urs we feel is sterner stuff,
And though perchance _too much in huff_,
_More natural_ you will swear;
It really shows such game and pluck,
That we could take with you "pot luck,"
And deem it decent fare.

But, 'pon our _conscience_, bonny lad,
(We've got _some_, boy), it is too bad
So fiercely to show fight;
Gadzooks, 'tis time when comes the foe
To strip and sport a word and blow,
My dear pugnacious wight!

'Tis very wise, T own, to pull
Fast by the horns some butting bull,
When 'gainst yourself he flies;
But to attack that sturdy beast,
When he's no thoughts on you to feast,
Is very _otherwise_.

But we'll forgive your paper balls,
Which on our jackets hurtless falls,

Like hail upon a tower:
Pray put wet blankets on your ire;
Really, good sir, we've no desire
To blight so smart a flower.

Well, then, I see no reason why
There should be war, good Mister Spy
So, faith! we'll be allies;
And if we must have fights and frays,
We'll shoot at pride and poppinjays,

And folly as it flies.
There's field enough for both to _beat_
Employment for our hands, eyes, feet,
To mark the quarry down,
_Black game_ and white game a full crop,
Fine birds, fine feathers for to lop,
In country and in town.

~8~~

New city _specs_, new west-end rigs,
New gas-blown boots, new steam-curl'd wigs,
New fashionable schools,
New dandies, and new Bond-street dons,
And new intrigues, and new crim cons,
New companies of fools.{4}

Maria Foote and Edmund Kean,
The "lions" just now of the scene,
Shall yield to newer fun;
For all our wonders at the best
Are cast off for a newer vest,
After a nine days' run.

Old beaux at Bath, manoeuvring belles,
And pump-room puppies, Melsom swells,
And Mr. _Heaviside_,{5}
And Cheltenham carders,{6} every _runt_,

4 See note 3, page 6.

5 Mr. Heaviside, the polite M. C. of Bath. He has the finest
cauliflower head of hair I over remember; but it covers a
world of wit, fo