THOMAS MOORE.

(1779-1852.)

Suggested by Hunt's Byron and his Contemporaries.

Next week will be published (as "Lives" are the rage)

The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange,

Of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage

Of the late noble lion at Exeter 'Change.

Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call "sad",

'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends;

And few dogs have such opportunities had

Of knowing how lions behave—among friends.

How that animal eats, how he moves, how he drinks,

Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;

And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks

That the lion was no such great things after all.

Though he roar'd pretty well—this the puppy allows—

It was all, he says, borrow'd—all second-hand roar;

And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows

To the loftiest war-note the lion could pour.

'Tis indeed as good fun as a cynic could ask,

To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits

Takes gravely the lord of the forest to task,

And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits.

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case)

With sops every day from the lion's own pan,

He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcase,

And—does all a dog, so diminutive, can.

However the book's a good book, being rich in

Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,

How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,

Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.