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Grows very eloquent in praise. “How can they say Sir Paul is proud ? I'm sure, in all the evening's crowd, There's not a man that bows so low; His words come out so soft and slow; And when he begg'd me ‘keep my seat,' He look'd so civil and so sweet.”— “ Ma'am,” says her spouse, in harsher tone, “He only wants to keep his own.” Her Ladyship is in a huff, And Miss, enraged at Ma's rebuff, Rings the aların in t'other ear: “ Lord ! now, Papa, you're too severe; Where in the country will you see Manners so taking, and so free?" “ His manners free ? I only know Our votes have made his letters so ! " “ And then he talks with so much easeAnd then he gives such promises." “Gives promises ? and well he may ! You know they're all he gives away!” “How folks misrepresent Sir Paul ! » “Tis he misrepresents us all !” “How very stale ! but you'll confess He has a charming taste in dress; And uses such delightful scent; And when he pays a compliment—". “Eh ! and what then, my pretty pet ? What then ?-he never pays a debt!"

Sir Paul is skilled in all the tricks Of politesse, and politics ; Long hath he learnt to wear a mien So still, so open, so serene, That strangers in those features grave Would strive in vain to read a knave. Alas! it is believ'd by all There is more “Sir ” than “ Saint ” in Paul; He knows the value of a place; Can give a promise with a grace; Is quite an adept at excuse; Sees when a vote will be of use; And, if the Independents flinch, Can help his Lordship at a pinch. Acutely doth he read the fate Of deep intrigues, and plans of State; And if, perchance, some powderd Peer Hath gained or lost the Monarch's ear, Foretells, without a shade of doubt, The comings in, and goings out. When placemen of distinguish'd note Mistake, mislead, misname, misquote, Confound the Papist and the Turk, Or murder Sheridan and Burke, Or make a riddle of the laws, Sir Paul grows hoarse in his applause : And when, in words of equal size, Some oppositionist replies, And talks of taxes and starvation, And Catholic emancipation,

The Knight, in indolent repose,
Looks only to the ayes and noes.
Let youth say “grand!” Sir Paul says “stuff! '
Let youth take fire !—Sir Paul takes snuff.

Methinks, amid the crowded room,
I see one countenance of gloom ;
Whence is young Edmund's pain or pique ?
Whence is the paleness of his cheek?
And whence the wrathful eye, that now
Lowers, like Kean’s, beneath the brow;
And now again on earth is bent,
"Twixt anger and embarrassment ?
Is he poetical—or sad ?
Really—or fashionably mad ?
Are his young spirits colder grown
At Ellen's—or the Muses' frown?
He did not love in other days
To wear the sullens on his face,
When merry sights and sounds were near;
Nor on his unregarding ear
Unheeded thus was wont to fall
The music of the County Ball.

I pity all whom Fate unites
To vulgar Belles on gala nights ;
But chiefly him who haply sees
The day-star of his destinies-
The Beauty of his fondest dreaming,
Sitting in solitude, and seeming

To lift her dark capricious eye
Beneath its fringe reproachingly.
Alas! my luckless friend is tied
To the fair Hoyden by his side,
Who opens, without law or rule,
The treasures of the Boarding-school:
And she is prating learnedly
Of Logic and of Chemistry,
Describing chart and definition
With geographical precision,
Culling her words, as bid by chance,
From England, Italy, or France,
Until, like many a clever dunce,
She murders all the three at once.
Sometimes she mixes by the ounce
Discussions deep on frill and flounce.
Points out the stains that stick, like burrs,
To ladies' gowns-or characters;
Talks of the fiddles, and the weather,
Of Laura's wreath, and Fannie's feather ;
All which obedient Edmund hears,
With passive look, and open ears,
And understands about as much
As if the lady spoke in Dutch ;
Until, in indignation high,
She finds the youth makes no reply,
And thinks he's grown as deaf a stock
As Dido, -or Marpesian rock.*

Dido-non magis-sermone movetur
Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes.-Virg

Ellen, the lady of his love, Is doom'd the like distress to prove, Chained to a Captain of the Wars, Like Venus by the side of Mars. Hark! Valor talks of conquerid towns, See! silent Beauty frets and frowns; The man of fights is wondering now That girls won't speak when dandies bow ! And Ellen finds, with much surprise, That Beaux vill speak when Belles despise; “ Ma'am,” says the Captain, “I protest I come to ye a stranger guest, Fresh from the dismal, dangerous land, Where men are blinded by the sand, Where undiscover'd things are hid In owl-frequented pyramid, And Mummies, with their silent looks, Appear like memorandum books, Giving a hint of death, for fear We men should be too happy here. But if upon my native land Fair ones as still as Mummies stand, By Jove-I had as lief be there ! » (The lady looks—“I wish you were ;") “I fear I'm very dull to-night”— (The lady looks—“You're very right;") “But if one smile-one cheering ray” – (The lady looks another way ;) “ Alas! from some more happy man ”— (The lady stoops, and bites her fan ;)

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