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Beware, beware! Jest raptur'd Muse
Should Bartle for her husband choose;
The loving pair together fly,
With billing, cooing, vow, and sigh;
He, riding on the airy wind,
She, on a pillion snug behind.
To Idle Authors deal we praise
And be they idle all their days!
Pray we the gods, such idle be,
As Jermyn, Rice, and Bouverie!
And prithee what has bright Ambition
To do with Bouverie's condition ?
His proudest wishes dare not soar
Beyond a dozen or a score ;
And, truth, say creditable men,
His readers are but nine or ten.

“O never soil thy sterling worth,
Bartle most dear, with · Pride of Birth ;'
With half an eye we see, and know
Thy parents were but poor and low.

“ Let truant Rice nocturnal stray By sylvan dell and old Abbaye ; Let Quincy live by Freedom's laws, And die a martyr to her cause ; For strawberries' and melon's fate, Let Fred, the Speaker, legislate ; Let Phil, the Classic, pine away O'er Chorus, Particle, and Play ; Let Jermyn dance, till scaree he feels, If topmost be his head or heels; And sapient Heaviside descry Th' impending storms of Popery ; Do thou, arch-scribbler, swiftly come To darkling Pandæmonium ; And struggle on, thyself to save From Lethe’s dim and murky wave ; Though bankrupt, still, or soon or late, Thou'lt pay une debt--the debt of Fate."

He spoke the doom; the audience cry, Away, away with Bouverie ;

"And urchins toss their caps, and shout
In triumph o'er the hapless lout.

• The best fall first,'* the ancients said ;
His brains, who spoke it, were of lead;
The test of time proclaims, the worst
Shall fall into oblivion first,
Then soon, for he's the worst of all,
Shall vainly-struggling Bartle fall ;
And lest he seek Lethæan strand,
Ere our epistle' come to hand,
J, Mordax, his most faithful friend,
Here bring my labours to an end.

MORDAX.

THE DEATH OF RICHARD COEUR DE LION

Writhing with pain, those pangs too proud to show,
Cursing the vengeful hand that gave the blow;
His eye-balls gleaming with tempestuous fire,
Mute, but expressive symbols of his ire ;
By Death unalter'd, by Despair unbent,
Richard expiring lay beneath his tent.
Let him,” he cried, " who sought this life, draw nigh,
And view at once his king and victim die.
“ Bertram de Gourdon nam’d, whose trait'rous dart
“Hath pierc'd, and e'en may quench, this · Lion Heart."
To God, who knows what motive wing'd the steel,
“ Alone for pardon must the wretch appeal ;
“ But ne'er can I his dark designs forgive,
“ He must not hope, he must not sue to live."

her came

In fetters bound the noble archer came,
His brow bespoke no fear, nor sense of shame ;
A frown sat there, which seem'd at once to brave
The death, the tortures, he so lately gave ;

Optima prima ferè manibus rapiuntur avaris World EW

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His step was firm, his eye, that told of woe,
With glance repaid the glances of his foe.
“ Seek'st thou," he said, my reason for the deed,

By which thou bleed'st, and I perchance may bleed ?
“ Ask thiné own conscience-who but thou hast torn
(Ought else without a murmur I had borne !)
Torn from me all I lov'd, or valued most!
“My sire, my brothers twain--for ever lost?
Their shades for vengeance calld, nor call’d'unheard,
T'avenge their death, my own have I incurr'd;
“ With fatal aim the fatal arrow flewer

“ Its reeking barb with thy best blood t'imbue" ; 717266And whilst it quiver'd rankling in thy breast,

My sire's, my brother's wrongs, and mine, redress'd.
“ Think not that I your-royal mercy crave,
“ Think not I dread the dungeon or the grave;

What though I stoop to justify the deed,
“What though for
It is not fear—it is, that all may know,
“ Not unprovok'd, 1 laid my monarch low.
Now, tyrant, do thy worst-I stand prepar'd;
“Torture, or chains, or death, are nought compar'd
“To that delight, that feeling of content,
“Which to this breast revenge appeas'd hath lent ;

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“ Glad to have honour'd him who gave me birth,
« Glad to have swept a tyrant from the earth.”

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He ceas'd; the monarch heard, and felt, and sigh’d,
Forgave his murd'rer, and, forgiving, died.

I of plead,

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It was in the reign of Philip le Hardi, immediately after the death of his son by his former wife, that the whole of Paris seemed in motion, and the eye

of

every-man was fixed

upon his neighbour with a wild and penetrating anxiety of expression, and the voices of thousands . arose with a hoarse and rustling murmur, as if the whole city were engaged in the discussion of some deed of mystery and horror; every countenance wore an expression of curiosity and deep interest, checked by a timid caution, from the uncertainty and dangers of the report which, either insinuated by some emissary of Pierre de la Brosse, the artful and unprincipled minister of Philip, or perhaps casually dropped by some more indifferent person, had circulated-like wild-fire among a populace ardently attached to the young Dauphin, and burning with a desire to be revenged upon his murderers (for that he was murdered seemed certain), that the young Queen herself, the beautiful Marie de Brabant, had been guilty of the murder of her step-son, in order to remove the barrier between her own infant and the throne of France. But all seemed doubt and conjecture, so suddenly indeed had the illness of the young prince been followed by the annunciation of his death, that the people of France were not yet sufficiently recovered from the horror which had seized them at the moment of his dissolution. They could hardly yet believe, that the prince, whom but a few short hours before they had themselves seen a living and a breathing man in all the glow of youthful spiritand knightly enterprise, the young, the brave, and the generous, the love of ladies and the theme of song, had so suddenly fallen a victim to some savage and cold blooded assassin, who, intent on some scheme of self-interest, or self-aggrandizement, had not scrupled to destroy the hopes of France in the person of its future sovereign, But the shaft of calumny had been skilfully launched,

and the public mind, when stretched to a painful degree of tension by the sense of its bereavement, had been seized upon by the minister with great art, and diverted to the advancement of his wishes. He had from the first objected to the marriage of his master with the princess Marie from the consciousness, that if the young queen obtained any very strong hold on the affections of her husband, his own influence must be essentially diminished. This, however, he had failed to prevent, and the increase of the young queen's power hav- , ing, as he expected, been attended by the gradual diminution of his own influence, his dark and ambitious spirit was continually employed in endeavouring to devise some means by which he could overthrow his unconscious rival; therefore, having artfully caused it to be insinuated that she was guilty of the death of the Dauphin, whom he himself had privately poisoned, he had entangled her in a net from which she, utterly unconscious of the storm that was brewing against her, would find it difficult, if not impossible, to escape. To do him justice, even his dark spirit had at first recoiled in horror from the means which offered themselves for the completion of his project. He loved his young master much, but he loved power more; and after long and severe struggles, his crafty spirit had decided upon sacrificing his affection and the hopes of his country to his resentment and his ambition, Cruel, indeed, musthehave been, who could bear that such a spirit should be quenched, that the light of that soul, which had served to rekindle the drooping energies, and reanimato the courage of his subjects, like a beacon on the hill-top, should be ingloriously extinguished, that his own base

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