TO THE AUTHOR OF "PEN OWEN."
If wit and elegance combined,
With harmless satire glowing,
Can gain applause, or charm the mind,
It is to your Pen-owing.
ON BOCHSA'S DELUGE, LED BY SMART.
When Apollo appears, vain would Discord oppose;
With a "Deluge" of music the house overflows;
His (Boxer) Bochsa beats time, who's forced to impart
Nought but pleasure arising from Harmony's Smart.
A SNEER ANSWERED.
"Leave off your puns," said Jack to Bill,
"Give me a bon mot if you will."
"A what? a bon mot! how absurd!
Whoever gave you a good word."
A PUNSTER'S EPITAPH ON HIS DOG.
Here lies, who living never lied,
A friend sincere, of courage tried;
No slave to wealth, to vice unknown,
Though oft reduced to pick a bone.
Patch'd was his coat, both red and white,
And shaggy too his outward plight;
Yet grateful still his master serv'd,
And from allegiance never swerv'd.
A sportsman true, who at a word
Would point, and oft bring down his bird:
Or fetch, or carry, hunt, or find,
Whate'er was of the feather'd kind.
"By no disease—no blast he fell,
"But, like to fruit that's mellow'd well,
"Dropp'd on the earth, worn out by time,
"As clock that can no longer chime:"
Here Carlo stopp'd—for want of breath,
Outrun at last by Nimrod death.
Bernard Blackmantle.