Resolv'd-such liberal souls are we-
Though hating Nonconformity,
We yet believe the cash no worse is
That comes from Nonconformist purses.
Indifferent whence the money reaches
The pockets of our reverend breeches,
To us the Jumper's jingling penny
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any;
And even our old friends Yea and Nay
May through the nose for ever pray,
If also through the nose they'll pay.
Resolv'd, that Hooper', Latimer,2
And Cranmer3, all extremely err,
In taking such a low-bred view
Of what Lords Spiritual ought to do:-
All owing to the fact, poor men,
That Mother Church was modest then,
Nor knew what golden eggs her goose,
The Public, would in time produce.
One Pisgah peep at modern Durham
To far more lordly thoughts would stir 'em.
Resolv'd, that when we, Spiritual Lords,
Whose income just enough affords
To keep our Spiritual Lordships cozy,
Are told, by Antiquarians pro y,
How ancient Bishops cut up theirs,
Giving the poor the largest shares-
Our answer is, in one short word,
We think it pious, but absurd.

Those good men made the world their debtor,
But we,
the Church reform'd, know better;
And, taking all that all can pay,
Balance the' account the other way.
Resolv'd, our thanks profoundly due are
To last month's Quarterly Reviewer,
Who proves (by arguments so clear
One sees how much he holds per year)
That England's Church, though out of date,
Must still be left to lie in state,
As dead, as rotten, and as grand as
The mummy of King Osymandyas,
All pickled snug the brains drawn out'.
With costly cerements swath'd about,
And "Touch me not," those words terrific,
Scrawl'd o'er her in good hieroglyphic.

1 "They," the Bishops, "know that the primitive Church had no such Rishops. If the fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the Bishop, it were sufficient."-On the Commandments, p. 72.

2" Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve."- Lat. Serm.

3 "Of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, and pomps into the Church. But I would that I, and all my brethren, the Bishops, would leave all our styles, and write the styles of our othes," &c.-Life of Cranmer, by Strype, Appendix.

4 Part of the process of embalmment.

SIR ANDREW'S DREAM.

"Nec tu sperne piis venientia somnis portis:
Cum pia venerunt somnia, pondus habent."
PROPERT. lib. iv. eleg. 7.

As snug, on a Sunday eve, of late,
In his easy chair Sir Andrew sate,
Being much too pious, as every one knows
To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but doze,
He dreamt a dream, dear, holy man,
And I'll tell you his dream as well as I can.
He found himself, to his great amaze,
In Charles the First's high Tory days,
And just at the time that gravest of Courts
Had publish'd its Book of Sunday Sports.
Sunday Sports! what a thing for the ear
Of Andrew, even in sleep, to hear!-
It chanc'd to be, too, a Sabbath day,
When the people from church were coming away;
And Andrew with horror heard this song,
As the smiling sinners flock'd along:
"Long life to the Bishops, hurrah! hurrah!
"For a week of work and a Sunday of play
"Make the poor man's life run merry away."

5 The Book of Sports drawn up by Bishop Moreton was first pat forth in the reign of James I., 1618, and afterwards republishes at the advice of Laud, by Charles I., 1633, with an injunction that it should be "made public by order from the Bishops." We fo therein declared, that" for his good people's recreation, his Majesty's pleasure was, that after the end of divine service they should not be disturbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful recreati such as dancing, either of men or women, archery for men, lising vaulting, or any such harmless recreations, nor having of Maygames, Whitsun-ales, or Morris-dances, or setting up of May-pics or other sports therewith used," &c.

Then hurrah for the Bishops, hurrah! hurrah! "A week of work and a Sabbath of play Make the poor man's life run merry away."

To Andy, who doesn't much deal in history,
This Sunday scene was a downright mystery;
And God knows where might have ended the joke,
But, in trying to stop the fiddles, he woke,
And the odd thing is (as the rumour goes)
That since that dream-which, one would suppose,
Should have made his godly stomach rise,
Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday pies-
He has view'd things quite with different eyes;
Is beginning to take, on matters divine,
Like Charles and his Bishops, the sporting line-
Is all for Christians jigging in pairs,
As an interlude 'twixt Sunday prayers;-
Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H-1—y
To bring in a Bill, enacting duly,

That all good Protestants, from this date,
May, freely and lawfully, recreate,
Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody,

With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy.

A BLUE LOVE-SONG.

TO MISS

Air.-" Come live with me, and be my love." COME wed with me, and we will write, My Blue of Blues, from morn till night. Chas'd from our classic souls shall be All thoughts of vulgar progeny; And thou shalt walk through smiling rows Of chubby duodecimos,

While I, to match thy products nearly,
Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly.
'Tis true, ev'n books entail some trouble;
But live productions give one double.
Correcting children is such bother, -
While printers' devils correct the other.
Just think, my own Malthusian dear,
How much more decent 'tis to hear
From male or female- as it may be-
"How is your book?" than "How's your baby?"
And, whereas physic and wet nurses
Do much exhaust paternal purses,

Our books, if rickety, may go
And be well dry-nurs'd in the Row;
And, when God wills to take them hence,
Are buried at the Row's expense.

Besides (as 'tis well prov'd by thee,
In thy own Works, vol. 93.)

See "Ella of Garveloch."-Garveloch being a place where there was a large herring-fishery, but where, as we are told by the

It chanc'd at Drury Lane, one Easter night,
When the gay gods, too blest to be polite,
Gods at their ease, like those of learn'd Lucretius,
Laugh'd, whistl'd, groan'd, uproariously facetion.s-
A well-dress'd member of the middle gallery,
Whose "ears polite" disdain'd such low canaillerie,
Rose in his place-so grand, you'd almost swear
Lord W-nch-ls-a himself stood towering
there-

And like that Lord of dignity and nous,

Said, "Silence, fellows, or- -I'll leave the house!!"

THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY.

PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S FAMOUS ODE,

COME CLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES.”

"We want more Churches and more Clergymen."
Bishop of London's late Charge.
"Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent.”
Claudius in Eutrop

COME, give us more Livings and Rectors,
For, richer no realm ever gave;
But why, ye unchristian objectors,
Do ye ask us how many we crave?*

Oh, there can't be too many rich Livings
For souls of the Pluralist kind,
Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings,
To numbers can ne'er be confin'd."

Count the cormorants hovering about, At the time their fish season sets in, When these models of keen diners-out Are preparing their beaks to begin.

Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses,

Flock round when the harvest's in play, And, not minding the farmer's distresses, Like devils in grain peck away.

Go, number the locusts in heaven,5

On their way to some titheable shore; And when so many Parsons you've given, We still shall be craving for more.

Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye
Must leave us in peace to augment,
For the wretch who could number the Clergy,
With few will be ever content.

A SAD CASE.

"If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabies rema is to be so fearful, what security has Mr. G-lb-n against it at taaks moment, when his son is actually exposed to the full venom of an association with Dissenters?"—The Times, March 25, 1834.

How sad a case!-just think of it—
If G-lb-n junior should be bit

By some insane Dissenter, roaming

Through Granta's halls, at large and foaming,

And with that aspect, ultra crabbed
Which marks Dissenters when they're rabid!
God only knows what mischiefs might
Result from this one single bite,
Or how the venom, once suck'd in,

Might spread and rage through kith and kin.
Mad folks, of all denominations,
First turn upon their own relations:
So that one G-lb-n, fairly bit,
Might end in maddening the whole kit,
Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue
Our G-lb-n senior bitten too;
The Hychurchphobia in those veins,
Where Tory blood now redly reigns;-
And that dear man, who now perceives
Salvation only in lawn sleeves,
Might, tainted by such coarse infection,
Run mad in the' opposite direction,
And think, poor man, 'tis only given
To linsey-woolsey to reach Heaven!

Just fancy what a shock 'twould be
Our G-lb-n in his fits to see,
Tearing into a thousand particles
His once lov'd Nine and Thirty Articles;
(Those Articles his friend, the Duke,'
For Gospel, t'other night, mistook;)
Cursing cathedrals, deans, and singers-
Wishing the ropes might hang the ringers-
Pelting the church with blasphemies,
Even worse than Parson B-v-rl-y's;—
And ripe for severing Church and State,
Like any creedless reprobate,
Or like that class of Methodists
Prince Waterloo styles "Atheists!"

But 'tis too much-the Muse turns pale,
And o'er the picture drops a veil,
Praying, God save the G-lb-rns all
From mad Dissenters, great and small!

A city, where he, who dares to dine

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner; Where sheep and kine are held divine, And, accordingly-never drest for dinner. "But how is this?" I wond'ring criedAs I walk'd that city, fair and wide, And saw, in every marble street,

A row of beautiful butchers' shops"What means, for men who don't eat meat, "This grand display of loins and chops?" In vain I ask'd-'twas plain to see That nobody dar'd to answer me.

So, on, from street to street I strode;
And you can't conceive how vastly odd
The butchers look'd-a roseate crew,
Inshrin'd in stalls, with nought to do;
While some on a bench, half-dozing, sat,
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat.
Still pos'd to think, what all this scene
Of sinecure trade was meant to mean,
"And, pray," ask'd I-"by whom is paid

The expense of this strange masquerade?”"The' expense!-oh that's of course defray'd (Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers) "By yonder rascally rice-consumers.” "What! they, who mustn't eat meat!"

"No matter(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew fatter,) "The rogues may munch their Paddy crop, "But the rogues must still support our shop. "And, depend upon it, the way to treat

"Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, "Is to burden all that won't eat meat,

"With a costly MEAT ESTABLISHMENT.”

On hearing these words so gravely said,

With a volley of laughter loud I shook; And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped, And I found I was lying snug in bed,

With my nose in the Bishop of FERN's book.

In stating this, Lord Belzebub

Assures, on his honour, the Brunswick Club,
That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack
Of zeal or fire he thus holds back -
As even Lord Coal' himself is not
For the Orange party more red-hot:
But the truth is, till their Club affords
A somewhat decenter show of Lords,
And on its list of members gets
A few less rubbishy Baronets,
Lord Belzebub must beg to be
Excus'd from keeping such company.

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know,
Are Lord Gl-nd-ne, and Lord D-nlo?
Or who, with a grain of sense, would go
To sit and be bor'd by Lord M-yo?
What living creature-except his nurse —
For Lord M-ntc-sh-1 cares a curse,
Or thinks 'twould matter if Lord M-sk-rry
Were t'other side of the Stygian ferry?
Breathes there a man in Dublin town,
Who'd give but half of half-a-crown

To save from drowning my Lord R-thd-ne,
Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in

Lords R―-d—n,B-nd-n,Č-le, and J-c-1-n?
In short, though, from his tenderest years,
Accustom'd to all sorts of Peers,

Lord Belzebub much questions whether
He ever yet saw, mix'd together,
As 'twere in one capacious tub,
Such a mess of noble silly-bub

As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club.
"Tis therefore impossible that Lord B.
Could stoop to such society,

Thinking, he owns (though no great prig),
For one in his station 'twere infra dig.
But he begs to propose, in the interim
(Till they find some prop'rer Peers for him),
His Highness of C-mb-d, as Sub,
To take his place at the Brunswick Club-
Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub
Their obedient servant,

BELZEBUB.

It luckily happens, the R-y-1 Duke
Resembles so much, in air and look,
The head of the Belzebub family,
That few can any difference see;

Which makes him, of course, the better suit
To serve as Lord B.'s substitute.

1 Usually written "Cole."

At least, the fiddlers will be winners,
Whatever other trade advances;

As then, instead of Cabinet dinners,

We'll have, at Almack's, Cabinet dances;
Nor let this world's important questions
Depend on Ministers' digestions.

If Ude's receipts have done things ill,
To Weippert's band they may go better;
There's Lady**, in one quadrille,

Would settle Europe, if you'd let her:
And who the deuce or asks, or cares,
When Whigs or Tories have undone 'em,
Whether they've danc'd through State affairs
Or simply, dully, din'd upon 'em?

Hurrah then for the Petticoats!
To them we pledge our free-born votes;
We'll have all she, and only she -

Pert blues shall act as "best debaters,"
Old dowagers our Bishops be,

And termagants our Agitators.

If Vestris, to oblige the nation,

Her own Olympus will abandon,
And help to prop the' Administration,
It can't have better legs to stand on.
The fam'd Macaulay (Miss) shall show,

Each evening, forth in learn'd oration;
Shall move (midst general cries of "Oh!")
For full returns of population:
And, finally, to crown the whole,
The Princess Olive 2, Royal soul,

Shall from her bower in Banco Regis,
Descend, to bless her faithful lieges,

And, 'mid our Union's loyal chorus,

Reign jollily for ever o'er us.

2 A personage, so styling herself, who attained considerable notoriety at that period.