er his chin,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Ah, hah, says alderman Gobble,

Then Betty the cook-maid she gave a squall,
Heigho! says Gobble;
Poor John the footman has had a fall,
And down stairs tumbled, ven'son and all,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Alas! says alderman Gobble.

So down the alderman ran in a fright,
Heigho! says Gobble;
And there sat John in a terrible plight
Astride on the ven'son _bolt upright_,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Dear me! says alderman Gobble.

Was ever man so cruelly put on,
Heigho! says Gobble;
Get off the meat you rascally glutton,
You've made my ven'son a saddle of mutton,
With your handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Good lack, says alderman Gobble.

Lord, sir, says Betty, what a _splash_,
Heigho! says Gobble;
'Tis a monstrous bad _rumbistical_ crash,
But tomorrow I'll tickle it up in a hash,
With your handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Ay, do! says alderman Gobble.

This vile, low, degrading farrago is taken from an opera called the
Russian Impostor, or Siege of Sloremskho.

After such trash it will be delightful to turn to some lines, written by
lord Byron on this general subject of complaint. They are extracted from
an excellent poem entitled "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,
a Satire," with notes by the author.

Now to the DRAMA turn--oh, motley sight!
What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite!
Puns, and a prince within a _barrel_ pent,[11]
And Dibdin's nonsense yield complete content.
Though now, thank heaven! the _Roscio mania's_ o'er,
And full-grown actors are endured once more;
Yet, what avails their vain attempts to please,
While British critics suffer scenes like these;
While Reynolds vents his '_dammes_, _poohs_' and '_zounds_'[12]
And common place, and common sense confounds?
While Kenny's World just suffered to proceed,
Proclaims the audience very kind indeed?
And Beaumont's pilfer'd Caratach affords
A tragedy complete in all but words?[13]
Who but must mourn while these are all the rage,
The degradation of our vaunted stage?
Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone?
Have we no living bard of merit?--none?
Awake, George Colman! --Cumberland, awake!
Ring the alarum bell, let Folly quake!
Oh, Sheridan! if aught can move thy pen,
Let Comedy resume her throne again,
Abjure the mumm