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VICTORY OF PETERLOO.
A MONUMENT is proposed to be erected in commemoration of the achievements of the MANCHESTER YEOMANRY CAVALRY, on the 16th August, 1819, against THE MANCHESTER, MEETING of Petitioners for Redress of Wrongs and Grievances, and Reform in Parliament. It has been called a battle, but erroneously; for, the multitude was unarmed, and made no resistance to the heroes armed; there was no contest—it was a victory; and has accordingly been celebrated in triumph. This event, more important in its consequences than the Battle of Waterloo, will be recorded on the monument, by simply stating the names of the officers and privates successfully engaged, on the one side; and on the other, the names of the persons killed, and of the six hundred maimed and wounded in the attack and pursuit; also the names of the captured, who are still prisoners in His Majesty's goals; with the letter of thanks, addressed to the victors, by His Majesty's Command.
It is further proposed, that Meagher's Trumpet shall be melted down, and that the brass shall be carefully applied to the purpose of multiplying an appropriate design to be distributed among the warriors who distinguished themselves on the occasion, and to be worn by each as a PETERLOO MEDAL.
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SOVEREIGNS are now going. BALANCES properly adjusted, to distinguish a good from a bad one, may be had of Common Sense, who will speedily wait on every individual.
TO STUDENTS AT LAW AND PROFESSIONAL GENTLEMEN.
Shortly will be published, No. I., price 6d. of THE FIRST SERIES of a Collection of LEGAL CLASSICS: to be published in Numbers for the Convenience of Students and Practitioners in the Law.—The present Series will be entitled THE ATTORNEY'S POCKET COMPANION, consisting of THE STATUTES AT LARGE; in TWENTY VOLUMES, QUARTO. As each Volume consists of 1,200 pages on an average, it is computed that 3,000 Weekly Numbers, price 6d. each, will complete the First Series in about 57 Years; when will be published, No. I. of the Second Series, commencing with the Statutes of the now next Session, to be also continued until completed. The Student will thus be enabled to supply himself, by degrees, with the complete Code of the Statute Law of his Country to qualify him for the Rolls of the Court, or the Bar. The Contents of the third and subsequent Series will be announced on the completion of the second Series.
Lately published, with Crimson backs,
IRISH MELODIES; or, The LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES.
By the Author of THE BLOODY SHAMROCK, a Tale of Horror of the last Century.
"Full of strange feats and modern instances."
IF BOB STEWART, an Irishman who jobbed at the Castle, in Dublin, and worked in the Yard, will apply to Mr. John Ketch, at the New Drop, in the Old Bailey, London, he will hear of something to his advantage.
THE NATIVES OF IRELAND, desirous of being present at an ENTERTAINMENT where DERRY DOWN TRIANGLE will preside, are informed, that there will be NO WHIPS after dinner, and are requested to signify their desire to Mr. MUDFORD, Editor of the Courier, (and late Editor of the Scourge), at the Courier Office.
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IMPROMPTU,
On hearing that the M— of L—
PRESSED to death.
Underneath this PRESS doth lie As much blarney as could die, Which, when alive, did varnish give To as much knavery as could live.
THE QUEEN'S DEATH
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This Dagger my sceptre, and Persecution my crown!'
King Henry IV.
[NOTE.—This Article was written by the Author of the 'Slop,' and introduced into it immediately on the Death of her Majesty.]
Her Majesty died by the dagger of Persecution. Her Persecutors, unable to conceal the fact that she has been hurried to her Grave, hypocritically whine over "the wounds themselves have made," and, like the flying felon, who, to elude his pursuers, cries "Stop thief!" they huddle up their knives, and charge her friends and advisers with being her destroyers! "Kissing the gashes that bloodily do yawn upon their faces," they call her defenders and protectors "a faction" and charge this faction with being her assassins! Execrable villains! Was it this "faction" brought her from Germany? Was she married by this "faction?" Were her conjugal rights denied her by this "faction?" Was she deserted and licensed to her "inclinations" by this "faction?" Was she spied upon by this "faction?" Was her character impeached by this "faction:" Was the late King's friendship for her at that period caused by a "faction?" Was her child torn from her by a "faction?" Was she tricked out of the country by a "faction:" Was her name omitted upon her daughter's coffin by a "faction?" Was the "honourable" Milan Commission issued by the "faction?" Was the horde of miscreants who vomited forth their disgusting and obscene perjuries against her—were these collected by this "faction?" Was her Trial in the House of Lords, amid the gibes and jests, and scoffs and sneers, and the taunt of Ferocity—was this the act of "faction?" Was the spiritual and temporal refusal to place her name in the Liturgy the act of this "faction?" Was the refusal to crown her, or to assign her a place in the ceremonial of her husband's Coronation, or to permit her presence to witness it, or her expulsion from the doors, or the rancorous insults she sustained that day, were these from the "faction?" NO! When the bribe and the threat availed not, and she came to England in the courage of her noble heart, and the full majesty of innocence—when the enraged host gathered for her desolation hurtled from the high places as a whirlwind, the People, seeing that in her person the Principles of Humanity and the Constitution were invaded., reflecting on her sufferings and their own, and aroused by a sense of duty and of danger, united for her preservation. Animated by the Justice of their cause, and headed by the Press, they read a moral lesson to her deadly persecutors, at which they turned pale, and from which they shrunk back in dismay! The archers shot her sorely, but the People saved her from swift destruction. This offence was never to be forgiven. They who had elevated the Queen above the craft of Priestianity and the cruelty of Court Selfishness, were more exposed to attack than her whom they had preserved. Her enemies rallied to assail her friends. If we seek the names of the assailants from among the Members of the Bridge-Street Gang, a formidable list might be selected. There we should find the slanderous Blacow, and at the head of the muster-roil might be placed Slop. This "wretch" and his Gang, commenced Prosecutions against the humblest of the Queen's friends, while the hireling presses foamed into a settled Persecution against her and them. The Slop-pail frothed up its malignant spume; official poison Croked forth from the Courier; the organ of the Fashionable World discharged his filthy ribaldry; and the assaults of a band of obscene wretches, Sunday after Sunday, were defended and aided by the prostituted pen of Slop. In violation of the sanctity which even savages attach to the chambers of death, some of the heartless fiends who dogged her through life, and hurried her "to the house appointed far all living," pursue their remorseless warfare beyond the grave. Others (following the example of their abettors, who, in mockery of death itself, put the signs of mourning upon the outsides of their houses, while they chuckle with joy within), now that they have consummated their crime, make a merit of not preying upon her dead body! Her frame, too weak to bear their blows upon her heart, surrendered its mighty spirit into the hands of Him who gave it, and her murderers exclaim, "Well! she is gone—at last; let us bury all animosities with her!" BRUTAL TAUNT! They hoisted the black flag of unrelenting and deadly hate against her as long as she lived—they have exterminated her, and they hang out a white one, crying Peace! Peace! where there is no Peace! They have floated themselves to the favour of their employers in her blood, and the guilty villains, retreating to their den to celebrate their horrible triumph, pray us not to disturb their secret orgies with our clamours!
It is said, that only a few hours before she ceased to breathe, she spoke of the modes her savage adversaries had successfully put in practice, of separating worthy people from her society: one of which was, to deter them from visiting her, by propagating the most atrocious calumnies against her, and them. Never was human being attacked with more malignant ferocity by the Furies of the Press, than this noble-minded and innocent lady—never will they perpetrate a fouler Murder! Instruments of cruelty are in their habitations. O, my soul! come not thou into their secret!
Her dying declaration, "THEY HAVE DESTROYED ME!" will be remembered long after her destroyers. Her blood is on their heads. They allowed her no peace on earth. Now—she hears not the voice of the oppressor—she is where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.
In fixedness of courage immovable, in clearness of intellect unrivalled, she shone on earth as the polar-star in the firmament of her sex, and in her utmost need, they circled round her as the sun of their glory. Her wrongs and her fate are indelibly registered in our annals. Honest historians of after-times will narrate them truly, and unpensioned Bards embalm her to posterity.
The Queen's dying request was, to lie in the same tomb with her child—sad experience taught her to anticipate a refusal from her relentless enemies!
For on her heart they trod, the while she liv'd;
And, buried once, why not upon her head?"—
Men and Women of England! have ye not a little Grave, Her Spirit was with the People while she lived—her body belongs to them now that she is no more.
The Author of the The Political House Jack Built.
** When this article was written, the Queen lay unburied.
THE DEATH-LIGHT OF CAROLINE'S HALL,
Where strangers have spread the funeral pall;
Relations by blood from her have fled,
And other hands have pillow'd her head—
Vet a halo round her temples plays,
Brighter than earthly crowns can raise!
When her heart-strings broke, no husband was there,
With a bursting breast, and a holy prayer—
Her Royal Spouse was on the sea,
In glittering pomp and pageantry;
With streamers pointing to Erin's shore,
Where wassail, and wine, and wild uproar,
And the noisy mirth of a motley band,
Were to drown the sighs of a sorrowing land!
The prospect was bright on her Bridal Day,
And English hearts were light and gay;
Alas!'twas the gleam of a wintry sky,
When dark clouds come, and the storm is nigh.
The eye to bless, and the hand to save,
Were not the gifts that the altar gave!
She never knew the sweet control
That wins, that guards the cherish'd soul;
But met the keen repulsive glance
From furious eye-balls turn'd askance!—
A licensed outcast, bade to roam,
No husband's bed—no friend—no home—
The treacherous Spy in ambush placed,
Our British name defiled, disgraced!
The raptured Mother clasp'd her Child;
Maternal love beam'd from her eye;
The tear-dew'd cheek for once was dry.
But devilish hate could ne'er endure
A joy so sweet, a bliss so pure;
And the cherub-smile that cheer'd her life,
Was rudely torn from the widow'd wife!
But who shall tell—or who shall believe,
That malice could deeper wrongs conceive?
O, learn the deed from the daughter's bier—
In Judgment bid her Tomb appear;
On the dark vault let the day-beam shine;
Behold the broken lincage-line!
The Record rests on the sculptured stone—
Robb'd of the Mother's name alone.
The surpliced Priest made no appeal—
His Earthly Masters check'd his zeal—
From those who bent their heads to Heaven,
To pray that mortals be forgiven;
No kind behest for her was sent,
No Priestly hand to her was lent;
But when, at length, she lifeless fell,
Rose the hollow sound of their passing bell!
Well fed, well paid, to blast her name,
Swarms of Italian Monsters came;
And English Monsters, fouler still,
Obey'd their Masters' deadly will!
The fiends have chased her day by day,
Her Sabbath death-bed was their prey!—
These are not men!—they never press'd
The life-streams from a human breast;
Nor are they woman-born—but thrown
From some vile source to man unknown!
She struggled long—she nobly rose
Triumphant o'er her rancorous foes;
Bravely she stood the lengthen'd strife
For honest fame—more dear than life—
But ah! the nerve, too finely strung,
Was wrench'd, was torn, was rudely wrung—
She won the prize—that strength was given,
Then burst from earth to kinder Heaven!
ADVERTISEMENTS
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ROYAL CUCKOO CLOCK.
SLOP, SLANDERIANI, & Co. Cuckoo Clock-makers to his Majesty, have the honour to acquaint the Nobility, Gentry, and the Public at large, that they have completed their NEW CUCKOO CLOCK, which has been introduced into some of the first Families, and they hope will be received with unbounded patronage throughout the Kingdom. It is capable of the most ornamental appearance, and under their management receives every possible variety of external splendor. They fit it up as a piece of elegant furniture, which has been pronounced to be unrivalled by personages of the highest distinction and the most correct taste in virtu. In its present unrivalled state of perfection, they invite an immediate inspection of the article at their different manufactories in town.
FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE
It is well known, that the Coronation Oil of the Kings of France was brought in a bottle from Heaven by an eagle, and from that fact called Holy Oil. During the Revolution, a Jacobin took the liberty of using the Holy Oil to grease his boots with, and the eagle not having arrived with a fresh supply, it is said that Louis XVIII. will remain uncrowned until that event, or until the fellow's boots can be found and the oil extracted and transferred to the head of His Most Christian Majesty.
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Ferocity exemplified, by comparative
ANATOMY; or, an Illustration of the FACIAL LINE in Man and the Brute, showing the natural gradation from the ferocious to the human being, with the domestic habits of the Savage.
DEDICATED TO HIS MAJESTY,
And the Society for the Suppression of Vice,
[LETTERS IN GREEK].
THE JOURNAL OF THE LATE MR. ELLIOTT, Surgeon. Sec. Translated from the Latin MS. in Pall-mall. With Illustrations from Petronius Arbiter and Peter Aretin, and Sketches by the Privy Painter. The Introduction by Sir W——— F————.
Printed for W. Wright, the 'Pedibus-aknexis' Publisher, 46, Fleetstreet. * Suidas.
In small royal,
THE TRUE HAIR TO THE CROWN; or, THE WHIGS
CUT FOR ANOINTING. By A LATE FOXITE.
THE TAXGATHERERS KNOCKING.
(In Imitation of 'The Woodpecker tapping.')
Above a high cape, that the ——— was there,
And I said, if there's ton to be found in the world,
The Dandy of fashion will look for it here—
Half the shops were shut up, and I heard not a sound,
But Taxgath'rers knocking, while going their dull round!
And here, in Pall Mall, near the Park, I exclaim'd,
With a Bomb, oh, how big! and how gay to the eye,
Yachts, cots, and what-nots, all be-gilt, and be-famed,
What a strange mode of life!—and I groan'd out a sigh!—
While the shops are half shut, and we scarce hear a sound,
But Taxgath'rers knocking, while going their dull round!
On pretence of Necessity, frequent large dips
In my now emptied pockets have made me repine;
In vain does Retrenchment rise up to my lips,
The ——— must live, though starvation be mine—
Though my shop be deserted, and heard not a sound,
But Taxgath'rers knocking, while going their dull round!
PUBLISHED THIS DAY.
BLACKGUARD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE;
Or, THE HAGGIS BAG.
I. Guard' a low.—II. Lines suggested by the sight of a Gallows, with some friends of ours.—III. The Golden Bull, or Second Sight, by Sir Walter Scott.—IV. Charlie's Return, or the Welcome, by ditto.—V. The Editor's Fudge-it.—VI. Auld Reekies Mawwalliip for the Londoners.—VII. Chaldee Manuscript, Part II. by James Hogg, the Aye-trick Shepherd.—VIII. Liar Bacon; ditto.—IX. The Broken Heart; a Merriment.—X. A Gallop on the Grave of Keats.—XI. Mode of Applying Torture to the Mind.—XII. Philosophy of Self, No. I; by the Publisher.—XIII. A Grey Head brought in sorrow to the Grave; a Capital Joke.—XIV. Cowardice made easy to the meanest capacity, by Mr. Lackheart.—XV. On the probable injurious Influence of Moral and Religious Instruction on our Character and Circulation; by the Publisher.—XVI. Any Man's Privacy, every Man's Property.—XVII. The Loathing Bull, or the Widow's Cow; a Sentiment.—XVIII. Elegy on Henry IX., King of England.—XIX. Pleasures of Malignity, by Mr. Lackheart.—XX. The Grave Digger, No. 101.—XXI. The Bum Boat, No. 17.—XXII. The Scottish Regalia; an old Wife's Tale.—XXIII. A few words to that immense body of Mankind, who refuse to hand us the siller.—XXIV. Works we are preparing for Suffocation.—XXV. Monthly List of Jew Publications.—XXVI. Monthly Wretched-stir.
A PERTICULAR FAC.
We hae muckle fear for the weal o' the Cantry o'Breetan, frae the great deal o' ill huiks, like unto the deil's buiks, and the like o'that. We hae juist glowred o'er a wee bnikee, a verra bad buik indeed—a verra bad buifc. An' we are verra sorey to say, there are money o' sic bad buiks, fu' o-' daflin, trying to thraw contemp upo' the thron an' the halter, ca'ing the Lord Provost a full, an' the Lord Advocate nae better, and a' the great folk pawkie loons; an' we can compare't to naething but the muckle black de'il fiddling thro' the toon. As sic is the case, it's nae for the siller we're writing, but oot o' pure lawyellty an' patriotism for the guid o' the Cantry. Gin the silly peeple keun'd what wa'd be guid for them, they wa'd nae fash themsels aboot learning to read ava, or read naething but our Maggy-zeen, an' we hope to see the day whan there'll be naething but our Maggy-zeen read thro' a' the Cantry; for we are fermly persuaded that the folk are turning o'er learned, an' we are aye endeavoring to write them doon to the state o' happy ignorance an' respectfu' submission that they war in, whan the guid-wife wad say to her ain guid man, 'Git up, Donald, and be hangit, an' dinna anger the laird!' It's naething but right and proper that King Geordie an' his Mean-astres s'ud juist hae their ain gait o't in a' things 'as the Cat had wi' the haggis:—ate the pudden, an' gaed to sleep i' the bag!' For an it be na sae, we're muckle afeerd that his most gracious Mad-jestie winna be aible to eat his parritch, an' scrach himsel' in safety.
N. B. We hae great help in preevat frae Sir Wattie, who conn'd-his-ends de'el-hight-fully, an' his guid-son, Maister Lackheart, is our perticular freend an' contra-booter; an' Maister Blackguard drives that 'Jacobite Relic' Jamie Hogg, the aye-trick Sheepherd, juist as he likes. And sae we'll hae mony delectfu' extracts fra' the buiks prentit in Niddry's Wynd, an' a wallet o' ballets pruiving the truith o' the sayen o' his Mad-jestie King Jamie the Saxt, that 'to scratch whare it etches is o'er muckle luck-surie for a mere sabject.'
Edinburgh: Printed for W. Blackwood, 17, Princes-street.
In thin Quarto,
A VISION OF WANT OF JUDGMENT. By SLOBBER'D
MOUTHEY, Esq. Hell, Hell, D—; Poet Sorry-head, Mumbler of the Royal Spanish Satiety, of the Satieties of every other place, of the Royal Order of Turncoats, and of an eminent Welch Obscurity
A NEW VISION,
By ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq.! LL.D.!!
Poet Laureate!!! &c.!!!! &c.!!!!! &c.!!!!!!
I alone in Slop's Office was left; and, in trouble of spirit,
I mused on old times, till my comfort of heart had departed.
Pensile at least I shall be, methought—sus. per coll. surely!
And therewithal felt I my neckcloth; when lo! on a sudden,
There came on my eyes, hanging mid-way 'twixt heav'n and St. James's,
The book call'd the Pension List. There did I see my name written,
Yea ev'n in that great book of life! It was sweet to my eyelids,
As dew from a tax! and Infinity seem'd to be open,
And I said to myself, 'Now a blessing be on thee, my Robert!
And a blessing on thee too my pen! and on thee too my sack-but!'
Now, as thus I was standing, mine ear heard a rap at the street-door,
Ev'n such as a man might make bold with, half gentle half footman;
And lo! up the stairs, dotting one, one, after the other,
Came the leg of a wonder, hop! hop! through the silence of evening;
And then a voice snarling from the throat of the him they call Murray,
Who said, as he hopp'd, 'Must the Muck Times be mournful at all times?
Lo, SLOP, I've a sop, for your mop; yes—hop! hop! I've a story,
With which I'll light you up, if you'll light me, Slop, up another.'
'Don't be so bold! methought a larking voice from the skylight
Answer'd, and therewithal I felt fear as of frightening;
Knowing not why, or how, my soul seem'd night-cap to my body.
Then came again the voice, but then with a louder squalling—
'Go to hell,' said the voice. 'What!,' said I, inwardly, 'I go!'
When lo, and behold, a great wonder!—I, I, Robert Southey,
Even I, Robert Southey, Esquire, LL.D. Poet Laureate,
Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of the
Ditto of history too, of the Institute Royal
Of Dutchland, and eke of the Welch Cymmodorion wonder,
Author of Joan of Arc, of much Jacobin Verse, and Wat Tyler,
Et cætera, et caetera, et caetera, et cætera, et cætera,
(For it's unknown all the things that I am, and have written),
I, as I said before, ev'n I, by myself, I,
Unlike, in that single respect, to my great master Dante,
(For Virgil went with him to help him), but like in all others,
Rush'd up into Paradise boldly, which angels themselves don't,
Yea ev'n into Paradise rush'd I, through showers of flimsies,
All as good as the Bank, and for hailstones I found there were Sovereigns,
Spick and span new; and anon was a body all glorified,
Even all the great Host both of Church and State, Crosses, Grand Crosses,
Commanders, Companions, and Knights of all possible orders,
Commons and Peers, the souls of the sold, whom Pensions made perfect,
DOCTOR
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Flocking on either hand, a multitudinous army,
Coronet, Crosier, and Mitre, in grand semicircle inclining,
Tier over tier they took their place, aloft in the distance,
Far as the sight could pierce, Stars, Garters, and Gold Sticks.
From among the throng bless'd, all full dress'd, in a Field Marshal's uniform, Rose one, with a bow serene, who, aloft, took his station;
Before him the others crouch'd down, all inclining in concert,
Bent like a bull-rush sea, with a wide and a manifold motion:
There he stood in the midst alone; and in front was the presence,
With periwig curling and gay, and a swallow-cut coat-tail.
Hear ye of long ears! Lo! in that place was Canning,
He who strengthens the Church and State, with his Manton's hair-triggers, And sneers on his lips, and eyes leering, and rupturous speeches;
With him Fletcher Franklin I saw, and Sir Robert, my namesake,
Worthy the name! even Baker, Sir Robert, of Bow-street;
And Gifford, with face made of lachrymose, savage and feeble,
Who delighteth with Croker to cut up men, women, and young men,
And therefore did Hazlitt cut him up, and so he stood mangled.
There, too, brocaded and satin'd, stood smiling and bowing,
With Court-mask'd appearance, the Fearful One, him of Triangle!
And there, too, the Foolish one, far-conscienced, the Doctor!
And I saw in the vision, the Generals, Sol. and Attorney;
And Sacchi, was there too and him surnamed Non mi Ricordo;
And Mad'moiselle Dæmon, and Barbara Kress, and Rastelli;
And Mister, and Mister-ess Jessop, and eke the Miss Jessups;
And Mar-Ai' H—, and M-ss C-m, also;
And Mrs. Fitz—t, and C—ch; and in sooth all the Beauties
Of the 'Georgian age,' except Robinson Mary,
Whom great G. first sent to the D—, and little G. after,
Namely Gifford, who smote at her sorely, yea, ev'n at her crutches,
So that she fell in her grave, and said, 'Cover me kind earth!'
And the great minded Cl—— was there, looking like to Behemoth;
And the Lauderdale disinterested, great Scotch standard-bearer,
And there, too, the king's much-conspired-against-stationer, King, stood, The Lord Mayor of Dublin, who sendeth his Majesty's whiskey;
And the Members of Orange Clubs all, anti-Irish shullelahs;
And a heav'nly assembly of parsons, some, lately, expectant—
Parson Hey? Parson B. called, otherwise, Parson Black-cow, divine brute! Parson C. alias Croly, or Crawley, or Coronaroly,
Who putteth forth innocent pamphlet? on pure coronations,
Expecteth Milleniums, and laudeth the Blackguard of Blackwood's,
And looketh both lofty and slavish, a dreaminess high-nosed,
As if he had, under the chin been, by worshipful men, chuck'd;
And great Parson Eat—n V—slone, who'd swallow any thing surely;
And the Manchester Yeomanry Cavalry, riding down women;
And Alderman Atkins, with Curtis, that big belly-gerent;
And Flower, and Bridges, C. Smith, and the rest of the Bridge Gang;
All cloth'd for the heav'nly occasion in their best Indictments!
And there all the Lottery-contractors, and such like, were also;
And there Mr. Strong-i-th'-arm, his Majesty's Seal-Engraver, was also; And they all who forged, lo! the French Assignats, were there also;
And the Court-newsman also was there—
(The Spirit now bids me write prose, but that, you know's all the same thine;) And Colburn with his Muck Monthly Magazine was there;
And Ward, the Animal Painter, with a piece of spoil'd canvas, 35 feet wide by 21, was there;
But Bird who, most disloyally, died of a broken heart, was not there;
And the Duke of Wellington, with the Sword of State, was there;
And Sir John Silvester, the Recorder of London, and his assistant, were there; And Messrs. Uundell and Bridge, the Jewellers who repair'd the Crown, were there;
And the Pigtails out off from his Majesty's guards were there;
And the Guards themselves in their neat uniforms, and new white gaiters, were there;
And the State Coach and Coachmen and Horses were there;
And the other Ministers of State in their new State Liveries were there; And the Clerks of the Council and the two Silver Inkstands were there; And all the Gentlemen of the Stock Exchange were there;
And all the Gentlemen of the Shipping Interest were there;
And all the Gentlemen of the Landed Interest were there;
But all the people without Interest were not there;
And all the Peers who voted the Queen of England guilty were-there;
And all the Ministerial Members of the House of Commons were there; And Dr. Slop with 'fresh fig-leaves for Adam and Ere' was there;
And the Royal Proclamation against Vice and Immorality was pasted up there. And behold, while I read it, thinking to put it, excellent as it was, Into language still better,
Methought, in my vision, I dreamt—dream within dream intercircled—And seem'd to be hurried away, by a vehement whirlwind,
To Flames and Sulphurous Darkness, where certain of my Minor Poems were scorching,
Yet unconsum'd, in penal fire; and so was I purified
For deeds done in the flesh, being, through them, burnt by proxy!
There, too, roasted the Bishop of Osnaburgh's Doxy,
But the Righteous-one, the Prince Bishop himself, was in Heaven;
And two Boots were there, as a burnt-offering for peccadillo,
But the Owner thereof was a glorified spirit above,
Where, as in duty bound, I had sung to him 'Twang-a-dillo,
He that loves a pretty girl, is a hearty good fellow!'
And in Torment (but here the blest rage of the bard returns on me)
And in torment was She, who, on earth, had been also tormented By Him who is never, nor can be accused, of aught vicious;
With her were the friends of my childhood—not leaving out Coleridge; And they who were kill'd by the Manchester Yeomanry also;
And Truth, the whole Truth, nothing but the Truth, suffered the burning. Then I turn'd my meek eyes, in their gladness, to Heaven, and my place there, And ascending, I flew back to Paradise, singing of Justice;
Where, fill'd with divine expectation of merited favour,
The gathering host look'd to him, in whom all their hopes center'd,
As the everlasting hand; and I, too, press'd forward to obtain—
But old recollections withheld me;—down, down, dropp'd my sack-but, And my feet, methought, slid, and I fell precipitate. Starting,
Then I awoke, with my hair up, and lo! my young days were before me, Dark yet distinct; but instead of the voice of the honest,
I hoard only Murray's yap', yap! and hap! hop! through the silence of evening: Yap! hop! and hop! yap!—and hence came the hop, step, and jump, of my verses.
Original Size -- Medium-Size
BOROUGH-BRIDGE REFORM.
The the Ancient and Honourable Corporation of Boroughmongers, in Parlaverment assembled, THE PETITION of the Ancient and Honourable Corporation of London Bridge in Arches assembled,
Hombly sheweth,
That, for some time past, an opinion has prevailed, that your Petitioners' Arches are narrow and decayed, and that their continuance in their present state is attended with an unnecessary annual expense, and loss of lives.
That, in consequence of this opinion, a large body of persons assembled for Bridge Reform, have insisted upon the necessity of widening your Petitioners' Arches, and have actually erected, in your Petitioners' neighbourhood, a new bridge, with arches calculated to give free course to the whole tide, and a safe and uninterrupted public communication—to the great scandal of your Petitioners.
That your Petitioners' Arches, and the Borough Arches of your Honourable Structure, are the production of one and the same mind.
That your Honourable Structure being a model of perfection, your Petitioners have, therefore, a right to presume that their Bridge is also a model of perfection.
That your Petitioners, respectfully referring to the enlightened declaration of the Emperor of Austria, that what is ancient is good, humbly beg leave to represent, that it is essential to the permanence of your Honourable Structure in its present state, to stop the progress of all enlargement.
And your Petitioners humbly pray, that the Right Hon. George Canning may be assigned advocate in their behalf, to convince the Public that your Petitioners' Arches are exactly as numerous, as narrow, and as decayed as they ought-to-be; which office your Petitioners have no doubt the said Right Hon. Gent. will gladly undertake, upon being allowed to receive an ample toll.
AND YOUR PETITIONERS, as in uniformity found, will ever pray for Your Honourable Structure.
ADVERTISEMENTS
TO ACCOUNTANTS and Others. Any Persons who will undertake to unravel the Financial ACCOUNTS of Messrs. VAN and Co. to the understanding of the Parties interested in their Affairs, may have CONSTANT EMPLOY. Apply to Mr. Bull, who is concerned for the Creditors, at the Pawnbrokers, in Capel-court.
REVOLUTIONARY WIG.
The late Mr. Sergeant Copley's wig-maker begs leave to inform gentlemen of the profession, that he has completely succeeded in overcoming the difficulty so long complained of by gentlemen at the bar, who are desirous of turning without discomposure; for proof whereof he refers by permission to the Solicitor General and the Chief Justice of Chester, who, for a long time, could not turn at all, but now revolve perfectly at ease.