But, lork! it's many folks' belief they're only good at prosing,
For Catnach swears he never saw a verse of their composing;
And when a piece of poetry has stood its public trials,

If pop'lar, it gets printed off at once in Seven Dials,
And then about all sorts of streets, by every little monkey,
It's chanted like the "Dog's Meat Man," or "If I had a
Donkey."

Whereas, as Mr. Catnach says, and not a bad judge neither,
No ballad worth a ha'penny has ever come from either,
And him as writ "Jim Crow," he says, and got such lots
of dollars,

Would make a better Chairman for the Glorious Apollers.
Howsomever that's the meaning of the squabble that arouses
This neighborhood, and quite disturbs all decent Heads of
Houses,

Who want to have their dinners and their parties, as is reason,
In Christian peace and charity according to the season.
But from Number Thirty-Nine, since this electioneering job,
Ay, as far as Number Ninety, there's an everlasting mob;
Till the thing is quite a nuisance, for no creature passes by,
But he gets a card, a pamphlet, or a summut in his eye;
And a pretty noise there is! - what with canvassers and
spouters,

For in course each side is furnished with its backers and its

touters;

And surely among the Clergy to such pitches it is carried, You can hardly find a Parson to get buried or get married; Or supposing any accident that suddenly alarms,

If you 're dying for a surgeon, you must fetch him from the

“Arms : 29

While the Schoolmasters and Tooters are neglecting of their scholars,

To write about a Chairman for the Glorious Appollers.

Well, that, sir, is the racket; and the more the sin and shame Of them that help to stir it up, and propagate the same; Instead of vocal ditties, and the social flowing cup,—

But they'll be the House's ruin, or the shutting of it up,With their riots and their hubbubs, like a garden full of bears, While they've damaged many articles and broken lots of

squares,

And kept their noble Club Room in a perfect dust and smother,

By throwing Morning Heralds, Times, and Standards at each other;

Not to name the ugly language Gemmen ought n't to repeat, And the names they call each other - for I've heard 'em

in the street

Such as Traitors, Guys, and Judases, and Vipers, and what

not,

For Pasley and his divers an't so blowing-up a lot.
And then such awful swearing!

that cusses

- for there's one of them

Enough to shock the cads that hang on opposition 'busses;
For he cusses every member that 's agin him at the poll,
As I would n't cuss a donkey, though it has n't got a soul;
And he cusses all their families, Jack, Harry, Bob, or Jim,
To the babby in the cradle, if they don't agree with him.
Whereby, although as yet they have not took to use their fives,
Or, according as the fashion is, to sticking with their knives,
I'm bound there'll be some milling yet, and shakings by
the collars,

Afore they choose a Chairman for the Glorious Apollers!

To be sure, it is a pity to be blowing such a squall,
Instead of clouds, and every man his song, and then his call—
And as if there was n't Whigs enough and Tories to fall out,
Besides politics in plenty for our splits to be about -

Why, a corn-field is sufficient, sir, as anybody knows,
For to furnish them in plenty who are fond of picking crows-
Not to name the Maynooth Catholics, and other Irish stews,
To agitate society and loosen all its screws;

And which all may be agreeable and proper to their spheres,—
But it's not the thing for musicals to set us by the ears.
And as to College larning, my opinion for to broach,
And I've had it from my cousin, and he driv a college coach,
And so knows the University, and all as there belongs,
And he says that Oxford's famouser for sausages than songs,
And seldom turns a poet out like Hudson that can chant,
As well as make such ditties as the Free and Easies want,
Or other Tavern Melodists I can't just call to mind-
But it's not the classic system for to propagate the kind.
Whereby it so may happen as that neither of them Scholars
May be the proper Chairman for the Glorious Apollers.
For my part in the matter, if so be I had a voice,
It's the best among the vocalists I'd honor with the choice;
Or a poet as could furnish a new Ballad to the bunch;
Or, at any rate, the surest hand at mixing of the punch;
'Cause why, the members meet for that and other tuneful
frolics

And not to say, like Muffincaps, their Catichiz and Collec's.
But you see them there Initerants that preach so long and loud,
And always take advantage like the prigs of any crowd,
Have brought their jangling voices, and as far as they can
compass,

Have turned a tavern shindy to a seriouser rumpus, And him as knows most hymns—although I can't see how it follers

They want to be the Chairman of the Glorious Appollers! Well, that's the row-and who can guess the upshot after all? Whether Harmony will ever make the "Arms" her House of call,

Or whether this here mobbing—as some longish heads fore

tell it,

Will
grow to such a riot that the Oxford Blues must quell it,
Howsomever, for the present, there's no sign of any peace,
For the hubbub keeps a growing, and defies the New Police;
But if I was in the Vestry, and a leading sort of Man,
Or a Member of the Vocals, to get backers for my plan,
Why, I'd settle all the squabble in the twinkle of a needle,
For I'd have another candidate and that's the Parish

Beadle,

Who makes such lots of Poetry, himself, or else by proxy, And no one never has no doubts about his orthodoxy; Whereby - if folks was wise - instead of either of them Scholars,

And straining their own lungs along of contradictious hollers, They'll lend their ears to reason, and take my advice as follers, Namely-Bumble for the Chairman of the Glorious Apollers!

ETCHING MORALIZED.

TO A NOBLE LADY.

"To point a moral." - JOHNSON.

FAIREST Lady and Noble, for once on a time,
Condescend to accept, in the humblest of rhyme,
And a style more of Gay than of Milton,
A few opportune verses designed to impart
Some didactical hints in a Needlework Art,

Not described by the Countess of Wilton.
An Art not unknown to the delicate hand
Of the fairest and first in this insular land,
But in Patronage Royal delighting;

And which now your own feminine fantasy wins,
Though it scarce seems a lady-like work that begins
In a scratching and ends in a biting!

Yet, O! that the dames of the Scandalous School
Would but use the same acid, and sharp-pointed tool,
That are plied in the said operations—

O! would that our Candors on copper would sketch!
For the first of all things in beginning to etch

Are good grounds for our representations.
Those protective and delicate coatings of wax,
Which are meant to resist the corrosive attacks
That would ruin the copper completely;
Thin cerements which whoso remembers the Bee
So applauded by Watts, the divine L.L.D.,
Will be careful to spread very neatly.

For why? like some intricate deed of the law,
Should the ground in the process be left with a flaw,
Aquafortis is far from a joker;

And attacking the part that no coating protects
Will turn out as distressing to all your effects
As a landlord who puts in a broker.

Then carefully spread the conservative stuff,
Until all the bright metal is covered enough
To repel a destructive so active;

For in Etching, as well as in Morals, pray note
That a little raw spot, or a hole in a coat,

Your ascetics find vastly attractive.

Thus the ground being laid, very even and flat,
And then smoked with a taper, till black as a hat,
Still from future disasters to screen it,

Just allow me, by way of precaution, to state,

You must hinder the footman from changing your plate, Nor yet suffer the butler to clean it.

Nay, the housemaid, perchance, in her passion to scrub, May suppose the dull metal in want of a rub,