Your titles would be very far from trumps,
To figure in a book of blue and red:

The Duke of Draw-well-what a name to dread!
Marquis of Main-pipe! Earl New-River-Head!
And Temperance's chief, the Prince of Pumps!

ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART.5

"At certain seasons he makes a prodigious clattering with his bill."-SELBY. "The bill is rather long, flat, and tinged with green."-BEWICK.

O ANDREW FAIRSERVICE—but I beg pardon,
You never labored in Di Vernon's garden,
On curly kale and cabbages intent—
Andrew Churchservice was the thing I meant :
You are a Christian-I would be the same,
Although we differ, and I'll tell you why,
Not meaning to make game,

I do not like my Church so very High!

When people talk, as talk they will,

About your bill,

They say, among their other jibes and small jeers,

That, if you had your way,

You'd make the seventh day

As overbearing as the Dey of Algiers.

Talk of converting Blacks—

By your attacks,

You make a thing so horrible of one day,
Each nigger, they will bet a something tidy,
Would rather be a heathenish Man Friday,

Than your Man Sunday !

So poor men speak,

Who, once a week,

Perhaps, after weaving artificial flowers,

Can snatch a glance of Nature's kinder bowers,

And revel in a bloom

That is not of the loom,

Making the earth, the streams, the skies, the trees,

A Chapel of Ease.

Whereas, as you would plan it,

Walled in with hard Scotch granite,

People all day should look to their behaviors;-
But though there be, as Shakspeare owns,

Zounds! would you have us work at them like paviors?

Spontaneous is pure devotion's fire;

And in a green wood many a soul has built

A new Church, with a fir-tree for its spire,

Where Sin has prayed for peace, and wept for guilt,
Better than if an architect the plan drew;
We know of old how medicines were backed,
But true Religion needs not to be quacked
By an Un-merry Andrew!

Suppose a poor town-weary sallow elf
At Primrose-hill would renovate himself,
Or drink (and no great harm)

Milk genuine at Chalk Farm;

The innocent intention who would baulk,
And drive him back into St. Bennet Fink?
For my part, for my life, I cannot think
A walk on Sunday is "the Devil's Walk."

But there's a sect of Deists, and their creed
Is D-ing other people to be d-d ;

Yea, all that are not of their saintly level,
They make a pious point

To send, with an "aroint,"

Down to that great Fillhellenist, the Devil.
To such, a ramble by the River Lea,
Is really treading on the "Banks of D—.”

Go down to Margate, wisest of law-makers,
And
say unto the sea, as Canute did

(Of course the sea will do as it is bid),

"This is the Sabbath-let there be no breakers !"
Seek London's Bishop, on some Sunday morn,
And try him with your tenets to inoculate;
Abuse his fine souchong, and say in scorn,
"This is not Churchman's chocolate !"

Or, seek Dissenters at their mid-day meal,
And read them from your Sabbath Bill some passages,
And while they eat their mutton, beef, and veal,
Shout out with holy zeal-

"These are not Chappel's sausages!"

Suppose your Act should act up to your will,

Yet how will it appear to Mrs. Grundy,

To hear you saying of this pious bill, "It works well-on a Sunday!"

To knock down apple-stalls is now too late,
Except to starve some poor old harmless madam;

You might have done some good, and changed our fate,
Could you have upset that, which ruined Adam!

'Tis useless to prescribe salt-cod and eggs,

Or lay post-horses under legal fetters,
While Tattersall's on Sunday stirs its Legs,
Folks look for good examples from their Betters!

Consider―Acts of Parliament may bind

A man to go where Irvings are discoursing;
But as for forcing "proper frames of mind,"
Minds are not framed, like melons, for such forcing!

Remember, as a Scottish legislator,

The Scotch Kirk always has a Moderator;
Meaning, one need not ever be sojourning
In a long Sermon Lane without a turning.
Such grave old maids as Portia and Zenobia
May like discourses with a skein of threads,
And love a lecture for its many heads;
But as for me, I have the Hydra-phobia.

Religion one should never overdo:
Right glad I am no minister you be,
For you would say your service, sir, to me,
Till I should say, "My service, sir, to you."
Six days made all that is, you know, and then
Came that of rest, by holy ordination,

As if to hint unto the sons of men,

After creation should come re-creation.
Read right this text, and do not further search
To make a Sunday Workhouse of the Church.

ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ., M. P.,6

“Then did they fall upon the chat of drinking; and forthwith began Flaggons to go, Goblets to fly, great Bowls to ting, Glasses to ring, draw, reach, fill, mix, give it me without water; so, my Friend, so; whip me off this Glass neatly, bring me hither some Claret, a full weeping Glass till it run over!"-RABELAIS.

"Now, seeing that every Vessel was empty, great and small, with not so much at the Bottom as would half befuddle or muddle even a Fly, such as are the Flies of Baieux, I say, seeing this lamentable sight, Gargantua leapt up on one of the Tables, and with Tears in his Eyes as big as Cannon Bullets, did pathetically beseech Pantagruel, as well as he could for the Hiccups and the Drinking Cups, and all sorts of Cups, as he valued his precious Body and Soul, one or both, never to drink more than became a reasonable Man, and not a Hog and a Beast. And the Stint of a reasonably reasonable Man is thus much, to wit, seven Thousand three Hundred and fifty-three Hogsheads, twice as many Kilderkins, thrice as many little Kegs, and as many Flaggons, Bottles, and Tankards as you will, beside. A Christian ought not to drink more. As Gargantua said these Words his Voice grew thick, his Tongue being as it were too huge for his Mouth; and on a sudden he turned dog-sick, and fell off the Table a prodigious Fall, whereby there was a horrible Earthquake, from Paris even unto Turkey in Asia, as is remembered unto this day."-RABELAIS.

O, Mr. Buckingham, if I may take
The liberty with you and your Committee,
Some observations I intend to make,

I hope will prove both pertinent and pretty:
On Drunkenness you've held a special court,
But is consistency, I ask, your forte,

When after (I must say) much Temperance swaggering,
You issue a Report

That's staggering!

Of course you labored without drop or sup,
Yet certain parts of that Report to read,
Some men might think indeed,

A corkscrew, not a pen, had drawn it up.