we need not give. The “Iter Boreale" abounds in humour. Inns, hosts, and hostess, have always been fruitful sources of merriment to travelling wits.

"To the inn we came, where our best cheer
Was that his Grace of York had lodged there.
He was objected to us when we call,

Or dislike aught, my lord's grace answers all;
He was contented with this bed, this diet,
This keeps our discontented stomachs quiet," &c.

"The shot was easy, and what concerns us more,
The way was so, mine host did ride before;
Mine host was full of ale and history;

And on the morrow, when he brought us nigh
Where the two * Roses join'd, you would suppose,
Chaucer ne'er writ the Romant of the Rose.

Hear him-See ye yond' woods? there Richard lay
With his whole army; look the other way,
And lo, where Richmond, in a bed of gorse,
Incamp'd himself o'er night with all his force-
Upon this hill they met." Why, he could tell

The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell;
Besides, what of his knowledge he could say,
He had authentic notice from the play;

Which I might guess by's mustering up the ghosts,
And policies, not incident to hosts;

But chiefly by that one perspicuous thing
When he mistook a player for a king ;

For when he would have said, King Richard died,
And call'd a horse, a horse, he Burbage cried.
Howe'er, his talk, his company pleas'd well,
His mare went truer than his chronicle;

And even for conscience-sake, unspurr'd, unbeaten,
Brought us six miles, and turn'd tail to Nun-Eaton."

He proceeds to Warwick, apropos to which reverend place, we may make mention of sundry complaints received by us from thence, of some cockneys, who visited it about two months ago in a one-horse chay, and spoiled the trees in the greenery, by engraving on them Arry and Mariar, and plucking laurels, for what end we dare not conjecture. But to our Bishop.

"No other hindrance now, but we may pass
Clear to our Inn ;-Oh! there an hostess was,
To whom the castle and the dun cow are
Sights after dinner, she is morning ware;
Her whole behavionr borrow'd was and mixt,
Half-fool, half-puppet, and her pace betwixt
Measure and jigge; her court'sie was an honour,
Her gait as if her neighbours had out-gone her.
She was barr'd up in whalebone, that did leese
None of the whales' length, for they reach'd her knees;
Off with her head, and then she hath a middle,
As her waste stands just like the new-found fiddle,
The favourite Theorbo, truth to tell ye,
Whose neck and throat are deeper than the belly.
Have you seen monkeys chain'd about the loins,
Or pottle-pots with rings? just so she joins
Herself together; a dressing she doth love,
In a small print below, and text above." &c.

Bosworth Field.