A question-like asking one, "How is your But not so the plan of our noble physicians, "No Bread and the Tread-mill's" the regimen now. 3 The Duke of Athol said, that "at a former period, when these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of Perth had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for these very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them." There's B―nth-m, whose English is all his own And, as for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's divided To hate the whole crew who would take our Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn, A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE "Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo." AND now-cross-buns and pancakes o'er- Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a few Having (God grant it!) pass'd away, pages. For therein I've prov'd, to my own satisfaction, And that of all 'Squires I've the honour of meeting, Collective Wisdom, shine again! Come, Ayes and Noes, through thick and thin, That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouth'd de- Come, voters of Supplies- bestowers To say that poor people are fond of cheap eating. On the contrary, such the "chaste notions 2" of food And, oh! for Monopoly what a blest day, Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, At eighty mortal pounds the jacket! 6 Come-free, at length, from Joint-Stock cares. Whose dreams of premium knew no boundary; That you would even have taken tea (Had you been ask'd) with Mr. Goundry.7 When the Land and the Silk 3 shall, in fond Come, matchless country-gentlemen ; combination, (Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play,+) Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and Starvation! Long life to the Minister!—no matter who, Keeps the ports shut-and the people's mouths, Come, wise Sir Thomas-wisest then, When creeds and corn-laws are debated; A 'Squire is transubstantiated. Come, L-derd-e, and tell the world, As never scratch was curl'd before- We shall all have a long run of Freddy's pros- And working-people, spoil'd by food, perity. The less they eat, will work the more. 1 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. pædia assures us, has a particular liking for every thing 2 A phrase in one of Sir T-m-s's last speeches. 3 Great efforts were, at that time, making for the exclusion of foreign silk. 4 Road to Ruin." This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be something between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's Cyclo "chaste." 6 An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeavoured to get rid of: trumpeters, it appears, like the men of AllSouls, must be "bene vestiti." 7 The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his Joint-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing "Te solo adoro." WEDNESDAY. Little doing for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a tableWhen the Members all meet, to make much of that part, With which they so rashly fell out, in the Fable. It appear'd, though, to-night, that—as churchwardens, yearly, Eat up a small baby-those cormorant sinners, The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very nearly A moderate-siz'd bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners! + Nota bene-a rumour to-day, in the City, The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing, Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow; But his note was small, and the gold-finch's song Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. THE Budget-quite charming and witty-no" hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it ; Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't cheering, That all its gay auditors were, every minute. What, still more prosperity!-mercy upon us, "This boy'll be the death of me"-oft as, already, Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy. TUESDAY. Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers, Lest-calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts The large stock of gold we're to have in three years, Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets! 3 1 Sir John Newport. 2 This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their Catholic fellow-parishioners by the Irish Protestants. "The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine.” Who'll make his shroud? I," said the Bank, "though he play'd me a prank, "While I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roi'd in't, "With many a pound I'll paper him round, "Like a plump rouleau - without the gold in't.” |