A much more independent trade- All, that can well be understood But-to your work's immortal credit The P- -e, good Sir, the P-e has read it; (The only Book, himself remarks, Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's). Last Levee-moru he look'd it through, Sends forth, announc'd by trump and drum, But now, he trusts, we're coming near a When England's monarch need but say With view to which, I've his command Compil'd and chos'n as best you can, And quite upturning, branch and root, Before he well could get through half. You'll send it also speedily- The tailors too have got commands, All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, (While Y-rm-th's sketching out a plan You, therefore, have no time to waste- Your's, in haste. POSTSCRIPT. Before I send this scrawl away, I seize a moment, just to say, There's some parts of the Turkish system Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters, With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school-- Where Love and Age went hand in hand; Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, This rule's for fav'rites-nothing more- LETTER V. FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF C My dear Lady LADY TO ! I've been just sending out About five hundred cards for a snug little Rout(By the bye, you've seen Rokeby?—this moment got mine The Mail-Coach Edition-prodigiously fine!) But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather, I'm ever to bring my five hundred together; As, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, One can never get half of one's hundreds to meet— (Apropos-you'd have laugh'd to see Townsend last night, Escort to their chairs, with his staff so polite, The three maiden Miseries," all in a fright! Poor Townsend, like Mercury, filling two posts, Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of ghosts!) Makes a block that one's company cannot get through; And a house such as mine is, with door-ways so small, Has no room for such cumbersome love-work at all!— (Apropos, though, of love-work-you've heard it, I hope, That Napoleon's old Mother's to marry the Pope,- I remember the time, three or four winters back, black A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, were a sight That would people one's house for one, night after night. But whether the Ministers paw'd them too much(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they touch) [town) Or, whether Lord G-rge (the young man about But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztschit- Au revoir, my sweet girl-I must leave you in haste- POSTSCRIPT. By the bye, have you found any friend that can conster That Latin account, t'other day, of a Monster? LETTER VI. FROM ABDALLAH, IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN Whilst thou, Mohassan (happy thou!) Of this short-coated population This sew'd-up race-this button'd nationWho, while they boast their laws so free, Leave not one limb at liberty, But live, with all their lordly speeches, The slaves of buttons and tight breeches! Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter, I own I like their notions quite, Or longs to flog-'tis true, they pray Yet-though we've tried for centuries back- And (what's the worst, though last I rank it) Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 'em. As to the rest, they're free to do Tow'rds rank or honour, power or profit; The same mild views of Toleration Inspire, I find, this button'd nation, Whose Papists (full as giv'n to rogue, And only Sunnites with a brogue) Fare just as well, with all their fuss, As rascal Sunnites do with us. The tender Gazel I inclose GAZEL. Rememberest thou the hour we past, Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, Of that one precious hour to me! How can we live, so far apart? Like those sweet birds, that fly together, LETTER VIII. FROM COLONEL TH-M-S TO Come to our Fête, and bring with thee Which charm'd all eyes, that last survey'd it; Oh! come---( --(if haply 'tis thy week For looking pale)---with paly cheek; Though more we love thy roseate days, When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread, Tips ev'n thy whisker-tops with red--Like the last tints of dying Day That o'er some darkling grove delay! Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander! (That lace, like H-rry Al-x-nd—r, Too precious to be wash'd)---thy rings, Thy seals-in short, thy prettiest things! Put all thy wardrobe's glories on, And yield, in frogs and fringe, to none But the great R-g-t's self alone! Who---by particular desire--For that night only, means to hire A dress from Romeo C-tes, Esquire--Something between ('twere sin to hack it) The Romeo robe and Hobby jacket! Hail, first of Actors! best of R-g-ts! Born for each other's fond allegiance! Both gay Lotharios---both good dressersOf Serious Farce both learn'd Professors--Both circled round, for use or show, With cock's-combs, wheresoe'er they go! Thou know'st the time, thou man of lore! And suns grow dim beneath their tread! But, hang this long digressive flight! Nor need'st thou mourn the transient date But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf This festive Fête, in fact will be The same bright river 'mongst the dishes, Fish of that specie now-a-days) Some Sprats have been, by Y-rm-th's wish, E KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS. WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOCIATION FOR A NEW M-N-STRY. King Crack was the best of all possible Kings (At least so his Courtiers would swear to you gladly,) But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. Some broken-down Idols, that long had been plac'd In his Father's old Cabinet, pleas'd him so much, That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though---such was his taste !-- They were monstrous to look at and rotten to touch! And these were the beautiful Gods of King Crack!--Till his People, disdaining to worship such things, Cried aloud, one and all," Come, your Godships must pack--[Kings." "You will not do for us, though you may do for Then, trampling the gross Idols under their feet, = They sent Crack a petition, beginning "Great Cæsar! 3 We are willing to worship; but only entreat That you'll find us some decenter Godheads than these are." And then people get fat, And infirm, and---all that, And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits, Thy whiskers, too, Y-rm-th!---alas, even they, Too quickly must turn (What a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers!) Then why, my Lord Warden! oh! why should you fidget Your mind about matters you don't understand? Or why should you write yourself down for an idiot, Because "you," forsooth, "have the pen in your hand!" Think, think how much better Should avoid, by the bye,) How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust new one; While Charley looks sulky and frowns at me, just As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at Don Juan! To crown us, Lord Warden! In C-mb-rl-nd's garden Grows plenty of monk's hood in venomous sprigs; While Otto of Roses, Refreshing all noses, Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and wigs. What youth of the Household will cool our Noyau Sq-e And see if the gentle Marchesa be there? Go---bid her haste hither, The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going--- THE SALE OF THE TOOLS. Here's a choice set of Tools for you, Ge'mmen and They'll fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is; (Except it be Cabinet-making---I doubt In that delicate service they're rather worn out; Though their owner, bright youth! if he'd had his own will, Would have bungled away with them joyously still.) You can see they've been pretty well hack'd---and alack! What tool is there job after job will not hack? Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd, And their temper, like Enb'r-h's, none of the best, [upon trying, But you'll find them good hard-working Tools Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth the buying; [screens, They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and And they're, some of them, excellent turning machines! The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chancellor) Heavy concern to both purchaser and seller--Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis, 'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice. Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou shapest-- "Twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a Papist ; Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall Of some church that old women are fearful will fall; To pay ready money you sha'n't be distrest. Come, where's the next Tool?---Oh! 'tis here in a trice-- This implement, Ge'mmen! at first was a Vice; (A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get,) But it since has received a new coating of Tin, Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in! Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on, We'll the sooner get rid of it---going---quite gone! God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knock'd down, [Crown! Might at last cost their owner---how much? why, a The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had hansel or Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross; AZIM VISITS THE HARAM OF Now, through the Haram chambers, moving lights The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue, To give that long, dark languish to the eye, [cull All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls Are shining every where:-some younger girls Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads; Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful 'tis to see How each prefers a garland from that tree Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day, And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of India, blest again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream; While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell,— The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopySees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Sighs for the home she left with little pain, And wishes ev'n its sorrows back again! Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around, Young Azim roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess What means this maze of light and loneliness. Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light, Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure spirit to its blest abode !— And here, at once, the glittering saloon Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon; Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers: And the mosaic floor beneath shines through The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. Here too he traces the kind visitings Of woman's love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate,-in bondage thrown For their weak loveliness-is like her own! On one side gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine; |