Should you ask me, to which of the three
Great Doctors the preference should fall,
As a matter of course I agree
Doctor Eady must go to the wall.
But as Southey with laurels is crowned,
And Slop with a wig and a tail is,
Let Eady's bright temples be bound
With a swingeing "Corona Muralis!"[3]
[1] The editor of the Morning Herald, so nicknamed.
[2] Alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in chalk, on all the walls round the metropolis.
[3] A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to persons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon wall, such as scaling them, battering them, etc.—No doubt, writing upon them, to the extent Dr. Eady does, would equally establish a claim to the honor.
EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER.
Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,
Put mourning round thy page, Debrett,
For here lies one who ne'er preferred
A Viscount to a Marquis yet.
Beside him place the God of Wit,
Before him Beauty's rosiest girls,
Apollo for a star he'd quit,
And Love's own sister for an Earl's.
Did niggard fate no peers afford,
He took of course to peers' relations;
And rather than not sport a Lord
Put up with even the last creations;
Even Irish names could he but tag 'em
With "Lord" and "Duke," were sweet to call;
And at a pinch Lord Ballyraggum
Was better than no Lord at all.