The Works of Lord Byron, Including the Suppressed Poems

Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails,
Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales;
Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do,
More old than Mandeville's, and not so true.
Oh! SOUTHEY, SOUTHEY!' cease thy varied song!
A Bard
may chaunt too often and too long:
As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare!
A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear.
But if, in spite of all the world can say,
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way;
If still in Berkley ballads, most uncivil,
Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, 2
The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue;
"God help thee," SOUTHEY, and thy readers too. 3

Next comes the dull disciple of thy school,
That mild apostate from poetic rule,

The simple WORDSWORTH, framer of a lay
As soft as evening in his favourite May;

Who warns his friend "to shake off toil and trouble;
And quit his books, for fear of growing double ;"
Who, both by precept and example, shows
That prose verse, and verse is merely prose,
Convincing all, by demonstration plain,
Poetic souls delight in prose insane;
And Christmas stories, tortured into rhyme,
Contain the essence of the true sublime:
Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,
The idiot mother of "an idiot Boy;"
A moon-struck silly lad who lost his way,
And, like his bard, confounded night with day;'
So close on each pathetic part he dwells,
And each adventure so sublimely tells,
That all who view the "idiot in his glory,"
Conceive the Bard the hero of the story.

Shall gentle COLERIDGE pass unnoticed here,
To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear?
Though themes of innocence amuse him best,
Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest.
If Inspiration should her aid refuse
To him who takes a Pixy for a Muse,

1 We beg Mr. Southey's pardon: "Madoc disdains the degraded title of epic." See his preface. Why is epic degraded ? and by whom? Certainly the late Romaunts of Masters Cottle, Laureat Pre, Oziley, Houle, and gentle Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the Epic Muse: but as Mr. Southey's poem "disdains the appellation," allow us to ask-has he substituted any thing better in its stead? or must be be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore, in the quantity as well as quality of his

2 See The Old Woman of Berkley, a Ballad by Mr. Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by Beelzebub, a high-trotting horse."

3 The last line," God help thee," is an evident plagiarism from the Anti-jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his Dactylies: "God help thee, silly one."-Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, p. 23. 4 Lyrical Ballads, page 4.-"The tables turned." Stanza 1. "Uo, up. my friend, and clear your looksWhy all this toil and trouble? Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you'll grow double."

5 Mr. W., in his preface, labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much the same, and certainly his precepts and practice are strictly confonnable:

"And thus to Betty's questions he
Made answer, like a traveller bold,
The cock did crow to-who, to-who,
And the sun did shine so cold," etc., etc.
Lyrical Ballads, page 129.

6 Coleridge's Poems, page 11. Songs of the Pixies, i. e. Devonshire Fairies. Page 42, we have, "Lines to a young Lady," and page 52,"Lines to a Young Ass."

Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass
The bard who soars to elegize an ass.
How well the subject suits his noble mind!
"A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind!"

Oh! wonder-working LEWIS! Monk, or Bard,
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard!
Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow,
Thy Muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou!
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand,
By gibbering spectres hail'd, thy kindred band;
Or tracest chaste description on thy page,
To please the females of our modest age,
All hail, M. P.! from whose infernal brain
Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;
At whose command, "grim women" throng in crowds,
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,
With "small gray men,"
"-"wild vagers," and what not,

To crown with honour thee and WALTER SCOTT:
Again, all hail! If tales like thine may please,

St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease;
E'en Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir

Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire,

With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flush'd, Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hush'd? 'Tis LITTLE! young Catullus of his day,

As sweet, but as immoral in his lay!

Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just,

Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.

Pure is the flame which o'er the altar burns;
From grosser incense with disgust she turns:
Yet, kind to youth, this expiation o'er,
She bids thee "mend thy line and sin no more."
For thee, translator of the tinsel song,
To whom such glittering ornaments belong,
Hibernian STRANGFORD! with thine eyes of blue,
And boasted locks of red, or auburn hue,
Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires,
And o'er harmonious fustian half expires,
Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense,
Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.
Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place
By dressing Camoens in a suit of lace?
Mend, STRANGFORD! mend thy morals and thy taste
Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste:
Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,
Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy MOORE.

In many marble-cover'd volumes view
HAYLEY, in vain attempting something new:
Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme,
Or scrawl, as WooD and BARCLAY walk, 'gainst time,
His style in youth or age is still the same,
For ever feeble and for ever tame.
Triumphant first see "Temper's Triumphs" shine!
At least, I'm sure, they triumph'd over mine.

1 "For every one knows little Matt's an M. P."-Sec a Poem to Mr. Lewis, in The Statesman, supposed to be writ ten by Mr. Jekyll.

2 The reader, who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to "Strangford's Camoens," page 127, note to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's Camoens. It is also to be remarked, that the things given to the public as Poems of Camoens, are no more to be found in the original Portuguese than in the Song of Solomon

Of "Music's Triumphs" all who read may swear
That luckless Music never triumph'd there. '

Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward
On dull Devotion-lo! the Sabbath Bard,
Sepulchral GRAHAME, pours his notes sublime
In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme,
Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,
And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch;
And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms,
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. *

Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings
A thousand visions of a thousand things,

And shows, dissolved in thine own melting tears,
The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers.
And art thou not their prince, harmonious BowLES?
Thou first great oracle of tender souls?
Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st relief,
Or consolation in a yellow leaf;
Whether thy muse most lamentably tells
What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells,
Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend,
In every chime that jingled from Ostend?
Ah! how much juster were thy Muse's hap,
If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap!
Delightful BowLES! still blessing and still blest,
All love thy strain, but children like it best.
'Tis thine, with gentle LITTLE's moral song,
To soothe the mania of the amorous throng!
With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears,
Ere Miss as yet completes her infant years:
But in her teens thy whining powers are vain:
She quits poor BOWLES for LITTLE's purer strain.
Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine
The lofty numbers of a harp like thine :
"Awake a louder and a loftier strain,” 4
Such as none heard before, or will again;
Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood,
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,
By more or less, are sung in every book,
From Captain NOAH down to Captain Cook.
Nor this alone, but pausing on the road,
The bard sighs forth a gentle episode;"
And gravely tells-attend each beauteous Miss!-
When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.
BOWLES! in thy memory let this precept dwell,
Stick to thy Sonnets, man! at least they sell.

But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe,
Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe;
If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd,
Now, prone in dust, can only be revered;
If POPE, whose fame and genius from the first
Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst,
Do thou essay; each fault, each failing scan
The first of poets was, alas! but man!
Rake from each ancient dunghill every pearl,
Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in CURLL;'
Let all the scandals of a former age
Perch on thy pen and flutter o'er thy page;
Affect a candour which thou canst not feel,
Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal;
Write as if St. John's soul could still inspire,
And do from hate what MALLET 2 did for hire.
Oh! hadst thou lived in that congenial time,
To rave with DENNIS, and with RALPH to rhyme,3
Throng'd with the rest around his living head,
Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead,
A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains,
And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains."

Another Epic! who inflicts again
More books of blank upon the sons of men?
Baotian COTTLE, rich Bristowa's boast,
Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast,
And sends his goods to market-all alive!
Lines forty thousand, Cantos twenty-five!
Fresh fish from Helicon! who'll buy? who'll buy?
The precious bargain's cheap-in faith not I.
Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight,
Too much o'er bowls of 'rack prolong the night:
If commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain,
And AMOS COTTLE strikes the Lyre in vain.
In him an author's luckless lot behold!
Condemn'd to make the books which once he sold.
Oh! AMOS COTTLE!-Phoebus! what a name
To fill the speaking-trump of future fame!—
Oh! AMOS COTTLE! for a moment think
What meagre profits spread from pen and ink!
When thus devoted to poetic dreams,
Who will peruse thy prostituted reams?
Oh! pen perverted! paper misapplied!
Had COTTLE still adorn'd the counter's side,
Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils,
Been taught to make the paper which he soils,
Plough'd, deived, or plied the oar with lusty limb,

1 Hayley's two most notorious verse productions, are "Tri-He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him.
umphs of Temper," and "Triumphs of Music." He has also

As Sisyphus against the infernal steep

written much comedy in rhyme, Epistles, etc. etc. As he is Rolls the huge rock, whose motions ne'er may sleep,

rather an elegant writer of notes and biography, let us recommend Pope's Advice to Wycherley to Mr. H.'s consideration: viz. "to convert his poetry into prose," which may be easily done by taking away the final syllable of each couplet.

2 Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of cant, under
the name of "Sabbath, Walks," and "Biblical Pictures."
3 See Bowles's Sonnets, etc.-" Sonnet to Oxford," and
Stanzas on hearing the Bells of Ostend."

4"Awake a louder," etc. etc. is the first line in Bowles's
Spirit of Discovery;" a very spirited and pretty Dwarf Epic.
Among other exquisite lines we have the following:-
A kiss

Stole on the list'ning silence, never yet
Here heard; they trembled even as if the power," etc. etc.
That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much
astonished, as well they might be, at such a phenomenon.

5 The episode above alluded to is the story of "Robert a Machin," and "Anna d'Arfet," a pair of constant lovers, who performed the kiss above-mentioned, that startled the woods of Madeira

seller. Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Hervey 1 Curll is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was a bookauthor of "Lines to the imitator of Horace."

2 Lord Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his decease, because the poet had retained some copies of a work by Lord Bolingbroke (the Patriot King), which that splendid, but malignant genius, had ordered to be destroyed. 3 Dennis the critic, and Ralph the rhymester. "Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, Making night hideous-answer him, ye owls!"-Dunciad. 4 See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which ha received 304.: thus Mr. B. has experienced how much easier it is to profit by the reputation of another, than to elevate his own.

5 Mr. Cottle, Amos or Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, once sellers of books they did not write, and now writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair of Epics. "Alfred" (poor Alfred! Pye has been at him too! and the Fall of "Cambria."

So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond! heaves

Dull MAURICE all his granite weight of leaves:
Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain!
The petrifactions of a plodding brain,

When LITTLE's leadless pistol met his eye, And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by? Oh day disastrous! on her firm-set rock, Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock;

That ere they reach the top fall lumbering back again. Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth,

With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, Lo! sad ALCEUS wanders down the vale!

Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north;
TWEED ruffled half his wave to form a tear,
The other half pursued its calm career; 2

Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at last, ARTHUR'S steep summit nodded to its base,
His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast:
Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales,
His blossoms wither as the blast prevails!
O'er his lost works let classic SHEFFIELD weep;
May no rude hand disturb their early sleep! 2

Yet say! why should the Bard at once resign
His claim to favour from the sacred Nine?
For ever startled by the mingled howl

Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl:
A coward brood, which mangle as they prey,
By hellish instinct, all that cross their way;
Aged or young, the living or the dead,
No mercy find-these harpies must be fed.
Why do the injured unresisting yield
The calm possession of their native field?
Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat,

Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to ARTHUR'S Seat?3

Health to immortal JEFFREY! once, in name,
England could boast a judge almost the same:
In soul so like, so merciful, yet just,

Some think that Satan has resigned his trust,
And given the Spirit to the world again,
To sentence letters as he sentenced men;
With hand less mighty, but with heart as black,
With voice as willing to decree the rack;
Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law
As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw.
Since well instructed in the patriot school
To rail at party, though a party tool,
Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore
Back to the sway they forfeited before,
His scribbling toils some recompense may meet,
And raise this Daniel to the Judgment Seat.
Let JEFFRIES' shade indulge the pious hope,
And greeting thus, present him with a rope:
*Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind!
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind,
This cord receive-for thee reserved with care,
To yield in judgment, and at length to wear."

Health to great JEFFREY! Heaven preserve his life,
To fourish on the fertile shores of Fife,
And guard it sacred in his future wars,

Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars!
Can none remember that eventful day,
That ever glorious, almost fatal fray,

1 Mr. Murice hath manufactured the component parts of a penderous quarto, upon the beauties of "Richmond Hill," and the keit also takes in a charming view of Turnham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and New, and the parts adjent.

Poot Montgomery! though praised by every English Review, has been bitterly reviled by the Edinburgh. After all, the Bard of Steffield is a man of considerable genius his "Wanderer of Switzerland" is worth a thousand "Lyrical Callads," and at least fifty "degraded Epics"

3 Arthur's Seat, the bill which overhangs Edinburgh.

The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place;
The Tolbooth felt-for marble sometimes can,
On such occasions, feel as much as man-
The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms
If JEFFREY died, except within her arms: 3
Nay, last, not least, on that portentous morn,
The sixteenth storey, where himself was born,
His patrimonial garret fell to ground,
And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound:

Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white reams
Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams;
This of his candour seem'd the sable dew,
That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue,
And all with justice deem'd the two combined
The mingled emblems of his mighty mind.
But Caledonia's Goddess hover'd o'er

The field, and saved him from the wrath of MOORE,
From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead,
And straight restored it to her favourite's head:
That head, with greater than magnetic power,
Caught it, as Danaë the golden shower;

And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine,
Augments its ore,
and is itself a mine.
"My son," she cried, "ne'er thirst for gore again,
Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ;
O'er politics and poesy preside,
Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide!
For, long as Albion's heedless sous submit,
Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,
So long shall last thine unmolested reign,
Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.
Behold a chosen band shall aid thy plan,
And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.
First in the ranks illustrious shall be seen
The travell'd Thane! Athenian Aberdeen. 4
HERBERT shall wield THOR's hammer, and sometimes,
In gratitude, thou 'It praise his rugged rhymes.

1 In 1806, Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk-Farin. The duel was prevented by the interference of the magistracy: and, on examination, the balls of the pistols, like the courage of the combatants, were found to have evaporated. This incident gave occasion to much waggery in the daily prints.

2 The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; it would have been highly reprehensible in the English half of the river to have shown the smallest symptom of apprehension.

3 This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth (the principal prison in Edinburgh), which truly seems to have been most affected on this occasion, is much to be commended. It was to be apprehended, that the many unhappy criminals executed in the front, might have rendered the edifice more callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy of feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish.

4 His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian Society, and reviewer of Gell's Topography of Troy. 5 M. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the principal pieces is a "Song on the recovery of Thor's Hammer" the translation is a pleasant claunt in the vulgar tongue, and ended thus:-

"Instead of money and rings, I wot,
The hammer's bruises were her lot;
Thus Odin's son his hammer got."

Smug SYDNEY' too thy bitter page shall seek,
And classic HALLAM,2 much renown'd for Greek.
SCOTT may perchance his name and influence lend,
And paltry PILLANS shall traduce his friend:
While gay Thalia's luckless votary, LAMBE,
As he himself was damn'd, shall try to damn.
Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway!
Thy HOLLAND's banquets shall each toil repay;
While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes
TO HOLLAND'S hirelings, and to Learning's foes.
Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review
Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue,

And tinge with red the female reader's check,
My lady skims the cream of each critique;
Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul,
Reforms each error, and refines the whole.1

Now to the drama turn: Oh motley sight!
What precious scenes the wondering eye invite!
Puns, and a prince within a barrel pent,"

And DIBDIN's nonsense, yield complete content.
Though now, thank Heaven! the Roscio mania's o'er,
And full-grown actors are endured once more;
Yet what avail their vain attempts to please,
While British critics suffer scenes like these?

Beware lest blundering BROUGHAM' destroy the sale, While REYNOLDS vents his "dammes," "poohs," and

Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail."
Thus having said, the kilted goddess kist
Her son, and vanish'd in a Scottish mist.
Illustrious HOLLAND! hard would be his lot,
His hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot!
HOLLAND, with HENRY PETTY at his back,
The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack.
Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House,
Where Scotchmen feed, and critics may carouse!
Long, long beneath that hospitable roof,
Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof.
See honest HALLAM lay aside his fork,
Resume his pen, review his lordship's work,
And, grateful to the founder of the feast,
Declare his landlord can translate, at least!"
Dunedin! view thy children with delight,
They write for food, and feed because they write:
And lest, when heated with th' unusual grape,
Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape,

1 The Rev. Sidney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Plymley's Letters, and sundry criticisms.

2 Mr. Hallam reviewed Parne Knight's Taste, and was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein: it was not discovered that the lines were Pindar's, till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity.

"zounds,"3

And common-place, and common sense confounds?
While KENNY's World, just suffer'd to proceed,
Proclaims the audience very kind indeed?
And BEAUMONT's pilfer'd Caratach affords
A tragedy complete in all but words? 4
Who but must mourn while these are all the rage,
The degradation of our vaunted stage?
Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone?
Have we no living bard of merit ?-none !
Awake, GEORGE COLMAN, CUMBERLAND, awake!
Ring the alarum-bell, let folly quake!

Oh SHERIDAN! if aught can move thy pen,
Let comedy resume her throne again,
Abjure the mummery of German schools,
Leave new Pizarros to translating fools;
Give, as thy last memorial to the age,
One classic Drama, and reform the stage.
Gods! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head
Where GARRICK trod, and KEMBLE lives to tread ?
On those shall Farce display Buffoonery's mask,
And HOOKE conceal his heroes in a cask?

Shall sapient managers new scenes produce From CHERRY, SKEFFINGTON, and MOTHER GOOSE? While SHAKSPEARE, OTWAY, MASSINGER, forgot, The said Hallam is incensed, because he is falsely accused. On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot? seeing that he never dineth at Holland House. If this be true; Lo! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim I am sorry-not for having said so, but on his account, as I understand his lordship's feasts are preferable to his composi- The rival candidates for Attic fame! tions. If he did not review Lord Holland's performance, I am glad, because it must have been painful to read, and irksome In grim array though LEWIS' spectres rise, to praise it. If Mr. Hallam will tell me who did review it, the Still SKEFFINGTON and GOOSE divide the prize. real name shall find a place in the text, provided nevertheless the said name be of two orthodox musical syllables, and will And sure great SKEFFINGTON must claim our praise, come into the verse; till then, Hallam must stand for want of For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays Renown'd alike; whose genius ne'er confines Her flight to garnish GREENWOOD's gay designs; Nor sleeps with "Sleeping Beauties," but anon In five facetious acts comes thundering on," While poor John Bull, bewilder'd with the scene, Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean;

a better.

3 Pillans is a tutor at Eton.

4 The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed "Beresford's Miseries," and is moreover author of a farce enacted with much applause at the Priory, Stanmore, and damned with great expedition at the late Theatre Covent Garden. It was entitled "Whistle for it."

5 Mr. Brougham, in No. XXV. of the Edinburgh Review, throughout the article concerning Don Pedro de Cavallos, has displayed more politics than policy; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so incensed at the infamous principles it evinces, as to have withdrawn their subscriptions. It seems that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as I supposed, but her matchless wit in the Edinburgh Review: however that a borderer, and his name is pronounced Broom, from Trent to Tay. So be it.

1 Certain it is, her ladyship is suspected of having displayed

may be, we know from good authority that the manuscripts are submitted to her perusal-no doubt for correction.

2 In the melo-drame of Tekeli, that heroic prince is clapt into a barrel on the stage-a new asylum for distressed heroes 3 All these are favourite expressions of Mr. R. and prom

6 I ought to apologize to the worthy Deities for introducing a new Goddess with short petticoats to their notice; but alas what was to be done? I could not say Caledonia's Genius, it being well known there is no Genius to be found from ClackDiannan to Caithness: yet, without supernatural agency, how inent in his Comedies, living and defunct. was Jeffrey to be saved? The national Kelpies," etc. are 4 Mr. T. Sheridan, the new Manager of Drury-lane Theatre, 100 unpoetical, and the Brownies" and "Gude Neigh-stripped the Tragedy of Bonduen of the dialogue, and exhibboms" (Spirits of a good disposition), refused to extricate ited the scenes as the spectacles of Caractacus. Was this him. A Goddess therefore has been called for the purpose, and great ought to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only worthy of his sire, or of himself? communication he ever held, or is likely to hold, with any thing heavenly.

7 Lord H. has translated some specimens of Lope de Vega inserted in his life of the Author both are bepraised by his dasinterested guest.

5 Mr. Greenwood is, we believe, Scene-Painter to DruryLane Theatre: as such Mr. S is much indebted to him. 6. Mr. S. is the illustrious anthor of the "Sleeping Beauty ;” and some Comedies, particularly "Maids and Bachelors," iBaccalaurei baculo magis quam lauro digni.

But as some hands applaud, a venal few!
Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too.

Such are we now, ah! wherefore should we turn
To what our fathers were, unless to mourn?
Degenerate Britons! are ye dead to shame,
Or, kind to dulness, do ye fear to blame?
Well
may
the nobles of our present race
Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face;
Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons,
And worship Catalani's pantaloons,
Since their own drama yields no fairer trace
Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace.
Then let AUSONIA, skill'd in every art,
To soften manners, but corrupt the heart,
Pour her exotic follies o'er the town,

To sanction vice and hunt decorum down:
Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes,
And bless the promise which his form displays;
While Gayton bounds before the enraptured looks
Of hoary marquisses and stripling dukes:
Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle
Twirl her light limbs that spurn the needless veil:
Let Angiolini bare her breast of
Wave the white arm and point the pliant toe:
Collini trill her love-inspiring song,

snow,

Strain her fair neck and charm the listening throng!
Raise not your scythe, suppressors of our vice!
Reforming saints, too delicately nice!

By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save,
No Sun lay tankards foam, no barbers shave,

And beer undrawn and beards unmown display
Your holy reverence for the sabbath-day.

Or hail at once the patron and the pile
Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle! 2
Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane,
Sprea is wide her portals for the motley train,
Behold the new Petronius of the day,
The arbiter of pleasure and of play!
There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir,
The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre,
The song from Italy, the step from France,
The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance,
The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine,
For fogs, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combine:
Each to his humour,-Comus all allows;
Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse.

When for the night some lately titled ass
Appears the beggar which his grandsire was.
The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er,
The audience take their turn upon the floor;
Now round the room the circling dow❜gers sweep,
Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap:
The first in lengthened line majestic swim,
The last display the free, unfetter'd limb:
Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair

With art the charms which Nature could not spare;
These after husbands wing their eager flight,
Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night.

Oh! blest retreats of infamy and ease!
Where, all forgotten, but the power to please,
Each maid may give a loose to genial thought,
Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught:
There the blithe youngster, just return'd from Spain,
Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main;
The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick,
Or-done!-a thousand on the coming trick!
If mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire,
And all your hope or wish is to expire,
Here's PowELL's pistol ready for your life,
And, kinder still, a PAGET for your wife.
Fit consummation of an earthly race
Begun in folly, ended in disgrace,

While none but menials o'er the bed of death,
Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering breath:
Traduced by liars, and forgot by all,

The mangled victim of a drunken brawl,

To live like CLODIUS,' and like FALKLAND2 fall.
Truth! rouse some genuine bard and guide his hand,
To drive this pestilence from out the land.
Even I-least thinking of a thoughtless throng,
Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong,
Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lost,
To fight my course through Passion's countless host,
Whom every path of pleasure's flowery way
Has lured in turn, and all have led astray-
E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel

Such

scenes, such men, destroy the public weal;
Altho' some kind, censorious friend will say,
"What art thou better, meddling fool, than they?"
And every brother rake will smile to see
That miracle, a moralist, in me.

1Noldi and Catalani require little notice, for the visage of
the one, and the salary of the other, will enable us long to re-
Pullert these amusing vagabonds; besides, we are still black
and alue from the squeeze on the first night of the lady's ap-No matter-when some bard, in virtue strong,

Warance in trowsers.

To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a man, I her leave to state, that it is the Institution, and not the Dake of that rame, which is here alluded to.

A geleman with whom I am slightly acquainted, lost in the Argyle Rooms several thousand pounds at backgammon. It is best juster to the manager in this instance to say, that some degree of disapprobation was manifested. But why are the Imperents of gaming allowed in a place devoted to the society of both sex? A pleasant thing for the wives and daughters" of those who are blest or cursed with such connexions, to hear The beard-tables rattling in one room, and the dice in anether! This is the case I myself can testify, as a late unworthy we aber of an institution which materially affects the morals the higher orders, while the lower may not even move to the But of a tabor and fiddle, without a chance of indictment for us behaviour.

GIFFORD perchance, shall raise the chastening song,
Then sleep my pen for ever! and my voice
Be only heard to hail him and rejoice;
Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise; though I
May feel the lash that virtue must apply.

1 Mutato nomine de te Fabula narratur.

21 knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday night I beheld him presiding at his own table, in all the honest pride of hospitality; on Wednesday morning at three o'clock, I saw, stretched before me, all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions. He was a gallant and successful officer; his faults were the faults of a sailor-as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a better cause, for had The fallen in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he 3 Petromus, “* arbiter elegantiarum" to Nero, "and a very was just appointed, his last moments would have been held Wetty fellow in his day," as Mr. Congreve's old Bachelor saith.up by his counti, men as an example to succeeding heroes

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The Works of Lord Byron, Including the Suppressed Poems: Also a Sketch of ...