tebait delicious,
Borne past you officious;
And hear rather plainish
A sound that's champagnish,
And glimpse certain bottles
Made long in the throttles;
And sniff--very pleasant!
Grouse, partridge, and pheasant.
And see mounds of ices
For patrons and vices,
Pine-apple, and bunches
Of grapes for sweet munches,
And fruits of all virtue
That really desert you;
You've nuts, but not crack ones,
Half empty and black ones;
With oranges, sallow--
They can't be called yellow--
Some pippins well-wrinkled,
And plums almond-sprinkled;
Some rout cakes, and so on,
Then with business to go on:
Long speeches are stutter'd,
And toasts are well butter'd,
While dames in the gallery,
All dressed in fallallery,
Look on at the mummery,
And listen to flummery.
Hip, hip! and huzzaing,
And singing and saying,
Glees, catches, orations,
And lists of donations,
Hush! a song, Mr. Tinney--
"Mr. Benbow, one guinea;
Mr. Frederick Manual,
One guinea--and annual."
Song--Jocky and Jenny,
"Mr. Markham, one guinea."
"Have you all filled your glasses?"
Here's a health to good lasses.
The subscription still skinny--
"Mr. Franklin--one guinea."
Franklin looks like a ninny;
"Mr, Boreham, one guinea--
Mr. Blogg, Mr. Finney,
Mr. Tempest--one guinea,
Mr. Merrington--twenty,"
Rough music, in plenty.
Away toddles Chairman,
The little dark spare man,
Not sorry at ending,
With white sticks attending,
And some vain Tomnoddy
Votes in his own body
To fill the void seat up,
And get on his feet up,
To say, with voice squeaking,
"Unaccustomed to speaking."
Which sends you off seeking
Your hat, number thirty--
No coach--very dirty.
So hungry and fever'd
Wet-footed, spoilt-beaver'd,
Eyes aching in socket,
Ten pounds out of pocket,
To Brook Street the Upper
You haste home to supper.

SALLY SIMPKIN'S LAMENT;

OR, JOHN JONES'S KIT-CAT-ASTROPHE.

"He left his body to the sea,
And made a shark his legatee."
BRYAN AND PERENNE.

"Oh! what is that comes gliding in,
And quite in middling haste?
It is the picture of my Jones,
And painted to the waist.

"It is not painted to the life,
For where's the trowsers blue?
Oh Jones, my dear!--Oh dear! my Jones,
What is become of you?"

"Oh! Sally dear, it is too true,--
The half that you remark
Is come to say my other half
Is bit off by a shark!

"Oh! Sally, sharks do things by halves,
Yet most completely do!
A bite in one place soems enough,
But I've be