A DRAMATIC FACT.

"Macbeth by Mr. Higgs!"—

They sometimes used to let him play it in the country;

And then, odds wigs!

How very great he felt!

One night, while he was at it,

The pot-boy, from the public-house at which he dealt,

Being at the wing, quoth Higgs, aside, "Od 'rat it!

I do lack spirits,—but that sha'n't fret me,

Here, boy, take thou this coin, and go get me"—

"Some bread and cheese, and porter, innions, Sir, or what?"

"Nay, no prog!

Expend the shilling all in glorious grog!"

"With sugar, Sir?" "Ay, and very hot;

Thou knowest, lout!

I only take sixpenn'orths cold without!"

The pot-boy took the grog into the green-room,

And left it there for Higgs:—but, as it came to pass,

Lady Macbeth and Banquo having twigged it,

First she took a very leetle sup,—

He fairly swigged it;

And so between them both, alas!

Lady Macbeth and Banquo mopped it up,

And hid the glass!

Higgs, who all this time

Had been upon the stage,—

In that great scene where Macbeth's urged to crime

By those foul witches,—

Now strutted in,—but, oh! (excuse the rhyme,)

Odds philibegs and breeches!

How he did foam and rage,

And writhe his face,

And call the potboy hog, and dog, and log,

On not perceiving his expected grog

In its accustomed place.

The potboy, being summoned, vowed

That he had duly brought it,

And, if to speak his mind he was allowed,

He thought it

Might have vanish'd,

Being partly spirits,—like the witches,

"'Tis false!" roared Higgs, "Avaunt! Be banish'd!

Visit no more this realm of milk and honey!

Base caitiff! YOU'VE ABSCONDED with the money!"

JUNE.—"Holiday at the Public Offices"

1836.]		JUNE.

		The Midsummer nights fly swiftly by,
		While Members are "catching the Speaker's eye;"
		And the Outs are employing their labour and wit
		On those who are In, to serve "notice to quit."
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	Lawyers	"HOLIDAYS AT PUBLIC OFFICES."

2	now may	I've often thought how hard the fate	and
		Of those, who're destin'd, day by day,
3	take	To rise up early, lie down late,	sufficient
		And waste, in toil, their lives away.
4	their		reasons
		And often have I ask'd myself,
5	ease,	When musing o'er these scenes of woe,	♈ ☿ ♍ ♀ ♑
		"Couldst thou, for sake of sordid pelf,
6	and	Oppress thy fellow-creatures so?"	♅ ☊ ♌

7	counsel	Then fancy would begin to paint
		The griefs of little cotton-spinners,	instead of
8	reckon	Compell'd to labour till they faint,
		That bloated knaves may eat good dinners.
9	up their
		I thought of poor young milliners,	♃ ♂ ⊕
10	fees;	Who toil all night, with matted tresses,
		And faces pale, that Fashion's dames	jumping
11	for	May grace the ball in fancy dresses.
			at once
12	now	And then I thought upon the Pole,
		Condemn'd, among Siberia's snow,	into the ice
13	the	With shackled limbs and blighted soul,
		The joys of freedom ne'er to know.	and snow
14	welcome
		With those who work in powder mill.
15	long	Life's value scarcely weighs a feather,
		So oft exploding, 'twere no ill,
16	vacation	Were they exploded altogether.	⚹ ♀ ♈ ♐ ♎

17	gives a	But what are these? and what are those?	♊ ♀
		Or all that thou, Oh, man! endurest?
18	rest to	Compar'd with those transcendant woes	of January
		Experienced by the Sinecurist?
19	liti-		and
		Compell'd by eight o'clock to rise,
20	gation;	By nine to get his breakfast o'er,	commencing
		And leave some bit that gourmands prize,
21	while	Because the stage is at the door.	♄ ☌ ☽

22	happy	And when the coachman sets him down	as the
		At Treasury or Navy Pay,
23	they on	His toil begins,—but I'll explain	learned
		How hard he works from day to day.
24	quarter
		Five weary hours he stands or sits,
25	day,	Or fidgets till he gets the vapours;	☍ ♈ ♀ ⚹ ♊
		And then to chase the ennui fits,
26	who're	He picks his teeth, or reads the papers.
			have it,
27	not	Perhaps his name full twenty times
		He writes, or writes a page of figures;
28	obliged	Until are heard the welcome chimes,	☌ ♈ ♒ ♄ ⚹
		Which end the toil of these white Niggers.
29	to run		♋ ☋ ♅
		The fate of him who digs the mine,
30	away!	Compar'd to this, is children's play;	ab initio,
		Then, ah! how cruel 'tis to sneer,
		And call his life a holiday.

		Ah! radicals: ye little know
		'Bout what it is ye make a clamour;
		Go, thank your stars you drag a truck,
		Or only wield a blacksmith's hammer.