COMMONS, BUT NOT SHORT COMMONS

The bar of the House.

A sergeant at arms.

Milton on Stilton.

Sheriffs in custody!—in very quod!

Deep, but still jolly, in their dreadful sin;

Both reg'lar rum 'uns,

Each a noble feller,

And living just as if the House of Commons

Had got a splendid cellar,

And shoved 'em in the Duff and Gordon bin!

How very odd!

A sheriff's officer's the soul of trap,

Like pot-house people, always at the tap,

Though not a bar-gent.

Thanks that no sheriff here was sent to prison

By any officer of his'n

Tapp'd in the time of "tarms:"

But simply handed over to a sergeant

At arms!

These are no poets robb'd of attic bliss,

For when did Grub-street feed on grub like this?

Ham, chicken, veal, or tongue

For supper, 'stead of the "Night Thoughts" of Young;

Stilton,

Instead of Milton,

Champagne most sparkling, eau de vie most fiery,

And baskets full of cards of fond inquiry!

J orums of punch, the bowl a very fixture,

A nd made, like snuff, a sort of Prince's mixture;

N o end of wine, and, ergo, no repining,

U seful distinction betwixt wine and whining;

A prison-palace—comfortable, airy,

R ather a safe than dungeon, though terms vary;

Y our sheriffs keep good terms with January.

6. Twelfth Day.

That biggest cake, so prime and nice,

What's its price?

Guineas two!—well, there I'm done!

What's the other?—guinea one!

Humph! that little 'un—you can buy

For half-a-guinea:—O my eye!

If you please, a penny bun!

JANUARY—Twelfth Night—drawing Characters.