PETITION FOR A THIRD THEATRE,
[From the Morning Chronicle, May 25.]

GREAT Sirs, behold how Kemble doats!

To classic taste a stranger;

His Pegasus is fed on oats,

His Muses bite the manger.

Then let him too the bridle bite,
And yield his forfeit charter;
So may Monk Lewis Timour write,
And Kemble catch a Tartar.

ODE

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH DAY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM PITT.

WH

[From the Morning Post, May 28.]

HEN mortals quit this earthly sphere,
Unhallow'd by the Muse's lyre,

Repose, inglorious, on the bier,

Nor general sympathy inspire;.

Though friendship their departure mourn,
Though costly tombs their dust enclose,
Fame o'er the bust, or storied urn,

The mantle of oblivion throws.

Not such his fate (whate'er his birth)
Whose deeds a nation's blessings crown,
Whose talents speak his inbred worth;
The author of his own renown:
Resplendent as the orb of day,

Upon his course with awe we gaze,
Revere the turf that wraps his clay,
Embalm his ashes with our praise.

Amid the wise, the brave, the great,
Who, fir'd with an enthusiast's zeal,
Liv'd to adorn and serve the State,

Or perish'd for their country's weal;

If peerless one,-'mid souls so blest,
Who liv'd admir'd, lamented died;
Truth, honour, gratitude attest,

That man was Pitt,-Britannia's pride!
Firm as the cliffs this isle that bind,
Unsway'd by flattery, power, or gold,
His daring and enlighten'd mind

The factious curb'd, the base controll'd.
In prosperous scenes his greatness shone ;
In adverse gales, at ills unmov'd,
His eloquence upheld the Throne,
His virtues sav'd the land he lov'd.

Nay, baneful as th' electric beam,
When mad ambition, unrestrain'd,
More ruthless than the whelming stream,
Laid kingdoms waste, and states enchain'd;
Pitt, like th' imperial bird of Jove,

Mocking the bolts at FREEDOM hurl'd,
To glory tower'd,-made Britain prove
The stay and safeguard of the world.
Combin'd in his exalted form,

All that the hero, patriot, sage
Inspir'd, the youthful breast to warm,
In Greece, or Latium's purest age:
Should feuds distract, or doubts arise,
His spirit, like the polar star,
Shall shine, a mirror to the wise,
A beacon true, in peace and war.

Votive to worth so great, each year
(Surpassing sculpture's magic art)
An intellectual shrine we rear,

And stamp his image on the heart; That, till the spark of heavenly flame, Which fires each bosom, cease to glow,

Britons may venerate his name—^

The source from whence their comforts flow. ANA

EPIGRAM

EPIGRAM ON MR. C'S NEW CURRICLE.

TOM Tropic, one day, in his way to Long Acre,

By chance met a friend-an unmannerly Quaker;
"Come with me," said Tom, " my kind Sir, I'd advise you,
To see my new curricle, which will surprise you!
A carriage more elegant never was known,

T will charm all the town, Sir! the plan is my own;
The snakes and the cocks make such beautiful show;
My crest is a cock-while I live I will crow *!
"A cock!" said the Quaker, "you certainly jest;
A cock's-comb would be the most suitable crest."

B. C.

PICTURE OF A POET.

[From the Morning Herald.]

NO. 79.-Portrait of Walter Scott, Esq. author of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, &c.; by H. Raeburn.

Go, gentle reader, to the EXHIBITION, if thou hast not been there already, to regard this portrait. It is the effigy of the poetical and renowned sheriff of Selkirkshire, and the tulip of Paternoster Row. Lo! the bard sits complacently upon the rocks of Parnassus (for it is an ungenial region, that never yet yielded either cabbage, or carrots, or brocoli, or potatoes, or Scotch kail, to its famished occupiers) looking disdainfully upon the rational mob in the low vale of industry! The small speck that may be seen as glimmering through the ether, is Mistress Luna, who is breathing her divine influence upon the sensorium!

The little agent with the quizzing-glass, who is couchant in the corner, is the illustrious Monk *****, a wholesale dealer in the marvellous also, and who doth not disdain (to use a modish apology for arro

The motto.

gance)

gance) to steal the skeleton of a thought from other men; as he is now in the commission of a literary misdemeanour, and filching a young Marmion in MS. from the breeches pocket of his too thoughtless asso ciate!

The hole which the wizzard is digging in the back ground, is meant for the Inferiæ, or sacrifices to the Dii manes, or souls of deceased heroes, such as Jack the Giant Killer, Mr. Thomas Hickathrift, &c. &c.

Hark! the "Comet of Caledonia" is now chanting in confident importance, while a brace of old nurses are brushing away the guats and musquitoes of criticism from his radiant head-By the inass, he is now pouring forth an invocation to the present mistress of his affections!-Ecoutez, mon ami.

TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE, GREETING:
SAY, Blowzabella, whither art thou roaming,
Or by Loch Lomond's verge, or Tay's green side;
Thy ample, golden, matted ringlets combing,
Or laving in the Clyde's pellucid tide?

Or gathering cockle-shells to deck the grot,
Where I and thou, at e'en, may pig together;
Darning thy tartan manteau, or what not,

To shield thy matchless beauties from the weather?
Ab✦ then, for my dear sake,

Sweet, if you love me, come away,
And let us play

Upon this brae,

Dear Lady of the Lake.

I've trac'd, in my mind's eye, a water king;
Walk, with a succubus, towards a bower!

Then I heard generated monsters sing,

As Wonder blew the horn from Terror's tower !
If thou shouldst see a goblin in the dale,
Or fay, or elfin, or whate'er you call 'em;
Seize them for me, I'll make them all find bail,
Or else, as sheriff, by the Lord I'll maul 'em!
Ah! then, &c. **

RADICAL REFORMERS.

I saw a ghost, last night, of muckle state, fyl
Stumbling, as though it were of John Bell's ale full!
And, ever and anon, it scratch'd its pate!

And then it wept, I'm sure it blear'd a pail full.
It look'd aw pale and wan, like Sandy Wright,

Who came from Walcheren with laurell'd Chatham,

And when the filthy kine annoy'd the sprite,

It scoop'd the faces up, and threw them at 'em!
Ah! then, for my dear sake,

THEY

Sweet, if you love me, come away,
And let us play

Upon this brae,

Dear Lady of the Lake.

A NEW PALACE.

[From the same, Juné 4 ]

239

HEY write from Paris, that the first stone of a magnificent palace is laying for the royal residence of young Nap; but that probably before the builders have accomplished their work, his tyrannic sire may be compelled to find out a more humble residence for his illustrious race! A pasquinade on this occasion was placed on one of the Venetian horse's tails at the Tuilleries, which is thus translated:

"A royal house for Master Nap
We might agree to build, mayhap,
But for this one objection;,
That for his daddy first we 'd rear
(To lodge him snug and safely there,)
A strong House of Correction!”

THE RADICAL REFORMERS;

OR, A WAY TO CURE THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION. [From the Morning Post, June 5.]

WHEN Dr. Last the tooth-ach was to cure,

He said his remedy was safe and sure.

"What is it?" said the learn'd of Warwick Lane ; “ I pull all out, though only one gives pain."

"Well