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Grave judges there and jokers,
With actors and stockbrokers,
Professor of art fistic,
With poet wild and mystic-
O’er downs to madly scamper,
Without a care to hamper'Tis just the thing to do you good I think you'll
As off you're swiftly rushing-
With Amazons fast going,
Such tangled tresses flowing,
As humble riding master,
Then frequently there passes
of school lasses, So full of buoyant spirits and of gladsome girlish
hatter At fair London-by-the-Sea.
Some take a modest tiffin,
At Streeter's or at Mainwaring's, but that will
not suit me;
But love a lunch with Mutton-
The flys are slow and mouldy,
As ev'ry one has told ye, Its shrimps by far the finest you could ever wish
Its shops are rare and splendid,
Till money's all expended
If spirits you would lighten
Consult good Doctor Brighton,
His physic soon is taken-
J. ASHBY STERRY.
FROM THE HON. HENRY TO LADY
Paris, March 30, 1832.
farewell; And the truth is,—as truth you will have, my
There are two worthy persons I always feel loth To take leave of at starting,—my mistress and
tailor, As somehow one always has scenes with them
both: The Snip in ill-humour, the Siren in tears,
She calling on Heaven, and he on th' attorney,Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his
dears, A young gentleman risks being stopp'd in his
journey: But to come to the point,—tho' you think, I daresay, That 'tis debt or the cholera drives me away, 'Pon honour you're wrong;—such a mere bagatelle
As a pestilence, nobody, now-a-days, fears: And the fact is, my love, I'm thus bolting, pell
mell, To get out of the way of these horrid new Peers; This deluge of coronets, frightful to think of, Which England is now, for her sins, on the brink of, This coinage of nobles,-coin'd, all of them, badly, And sure to bring Counts to a discount most sadly.
Only think, to have Lords overrunning the nation,
The prospect's quite frightful, and what Sir George
Rose (My particular friend) says is perfectly true, That so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's And Sir George even doubts,-could he choose
his disorder,– 'Twixt coffin and coronet, which he would order.
This being the case, why, I thought, my dear
Emma, 'Twere best to fight shy of so curst a dilemma; And tho' I confess myself somewhat a villain
To 've left idol mio without an addio, Console your sweet heart, and, a week hence, from
Milan I'll send you—some news of Bellini's last trio.
N.B. Have just pack'd up my travelling set-out,
shop, Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might
chap. Small presents for ladies, -and nothing so wheedles The creatures abroad as your golden-eyed needles. A neat pocket Horace, by which folks are cozen'd, To think one knows Latin, when—one, perhaps,
With some little book about heathen mythology,
AN INVITATION TO ROME.
EAR Exile, I was proud to get
Your rhyme, I've laid it up in
You know that you are all to “Pet,”She fear'd that she was quite forgotten! Mamma, who scolds me when I
mope, Insists, and she is wise as gentle, That I am still in love! I hope That you
feel rather sentimental! Perhaps you think your Love forlore
Should pine unless her slave be with her ; Of course you're fond of Rome, and more
Of course you'd like to coax me thither! Che! quit this dear delightful maze
Of calls and balls, to be intensely Discomfited in fifty ways
I like your confidence, immensely! Some girls who love to ride and race,
And live for dancing, like the Bruens, Confess that Rome's a charming place
In spite of all the stupid ruins ! I think it might be sweet to pitch
One's tent beside those banks of Tiber, And all that sort of thing, of which
Dear Hawthorne’s “quite” the best describer. To see stone pines and marble gods
In garden alleys red with roses ;The Perch where Pio Nono nods ;
The Church where Raphael reposes.