A group of heroes occupied the round,
Long in the rolls of infamy renown'd.
Circling the table all in silence sat,

Now tearing bloody lean, now champing fat;
Now picking ortolans, and chicken slain,
To form the whimsies of an à-la-reine :

Now storming castles of the newest taste,
And granting articles to forts of paste;

Now swallowing bitter draughts of Prussian beer;
Now sucking tallow of salubrious deer.

The god of cabinets and senates saw
His sons, like asses, to one centre draw.

Inflated Discord heard, and left her cell,
With all the horrors of her native hell;
She on the soaring wings of genius fled,

And waved the pen of Junius round her head.
Beneath the table, veil'd from sight, she sprung,
And sat astride on noisy Twitcher's tongue :
Twitcher, superior to the venal pack

Of Bloomsbury's notorious monarch, Jack;
Twitcher, a rotten branch of mighty stock,
Whose interest winds his conscience as his clock;
Whose attributes detestable have long

Been evident, and infamous in song.

A toast's demanded! Madoc swift arose,

Pactolian gravy trickling down his clothes :
His sanguine fork a murder'd pigeon prest,
His knife with deep incision sought the breast.

Upon his lips the quivering accents hung,

And too much expedition chain'd his tongue.
When thus he sputter'd: "All the glasses fill,
And toast the great Pendragon of the hill:
Mab-Uther Owein, a long train of kings,
From whom the royal blood of Madoc springs.
Madoc, undoubtedly of Arthur's race,
You see the mighty monarch in his face :
Madoc, in bagnios and in courts adored,
Demands this proper homage of the board."

"Monarchs!" said Twitcher, setting down his beer,
His muscles wreathing a contemptuous sneer;
"Monarchs! Of mole-hills, oyster-beds, a rock-
These are the grafters of your royal stock :
My pony Scrub can sires more valiant trace"
The mangled pigeon thunders on his face;
His op'ning mouth the melted butter fills,
And dropping from his nose and chin distils.
Furious he started, rage his bosom warms;
Loud as his lordship's morning dun he storms.
"Thou vulgar imitator of the great,
Grown wanton with the excrements of state;
This to thy head notorious Twitcher sends."

His shadow body to the table bends :
His straining arm uprears a loin of veal,
In these degenerate days, for three a meal;
In ancient times, as various writers say,
An alderman or priest eat three a day.

With godlike strength the grinning Twitcher plies
His stretching muscles and the mountain flies.
Swift as a cloud that shadows o'er the plain,
It flew and scatter'd drops of oily rain.
In opposition to extended knives,

On royal Madoc's spreading chest it drives :
Senseless he falls upon the sandy ground,
Prest with the steamy load that ooz'd around.
And now Confusion spread her ghastly plume,
And Faction separates the noisy room.
Balluntun, exercised in every vice
That opens to a courtier's paradise,
With Dyson trammel'd, scruples not to draw
Injustice up the rocky hill of law:

From whose humanity the laurels sprung,
Which will in George's-Fields be ever young.
The vile Balluntun, starting from his chair,
To Fortune thus address'd his private prayer :
"Goddess of Fate's rotundity, assist
With thought-wing'd victory my untried fist:
If I the grinning Twitcher overturn,

Six Russian frigates at thy shrine shall burn;
Nine rioters shall bleed beneath thy feet;
And hanging cutters decorate each street."

The goddess smiled, or rather smooth'd her frown,
And shook the triple feathers of her crown;

Instill'd a private pension in his soul.

With rage inspir'd, he seiz'd a Gallic roll:

His bursting arm the missive weapon threw,
High o'er his rival's head it whistling flew ;
Curraras, for his Jewish soul renown'd,
Receiv'd it on his ear, and kiss'd the ground.
Curraras, vers'd in every little art,
To play the minister's or felon's part,
Grown hoary in the villainies of state,
A title made him infamously great;
A slave to venal slaves-a tool to tools,
The representative to knaves and fools.
But see! Commercial Bristol's genius sit,
Her shield a turtle-shell, her lance a spit:
See, whilst her nodding aldermen are spread,
In all the branching honours of the head;
Curraras, ever faithful to the cause,

With beef and ven'son their attention draws :

They drink, they eat, then sign the mean address;
Say, could their humble gratitude do less?
By disappointment vex'd, Balluntun flies,
Red lightnings flashing in his dancing eyes.
Firm as his virtue, mighty Twitcher stands,
And elevates for furious fight his hands:
One pointed fist, his shadow'd corps defends,
The other on Balluntun's eyes descends:
A darkling, shaking light his optics view,
Circled with livid tinges red and blue.
Now fir'd with anguish and inflam'd by pride,
He thunders on his adversary's side:

With patt'ring blows prolongs th' unequal fight;
Twitcher retreats before the man of might.
But Fortune, (or some higher Power, or God)
Oblique extended forth a sable rod :

As Twitcher retrograde maintain'd the fray,
The harden'd serpent intercepts his way :
He fell, and falling with a lordly air,
Crush'd into atoms the judicial chair.

Curraras, for his Jewish soul renown'd,

:

Arose but deafen'd with a singing sound,
A cloud of discontent o'erspread his brows;
Revenge in every bloody feature glows.
Around his head a roasted gander whirls,
Dropping Manilla sauces on his curls
Swift to the vile Balluntun's face it flies,
The burning pepper sparkles in his eyes:
His India waistcoat reeking with the oil,
Glows brighter red, the glory of the spoil.

The fight is gen'ral; fowl repulses fowl;
The victors thunder, and the vanquish'd howl.
Stars, garters, all the implements of show,
That deck'd the pow'rs above, disgrac'd below.
Nor swords, nor mightier weapons did they draw,

For all were well acquainted with the law.

Let Drap-r to improve his diction fight;

Our heroes, like Lord George, could scold and write. Gogmagog early of the jocky club;

Empty as C-br-ke's oratorial tub :