* * * * *
The Whigs must go: to reign instead
The Tories will be call’d;
The Whigs should ne’er be at the head—
Dear me, I’m getting bald!
The Whigs! they pass’d that Poor
That’s true, beyond a doubt;
The poor they’ve treated very ill—
There, kick that beggar out!
The Whigs about the sugar prate!
They do not care one dump
About the blacks and their sad state—
Just please to pass the lump!
Those niggers, for their sufferings here,
Will angels be when dying;
Have wings, and flit above us—dear—
Why, how those blacks are flying!
The Whigs are in a state forlorn;
In fact, were ne’er so low:
They make a fuss about the corn—
My love, you’re on my toe!
The Whigs the timber duty say
They will bring down a peg;
More wooden-pated blockheads they!
Fetch me my wooden leg!
* * * * *
Deaf Burke took an airing yesterday afternoon in an open cart. He was accompanied by Jerry Donovan. They afterwards stood up out of the rain under the piazzas in Covent Garden. In the evening they walked through the slops.
The dinner at the Harp, yesterday, was composed of many delicacies of the season, including bread-and-cheese and onions. The hilarity of the evening was highly increased by the admirable style in which Signor Jonesi sang “Nix my dolly pals.”
Despatches yesterday arrived at the house of Reuben Martin, enclosing a post order for three-and six-pence.
The Signor and Deaf Burke walked out at five o’clock. They after wards tossed for a pint of half-and-half.
Jerry Donovan and Bill Paul were seen in close conversation yesterday. It is rumoured that the former is in treaty with the latter for a pair of left-off six-and-eightpenny Clarences.
Paddy Green intends shortly to remove to a three-pair back-room in Little Wild-street, Drury-lane, which he has taken for the summer. His loss will be much felt in the neighbourhood.
* * * * *
AN AN-TEA ANACREONTIC.—No. 2.
Rundell! pride of Ludgate Hill!
I would task thine utmost skill;
I would have a bowl from thee
Fit to hold my Howqua tea.
And oh! leave it not without
Ivory handle and a spout.
Where thy curious hand must trace
Father Mathew’s temperate face,
So that he may ever seem
Spouting tea and breathing steam.
On its sides do not display
Fawns and laughing nymphs at play
But portray, instead of these,
Funny groups of fat Chinese:
On its lid a mandarin,
Modelled to resemble Lin.
When completed, artisan,
I will pay you—if I can.