the A, B, C) I have more than read. Taken altogether, 'tis
too Lovey; but what delicacies! I like most "King Death;" glorious 'bove
all, "The Lady with the Hundred Rings;" "The Owl;" "Epistle to What's
his Name" (here may be I'm partial); "Sit down, Sad Soul;" "The Pauper's
Jubilee" (but that's old, and yet 'tis never old); "The Falcon;"
"Felon's Wife;" damn "Madame Pasty" (but that is borrowed);

Apple-pie is very good,
And so is apple-pasty;
But--
O Lard! 'tis very nasty:

but chiefly the dramatic fragments,--scarce three of which should have
escaped my Specimens, had an antique name been prefixed. They exceed his
first. So much for the nonsense of poetry; now to the serious business
of life. Up a court (Blandford Court) in Pall Mall (exactly at the back
of Marlbro' House), with iron gate in front, and containing two houses,
at No. 2 did lately live Leishman my taylor. He is moved somewhere in
the neighbourhood, devil knows where. Pray find him out, and give him
the opposite. I am so much better, tho' my hand shakes in writing it,
that, after next Sunday, I can well see F[orster] and you. Can you throw
B.C. in? Why tarry the wheels of my Hogarth?

CHARLES LAMB.

["I am worse to a publisher." There is a rule by which a publisher must
present copies of every book to the Stationers' Hall, to be distributed
to the British Museum, the Bodleian, and Cambridge University Library.

"A.C.... B.C." Allan Cunningham's _Maid of Elvar_ and Barry Cornwall's
_English Songs_, both published by Moxon. This is Barry Cornwall's "King
Death":--

KING DEATH

King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_

There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_

The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
_Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!_

All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd