Come, lament, all ye Rogers, of punning renown,
Whose praises are sung by the[24] Puss sex,
For the pun of all puns that enraptures the town
Is the last by his big Grace of Sus-sex.
In dispensing last week the Dispensary toasts,
And telling the names of its Patrons,
He stumbled on two, of whom Watling Street boasts,
No matter if spinsters or matrons.
First came Mrs. Church, and then came Mrs. Bliss:
Said his Grace "Were such joys ever given!
We enter the first—for the way we can't miss:
We enter the second—'tis Heaven!"
[24] Puss, a domestic animal—allegorically a mature spinster—a tabby.—Johnson.
TO HOWARD PAYNE, THE COMPILER OF "BRUTUS."
Your prose and verse alike are bad,
Methinks you both transpose;
Your prose e'en like your verse runs mad,
And all your verse is prose.
DR. WALCOT TO SHIELD THE COMPOSER.
The following was sent to Shield, the ingenious Composer, for his Ivory Ticket of admission to a Concert, by his friend Peter Pindar.
Son of the string, (I do not mean Jack Ketch,
Though Jack, like thee, produceth dying tones,)
Oh! yield thy pity to a starving wretch,
And for to-morrow's treat, pray send thy bones!
BY LORD BYRON,
On Southey's house being on fire.
Pierios vatis Theodori flamma Penates,
Abstulit: hoc Musis, hoc tibi, Phœbe, placet?
O scelus, ô magnum facinus, crimenque deorum,
Non arsit pariter quod domus et dominus.
Martial, Lib. xi. Epig. 94.
The Laureate's house hath been on fire! the Nine
All smiling saw that pleasant bonfire shine:
But, cruel fate! Oh damnable disaster!
The house—the house is burnt, and not the master!
GEORGE TIERNEY, M.P.
The Inclosure Bill.