His Secretaries should submit

The papers which themselves think fit.
His Majesty, with much concern,
Wills that through us you all should learn,
That, notwithstanding his endeavours,
All France's wrongs, and Britain's favours,
The Ottoman Porte (the Porte Sublime
We should have said in former time)
Is still our foe to their misfortune,
Which will their sway and empire shorten.
In one spot only things looks better:
Britain to Sweden is a debtor,
By a most § sacred obligation,
For fighting in self-preservation;
Wherefore she has, jure divino,
A title to our British rhino.

|| We are especially commanded,
To say to you what ¶ never man did;
A saying quite sublime and new,
'Tis that the war which we pursue,
Is strictly just and national,

If any war we so may call.

Europe and all the world 's intent
Upon the British Parliament.
If you are still for battle hearty,
Till we have conquer'd Bonaparte,
Resolv'd to face the force combin'd
Of foes increasing, trade declin'd,
Rather than treat with him this year,
By G- we'll beat him, never fear.
Lastly, the King would have you know,
He cares not sixpence for the foe;
And trusts reciprocally you

Are just as constant, wise, and true.

Is this an allusion to the "Auri sacra fames ?”

Mr. Canning had forgotten to notice America; an omission which was pointed out by Lord Mulgrave. Consequently there are no verses about America.

"Dicam insigne, recens, adhuc, indictum ore alio."-HOR.

A SKETCH

A SKETCH TAKEN IN ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL
ON THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE SESSIONS.
[From the Morning Chronicle.-Jan 30.]

THE giant speech had clos'd-Lord Ham. arose,
And preach'd most prettily his measur'd prose;
Just in conception, accurate in letter-
His Lordship never play'd Octavian better.
Then we behold long-winded, ling'ring Ellis,
And faintly catch what feeble whispers tell us.
Next self-assuming vapouring Milnes appears,
His modesty so suited to his years!

Pitt might declaim-Fox reason-Porteus preach-
But who like Milnes can spout a written speech?
How volubly he gabbles through his part-
Upon my life he has it all by heart!!!
Hear with what a grand "rotundo ore,"

Sesquipedalia verba" roll before ye! Pours, like a parrot, from his husky throat The clumsy declamation got by rote: Johnsonian periods! sonorous and round; Less Johnson's massy sense than sullen sound: . With verbose nothings generously fraught, But frugal in his native thrift of thought: The tiny sense, the tumid strain affords, Is lost amid a wilderness of words; And then, he gives it with an air so free, As if his nonsense were extempore. But, Perceval! what means this agitation? Why stammer so?—unusual perturbation! You! who but now were in such flippant vogue; So fram'd" to snarl, and bite, and play the dog." You! who were once so venom-tongu'd and boldYou! who might challenge Billingsgate to scold; Who 've dar'd such seas as Pitt would never dare, A fretful, fearless spitfire sloop of war ! To fail in words-to shock all common sense, Sir; Why what can be the matter, Master Spencer? To see you thus, with Hamlet one would fain mark, "There's something rotten in the State of Denmark." He stammers on, however out of season, And strives to quibble, since he cannot reason.

Now

Now hints such secrets, he must needs conceal,
Which knowing not, he never can reveal :
Though England's name indelibly be stain'd,
Yet private confidence must be maintain'd:
His honour violates the Law of Nations,
But venerates the Law of Informations.
Besides, their neutral and inert condition
Render'd the Danes most worthy of suspicion.
Since then we had such reasons to suspect 'em,
It would have been injustice to neglect 'em.
First, like a good ally, we ask'd their leave
To seize their fleet, and all they had to give :
But when, like mulish egotistic elves,

They begg'd to keep their navy to themselves;
Then with a Briton's patriotic ire

We bravely set their naked town on fire;
Threw rockets on a very lofty steeple,

While mortars pour'd on a defenceless people.

The reasons why we willingly would show them,

But that the French (how terrible!) might know them; We had the substance of a vague report—

Nay, more, the very substance of the purport,

Of articles mysterious done at Tilsit,

To" terms precise" we freely plead a nil scit :

This substance shadows seem in some men's view ;
But surely shadows prove the substance true."

66

Poor, pettyfogging, quirking, quibbler, say,
Can cobweb sophistry refine away

The changeless maxims of eternal right,
Boundless as space and obvious as the light?
No! while ye vaunt it o'er the injur'd Danes,
Tremble to think a God of Justice reigns!

A NEW DECREE BY EMPEROR NAP AGAINST JOHN BULL.

I

[From the Morning Post.-Jan. 30.]

"Ille ego qui quondam, &c."

EMPEROR NAP, Europe's grand Autocrat,

To whom Kings are like mice in the claws of a catI, who made the fierce Eagle of Austria so tame,

And pluck'd from proud Russia her pinions of fame--

I, the terror of tyrants, do hereby decree
John Bull now blockaded by land and by sea!
Though Europe should starve from her rim to her centre,
Not a port shall a sail of the surly dog's enter!
I curse-I denounce-I denationalize him-
The Pirate!-I hate, I abhor, I despise him!
A Pirate that dares to oppose my design
Of making the Throne of the Universe mine!
Who thwarts my intentions on every occasion,
Of maritime plunder, and foreign invasion!
Who my Tilsit Ally's friendly proffer rejected,
And secur'd Denmark's fleet-ere his scheme I suspected!
Who snatch'd from my gripe the base Portuguese Regent,
And bore off to Brazil the rich freight, like a pageant!
Who always is hatching against me some evil-
Who is worse than the Dey of Algiers, or-the Devil!
This pirate, this robber, this miscreant infernal,
That threatens to vex me with warfare eternal,
At his head shall the bolts of my fury be hurl'd—
For he's the most obstinate Brute in the world!
To the Nations around him once more I denounce,
Commanding them all on the Savage to pounce,
And declaring if any by secret contrivance,
By chance, or by force, or by treacherous connivance,
Of this trafficking Monster shall prove an abettor,
His goods I'll confiscate-his body I'll fetter-
No plea the Delinquent shall find a protection,
My mandate's perempt'ry and bars all objection--
NEUTRALITY's laws I abolish in toto.-

Every friend of John Bull is Napoleon a foe to!
Slieve Croob.
DUNICOLA,

EPIGRAM

ON THE PRESENT STATE OF EUROPE.

[From the Public Ledger.]

ALCIDES' statue, of its limbs bereft,

As Art's sublimest model still is left;
Majestic Britain! though thy frantic foe
Hath rais'd all Europe's arms to lay thee low,
They, only they, are into ruin hurl'd-
Thou stand'st alone the TORSO of the world.

END OF THE ELEVENTH VOLUME.

S. GOSNELL, Printer, Little Queen Street.

J. C. M.