T ripen'd by the river banks,
Where, mask and moonlight aiding,
Dons Blas and Juan play their pranks,
Dark Donnas serenading.
By Moorish damsel it was pluck'd,
Beneath the golden day there;
By swain 'twas then in London suck'd—
Who flung the peel away there.
He could not know in Pimlico,
As little she in Seville,
That I should reel upon that peel,
And—wish them at the devil.
Frederick Locker, London Lyrics.
ENNY said that Anthony Pasquin (who was a very dirty fellow) "died of a cold caught by washing his face."
Thomas Moore, Diary.
ON THE PRINCE REGENT'S ILLNESS.
HE Regent, sir, is taken ill;
And all depends on Halford's skill;
"Pray what," inquired the sage physician,
"Has brought him to this sad condition?"
When Bloomfield ventured to pronounce,
"A little too much Cherry Bounce,"
The Regent, hearing what was said,
Raised from his couch his aching head,
And cried, "No, Halford, 'tis not so!
Cure us, O doctor,—Curaçoa!"
H. Luttrell, apud Barham.