bustle of life's throng,
Nor thrown a _spavin_ yet;
You've gone at score, your pace has told;
I hope, my boy, your wind will hold--
You've others yet to fret.

You've told the town that you are _fly_
To cant, and rant, and trickery;
And that whene'er you doze,
Like Bristol men, you never keep
But one eye closed--so you can tweak
E'en then a scoundrel's nose.

Pull up, and rinse your mouth a bit;
It is hot work, this race of wit,
And sets the bellows piping;
Next Vol. you'll grind _the flats_ again,
And file the _sharps_ unto the grain,
Their very stomachs griping.

~6~~

But why, good Bernard, do you dream
That we Reviewers scorn the cream{1}
Arising from your jokes?
Upon my soul, we love some fun
As well as any 'neath the sun,
Although we fight in cloaks.

Heav'n help thee, boy, we are not they
Who only go to damn a play,
And cackle in the pit;
Like good Sir William Curtis{2} we
Can laugh at _nous_ and drollery,
Though of ourselves 'twere writ.

Was yours but sky blue milk and water,
We'd hand you over to the slaughter
Of cow committee-men{3};
For butterflies, and "such small deer,"
Are much beneath our potent spear--
The sharp gray goose-wing'd pen.

1 See my friend Bernard's _cracker_ to the reviewers in No.
12, a perfect fifth of November bit of _firework_, I can
assure you, good people. But it won't go off with me without
a brand from the bonfire in return. "Bear this bear all."

2 Have you ever dared the "salt sea ocean," my readers, with
the alderman admiral? If not, know that he has as pretty a
collection of caricatures in his cabin, and all against his
own sweet self, as need be wished to heal sea-sickness. Is
not this magnanimity? I think so. The baronet is really "a
worthy gentleman."

3 Vide advertisements of "Alderney Milk Company." What
company shall we keep next, my masters? Mining companies, or
steam brick companies, or washing companies? How many of
them will be in the suds anon? Pshaw! throw physic to the
projectors--I prefer strong beer well hopped.

But yo