nd full of gold and treasure;
But when he thinks upon his debts, that thought destroys his pleasure.
Our courtier thinks that he's preferred, whom every man envies;
When love so rumbles in his pate, no sleep comes in his eyes.
Our gallant's case is worst of all--he lies so just betwixt them:
For he's in love, and he's in debt, and knows not which most vex him!'

The _Metamorphose_ is forcible, perhaps it has more force and wit than
elegance. The occasion may be where Sir John has for once shown himself
a 'constant lover':

'The little boy, to show his might and power,
Turned Io to a cow, Narcissus to a flower;
Transformed Apollo to a homely swain,
And Jove himself into a golden rain.
These shapes were tolerable; but by the mass,
He's metamorphosed me into an ass!'

There is no hesitancy in pronouncing which of Suckling's poetic pieces
should be called the best. It is the _Ballad upon a Wedding_. For ease
and jocoseness of description it stands almost unapproachable. Of
course, many other such productions may show equal fidelity to nature;
and there is a small class of poems which may boast a vein of the same
sparkling humor; but it would be difficult--we were ready to say
impossible--to cite another instance of so exquisite a commingling of
these two elements.

It requires a master-hand, it must be remembered, to harmonize these
touches of playful fancy with what the poet is obliged to recognize as
facts in nature. A tyro in the art is likely to transcend nature and
alter a little things as he finds them, when he wishes to indulge in
sportive recreation. Something well out of the common course must be
laid hold on to excite that pleasant feeling of surprise which lies at
the foundation of wit, if not of humor. Every one knows how much easier
it is to call forth mirth by caricature than by simple truth; nor need
it be added that while the former leaves but a momentary impression, the
latter abides longer and seldom tires. Broad farce is rewarded by the
tremendous applause of the gallery, but the pit and boxes confess to a
deal more gratification in the quiet humor of an old comedy. This ballad
displays all the vivacity and humor of light comedy, though we miss the
virtue-inculcating moral at the close. We fear that we have already
trespassed too far over the limits of a magazine article. We append only
a part of this _chef d'oeuvre:_

'I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the ra