ODE

To SIR ELIJAH IMPEY.

Eli, vetusto nobilis a Lamo,

Quando et priores hinc Lamias ferunt
Denominatos, &c.

ELI-JAH, noblest of the race

Of IMPS*, from whom the IMPEYS trace,

If common fame says true,

Their origin; and that they found

Their claim on just and solid ground,
Refer for proof to you-

You, who could post mine hundred miles,
To fathom an old woman's wiles,

Possess'd of dangerous treasure;
Could hurry with a pedlar's pack
Of affidavits at your back,

In quest of health and pleasure:

And all because the jealous JOVE†
Of Eastern climes thought fit to prove

* MILTON makes honourable mention of the founder of the family: "Fit vessel, fittest Imp of Fraud."

Paradise Lost, b. IX.

It may be observed, in proof of the descent, as well as to the credit of the present Representative, that he has not degenerated from the characteristic "obliquity" of his Ancestor.

+ Late Tyrannus.

The venom of his reign;

On which, to minds of light esteem,
Some few severities might seem
To leave a transient stain.

Soon✶ on your head, from yon dark sky,
Or WOODFALL'S Hasty Sketches lie,
The gather'd storm will break!
Deep will the vengeful thunder be,
And from the sleep he owes to thee
Shall NUNDCOMAR awake!

Then arm against the rude attack,
Recall thy roving memory back,
And all thy proofs collect!-
Remember that you cannot gain
A second hearing to explain,
And † therefore be correct.

*Demissa tempestas ab Euro-
Sternet--nisi fallit augur
Annosa cornix,

+ See Declaration of Sir E. I†

DEMPSTER.

offered to the House by Mr.

SONG.

To the Tune of "LET THE SULTAN SALADIN," RICHARD CŒUR DE LION.

I.

LET great GEORGE his porkers bilk,
And give his maids the sour skim-milk;
With her stores let CERES crown him,
Till the gracious sweat run down him,
Making butter night and day:
Well! well!

Every King must have his way;
But, to my poor way of thinking,
True joy is drinking.

II.

BILLY PITT delights to prose,
Till admiring Grocers doze;
Ancient Virgins all adore him,
Not a woman falls before him

Never kissing night nor day:
Well! well!

Every, child must have its way;
But, to my poor way of thinking,

True joy is drinking.

III.

You too, HASTINGS, know your trade!
No vile fears your heart invade,
When you rove for EASTERN plunder,
Making Monarchs truckle under,
Slitting windpipes night and day:
Well! well!

Governors will have their way;.
But, to my poor way of thinking,
True joy is drinking.

To the Tune of "A COELER THERE WAS, &c."

YE boobies of Britain, who lately thought fit

The care of the state to a child to commit,

Pray how do you like your young Minister's budget? Should he take your last farthing, you never can grudge it. Derry down, &c.

A tax on your heads!—there'd be justice in that,
But he only proposes a tax on your hat:

So let every ENGLISHMAN throw up his beaver,
And hollo, Prerogative BILLY for ever!

Derry down, &c.

Not being much favour'd with female applauses,
He takes his revenge on their ribands and gauzes :
Then should not each female, wife, widow, or miss
To Coventry send master BILLY for this?

Derry down, &c.