MR. MINUS, THE POET.[59]
The poetry of Mr. Minus could be compared to nothing but the dropping of honey upon rose leaves, or the fluttering of moths round the smoke of cinnamon;—it was so flippant, so sweet, and so trifling. He had a round of set rhymes and ideas, which, like the man who walked out in the morning in a dress of crimson and gold, because he had no other, he perpetually was using; such as
"Coral lips and rolling eyes,
Roguish leers and heaving sighs,
Lily bosoms, seeking kisses,
Silent sighs for secret blisses;"
which species of versification having displayed al fresco after dinner in lines "To a Mole upon Fanny's left knee;" "A sonnet to half a jasamine flower;" "An ode to the wing of a butterfly," and "An Epithalamium on the marriage of two humming birds," (all of which were written, sung, composed, and recited by himself) he obligingly sat down to the piano-forte on their return, and gave the following air with infinite effect:
Fanny's Bower.[60]
"Come, Fanny, I've raised a sweet bower,