AN EXPOSITION TO LORD KING.

Quem das finem, Rex magne, laborum?-VIRGIL.

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,'
When you know, if one has n't a very high rental,

'Tis hardly worth while being very high born!

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life,

THE SINKING FUND CRIED.

Now what, we ask, is become of this Sinking Fund-these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually? Where, indeed, is the Sinking Fund itself?-The Times of Feb. 1.

TAKE your bell, take your bell, Good Crier, and tell

A question-like asking one, «How is your wife?»>
At once so confounded domestic and foreign.

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast,
But Peers, and such animals fed up for show
(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceased),

Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know.

You might see, my dear Baron, how bored and distrest Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale, When the force of the agony wrung ev'n a jest

From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord Lauderdale!

That, lost or stolen,

Or fall'n through a hole in

The Treasury floor, is the Sinking Fund!

When Frederick and Jenky sat, hob-nobbing,' And said to each other,

joking!

That weavers, once rescued from starving by Lords,
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever after.

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians
Made « Bread and the Circus» a cure for each row;
But not so the plan of our noble physicians,

«No Bread and the Tread-mill 's» the regimen now.

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose,
As I shall my poetry-neither convinces;
And all we have spoken and written but shows,
When you tread on a nobleman's corn, how he
winces!

See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1, 1826, when Lord King was severely reproved by several of the noble peers for making so many speeches against the Corn Laws.

This noble Earl said, that when he heard the petition came from ladies' boot and shoe-makers, he thought it must be against the corns which they inflicted on the fair sex..

The Duke of Athol said, that at a former period, when these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of Perth bad supported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for these very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them."

* An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s joke.

Suppose, dear brother,

Behold, in his best shooting jacket, before thee,

An eoquent Squire who most humbly beseeches, Great Queen of Mark-ane if the thing does n't bore thee,,

And, as for myself who se Like Hanniba", sworn To hate the whole crew who would take car ress from us,

Had England but one to stand by thee. Dear Corn, That last honest Uni-corn would be Sir Thomas

Come, Horton, with thy plan so merry,
For peopling Canada from Kerry—

Not so much rendering Ireland quiet,
As grafting on the dull Canadians
That liveliest of earth's contagions,
The bull-pock of Hibernian riot!
Come all, in short, ye wond'rous men
Of wit and wisdom, come again;

Though short your absence, all deplore it

Oh, come and show, whate'er men say,
That you can, after April-Day,

Be just as-sapient as before it.

«I,» said the Bank, «< though he play'd me a prank,
While I have a rag poor Rob shall be roll'd in 't;
With many a pound I'll paper him round,
Like a plump rouleau-without the gold in 't.»

ALL IN THE FAMILY WAY,

A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD.

MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK.

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826.

THE Budget-quite charming and witty-no hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it;

Great comfort to find, though the Speech is n't cheering, That all its gay auditors were, every minute.

What, still more prosperity!-mercy upon us,

<< This boy 'll be the death of me »-oft as, already, Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us, For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy.

TUESDAY.

Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers,

Lest-calling to life the old Peachums and LockittsThe large stock of gold we 're to have in three years, Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets!1

WEDNESDAY,

Little doing-for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art
To the seven o'clock joys of full many a table,-
When the Members all meet, to make much of that part,
With which they so rashly fell out, in the Fable.

It appear'd, though, to-night, that-as churchwardens, yearly,

Eat up a small baby-those cormorant sinners, The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very nearly

A moderate-sized bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners! 2

Nota bene-a rumour to-day, in the city,
« Mr Robinson just has resign'd,»-what a pity!
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing,
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin,
While thus, to the nursery-tune, so pretty,
A murmuring Stock-dove breathed her ditty :-

Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long

And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow; But his note was small, and the gold-finch's song Was a pitch too high for Poor Robin to go. Who 'll make his shroud?

Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it produced a greater number of highway robberies.-Debate in the Lords. Mr Abercromby's statement of the enormous tavern bill of the Commissioners of Bankrupts.

(Sung in the character of Britannia.)

The Public Debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and resolves itself into a Family Account.-Sir Robert Peel's Leuer.

TUNE-My banks are all furnish'd with bees.
My banks are all furnish'd with rags,
So thick-even Freddy can't thin 'em:
I've torn up my old money-bags,

Having little, or nought, to put in 'em.
My tradesmen are smashing 'by dozens,
But this is all nothing, they say;
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins,-
So it's all in the family way.

My Debt not a penny takes from me,
As sages the matter explain;-
Bob owes it to Tom, and then Tommy
Just owes it to Bob back again.
Since all have thus taken to owing,

There's nobody left that can pay ;
And this is the way to keep going,

All quite in the family way.

My senators vote away millions,

To put in Prosperity's budget;
And though it were billions or trillions,
The generous rogues would n't grudge it.

"T is all but a family hop,

"T was Pitt began dancing the hay;

Hands round-why the deuce should we stop? 'T is all in the family way.

My labourers used to eat mutton,

As any great man of the state does;
And now the poor devils are put on

Small rations of tea and potatoes.
But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddy,
The King is your father, they say:
So, ev'n if you starve for your daddy,
'Tis all in the family way.

My rich manufacturers tumble,

My poor ones have nothing to chew; And, ev'n if themselves do not grumble, Their stomachs undoubtedly do. But coolly to fast en famille

Is as good for the soul as to pray; And famine itself is genteel,

When one starves in a family way.

I have found out a secret for Freddy,
A secret for next Budget-day;
Though, perhaps, he may know it already,
As he, too, 's a sage
in his way.

When next for the Treasury scene he

Announces « the Devil to pay,» Let him write on the bills-« Nota-bene, 'T is all in the family way.»

BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE ELECTION.

I authorized my Committee to take the step which they did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understanding that whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest, should give way to the other.-Extract from Mr W. J. Bankes's Letter to Mr Goulburn.

BANKES is weak, and Goulburn too,

No one e'er the fact denied ;Which is « weakest» of the two

Cambridge can alone decide. Chuse between them, Cambridge, pray, Which is weakest, Cambridge say.

Goulburn of the Pope afraid is,

Bankes, as much afraid as he;

Never yet did two old ladies

On this point so well agree.

Chuse between them, Cambridge, pray, Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.

Each a different mode pursues,

Each the same conclusion reaches; Bankes is foolish in Reviews,

Goulburn, foolish in his speeches. Chuse between them, Cambridge, pray. Which is weakest, Cambridge say.

To bring thus to light, not the wisdom alone

Of our ancestors, such as we find it on shelves,
But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown,
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves!
Oh thaw Mr Dodsworth, and send him safe home,-
Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way;
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him come,
And our Tories will hail him with «Hear» and «Hurra'»

What a God-send to them!-a good, obsolete man,
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader;-
Oh thaw Mr Dodsworth as fast as you can,
And the Lonsdales and Hertfords shall chuse him for
leader.

Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their Chosen;
And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men,
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen,
So alter'd, thou hardly wilt know it again.

And Eldon will weep o'er cach sad innovation
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he
Has been also laid up in a long congelation,
And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee.

COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DISPATCH,

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MAJESTY.

St James'-street, July 1, 1826.

GREAT Sir, having just had the good luck to catch
An official young Demon, preparing to go,
Ready booted and spurr'd, with a black-leg despatch,
From the Hell here, at Crockford's, to our Hell below-
I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic,
Το
say that, first having obey'd your directions,
And done all the mischief I could in « the Panic,»
My next special care was to help the Elections.
Well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul,
When every good Christian tormented his brother,
And caused, in thy realm, such a saving of coal,
From coming down, all ready grill'd by each other!
Rememb'ring, besides, how it pain'd thee to part
With the old Penal Code,-that chef-d'œuvre of law,
In which (though to own it too modest thou art)
We could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy claw;

I thought, as we ne'er can those good times revive
(Though Eldon, with help from your Highness, would
try),

T would still keep a taste for Hell's music alive,
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Popery cry;-

That yell which, when chorus'd by laics and clerics,
So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone,
That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics,
To think that Religion should make it her own.
So, having sent down for the original notes
Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir,

With a few pints of laya, to gargle the throats
Of myself and some others, who sing it «< with fire,»>
Thought I, if the Marseillois Hymn could command
Such audience, though yell'd by a Sans-culotte crew,
What wonders shall we do, who 've men in our band,
That not only wear breeches, but petticoats too.>>

Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, your
Highness,

I'm forced to confess-be the cause what it will, Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shyness,Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill.

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key,
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various;
And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee

At the York music-meeting, now think it precarious.

Thanks, thanks for the hope thou hast given, that we

May, even in our own times, a jubilee share, Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee, And so often postponed, we began to despair.

There was Whiston,' who learnedly took Prince Eugene
For the man who must bring the Millennium about;
There 's Faber, whose pious productions have been
All belied, ere his book's first edition was out;-

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P.,
Who discoursed on the subject with signal éclat,
And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see
A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh!2
There was also-but why should I burden my lay
With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less
deserving,

To the last new Millennium of Orator Irving?

Go on, mighty man,-doom them all to the shelfAnd, when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy sconce,

Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself
Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at once!

THE THREE DOCTORS.

Doctoribus lætamur tribus.

DEVIL.

THE MILLENNIUM.

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR
IRVING ON PROPHECY.»

A MILLENNIUM at hand!-I'm delighted to hear it-
As matters, both public and private, now go,
With multitudes round us all starving, or near it,
A good rich Millennium will come à propos.

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold,
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags,

A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold,

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags

A city, where wine and cheap corn 3 shall abound,-
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves
We may swear the best things of this world will be found,
As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves!

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian,4
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach
Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision
Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each;-

1 Con fuoco-a music-book direction.

THOUGH many great Doctors there be,
There are three that all Doctors out-top,-

Dr Eady, that famous M. D.

Dr Southey, and dear Doctor Slop.

The purger-the proser-the bard-
All quacks in a different style;
Dr Southey writes books by the yard,
Dr Eady writes puffs by the mile;

Dr Slop, in no merit outdone

By his scribbling or physicking brother, Can dose us with stuff like the one, Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other.

Dr Eady good company keeps

With « No Popery» scribes on the walls; Dr Southey as gloriously sleeps With No Popery» scribes, on the stalls.

Dr Slop, upon subjects divine,

Such bedlamite slaver lets drop,

That, if Eady should take the mad line, He'll be sure of a patient in Slop.

2 Mr Dobbs was a Member of the Irish Parliament, and, on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible person: he chose Armagh as the scene of his Millennium, on account of the name Armageddon, mentioned in Revelations,