She finds the youth makes no reply,
And thinks he's grown as deaf a stock
As Dido,--or Marpesian rock.*

Ellen, the lady of his love,

Is doomed the like distress to prove,
Chained to a Captain of the Wars,
Like Venus by the side of Mars.
Hark! Valour talks of conquered 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 will 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 undiscovered 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!”

* Dido-non magis-sermone movetur

Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes.- Virg.

(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 ;)

Flattery, perhaps, is not a crime”(The lady dances out of time.)

'Perhaps e'en now, within your heart, Cruel! you wish us leagues apart,

And banish me from Beauty's presence!"
The lady bows in acquiescence,

With steady brow and studied face,
As if she thought, in such a case,
A contradiction to her Beau
Neither polite-nor apropos.

Unawed by scandal or by sneer,
Is Reuben Nott, the blunderer, here?
What! is he willing to expose
His erring brain to friends and foes?
And does he venturously dare,
Midst grinning fop, and spiteful fair,
In spite of all their ancient slips,
To open those unhappy lips?

Poor Reuben! o'er his infant head
Her choicest bounties Nature shed;

She gave him talent, humour, sense,
A decent face and competence,

And then, to mar the beauteous plan,
She bade him be-an absent man.
Ever offending, ever fretting,

Ever explaining, and forgetting,
He blunders on from day to day,
And drives his nearest friends away.
Do Farces meet with flat damnation?
He's ready with "congratulation."
Are friends in office not quite pure?
He owns "he hates a sinecure.'
Was Major, in foreign strife,
Not over prodigal of life?

He talks about "the coward's grave;"
And "who so base as be a slave ?"
Is some fair cousin made a wife
In the full autumn of her life?

He's sure to shock the youthful bride
With "forty years come Whitsuntide."

He wanders round! I'll act the spy Upon his fatal courtesy,

Which always gives the greatest pain,
Where most it strives to entertain.
"Edward! my boy! an age has passed,
Methinks, since Reuben saw you last;
How fares the Abbey? and the rooks?
Your tenants? and your sister's looks?

Lovely and fascinating still,

With lips that wound, and eyes that kill? When last I saw her dangerous face, There was a lover in the case.

A pretty pair of epaulettes!

But then, there were some ugly debts!
A match? Nay! why so gloomy, boy?
Upon my life I wish 'em joy!"

With arms enfolded o'er his breast, And fingers clinched, and lips compressed, And eye whose every glance appears To speak a threat in Reuben's ears, That youth had heard; 'tis brief and stern The answer that he deigns return; Then silent on his homeward way, Like Ossian's ghosts, he strides away.

Astonished at his indignation,
Reuben breaks out in exclamation:
"Edward! I mean-I really meant-
Upon my word—a compliment;
You look so stern! nay, why is this?
Angry because I flattered Miss?

What! gone? The deuce is in the man!
Explain, Sir Robert, if you can."-

"Eh! what? perhaps you haven't heard!Excuse my laughing!--how absurd!

A slight faux pas !-a trifle-merely!
Ha! ha!-egad, you touched him, nearly."

All blunderers, when they chance to make In colloquy some small mistake,

Make haste to make a hundred more

To mend the one they made before.
'Tis thus with Reuben! through the throng
With hurried steps he hastes along;
Thins, like a pest, the crowded seats,
And runs a muck at all he meets;
Rich in his unintended satire,

And killing where he meant to flatter.
He makes a College Fellow wild
By asking for his wife and child;
Puts a haught Blue in awful passion
By disquisitions on the Fashion;
Refers a knotty case in Whist
To Morley, the Philanthropist;
Quotes to a Sportsman from St. Luke,
Bawls out plain "Bobby" to a Duke;
And while a Barrister invites
Our notice to the Bill of Rights,
And fat Sir John begins to launch
Into the praises of a haunch,
He bids the man of quibbles pause
By eulogizing "Spartan Laws;"
And makes the Epicure quite wroth
By eulogizing "Spartan Broth."