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Print on my lips another kiss, The picture of thy glowing pa.s.sion-- Nay, this wont do--nor this--nor this-- But now--Ay, that's a _proof impression_.
TO A DOUBTFUL MILITARY CHARACTER.
Though much you're scar'd by _Mars_ in _arms_, At _fighting_ much _dejected_; Yet _Venus_, with her _naked_ charms, Has seen you--More-affected.
THE FOUR AGES OF WOMAN.
_From the French._
Woman is In infancy a tender flower, Cultivate her; A floating bark in girlhood's hour, Softly freight her.
A fruitful vine when grown a la.s.s, Prune and please her; Old, she's a heavy charge, alas!
Support and ease her.
THE FEMALE CARD PLAYER AND HER GARDENER.
_On a Lady far advanced in years, who was a great Card-player, having married her Gardener._
_Trumps_ ever rul'd the charming maid, Sure all the world must pardon her; The destinies turned up a _spade_; She married John the _gardener_.
THE BENCHERS OF THE TEMPLE.
_The Lamb and the Horse being their Insignia._
The _Lamb_, the lawyer's _innocence_ declares; The _Horse_, their _expedition_ in affairs; Hail, happy men! such _emblems_ well describe The _specious cunning_ of your _legal tribe_: For say what _client_ can expect a _loss_ From _Lamb_-like lawyers, _fleeter_ than a _Horse_?
No more let _Chancery's ills_ be _endless_ counted, Since on the _Pegasus_ of _Law_ ye're mounted.
And ye, _poor suitors_! mark your _simple fate_-- The _shorn lambs_ ye--that crowd the _Temple gate_.
ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON.
"Some _demon_, sure," says wond'ring Ned, "In Newton's brain has fix'd his station!"
"True," d.i.c.k replies, "you've rightly said, I know his name,--'tis _demon-stration_."
TO CERTAIN FAIR MARRIED LIBERTINES.
Ladies! the _stags_ (as wise men say) Change _horns_ but _once_ a-year: Whereas _your_ stags change _ev'ry day_, As plainly does appear.
ON GRIEVES'S BRUSH.
Some men _brush_ on, and some _brush_ off, And some _brush_ out of sight!
While _Grieves's[25] brush_ makes thousands _rush_ To see it every night.
[25] The eminent talents of this distinguished artist have been for a series of years displayed in the beautiful scenery produced at Covent Garden Theatre.
ON THE HYDE PARK ACHILLES.
If on this pedestal we see Our great _Achilles_ and Protector, Why then the inference must be, He whom he vanquished was a _Hector_.
EPIGRAMS BY W. R. V.
_On reading that Madame Fodor had endangered her life by drinking vinegar to reduce her shape._
Against Fodor's existence, it may truly be said, That custom has raised an unnatural strife; For if she gets _fat_--she loses her _bread_; And if she gets _thin_--she loses her _life_.
_On seeing Mrs. Siddons at Covent-Garden Theatre, on the first night of the appearance of Miss Dance._
Piozzi, when eighty, at a dance led the first, But she was mirth's votary through life's pleasant trance, And though fame knows not age, yet our wonder is just, Where _Melpomene's_ self comes to welcome the _Dance_.
_On seeing Miss Foote in the part of Ariel, so exquisitely played by Miss Tree._
Where's Ariel? that is, where is _Tree_?
Whose voice and form so truly suit in't; Surely the public must agree, The Manager has put his _Foot_ in't.
_On the Commons pa.s.sing the Catholic Bill one day, and on the next throwing out a Toll for pa.s.sing Blackfriars Bridge._
England's friendly to all, let folks say what they will, From Gentile, or Jew, she ne'er was a rover; Her _Commons_ first pa.s.sed the Catholic Bill, And the very next day vote for the _Pa.s.s over_.
_On reading that Captain Parry embarked on board the "Fury" Discovery Ship early in Pa.s.sion Week._
Parry's _rage_ for discovery exceeds all, no doubt, For both captain and crew in a _Fury_ set out; But still some excuse will appear for this freak, When we learn the affair took place in _Pa.s.sion_ week.
_On reading in the Paper a supposition that Shakspeare was lame._
That Shakspeare was _lame_, from his sonnets you'd gain, But _halt_ ere such men with _weakness_ you're branding; An abler _hand_ never guided a pen, And his works plainly show he'd a strong _understanding_.
ON THE NEW CROWN-PIECE;
_The Sovereign's name being cut George IIII. and not as heretofore George IV. with a laurel wreath._
Pistrucci, in thine art divine, Thou never wast more clever; Long may the _laurel_ mark our Sovereign's line, But may the _I.V._ never!
IMPROMPTU
_On Captain Fitz-Clarence's life being preserved by the interposition of Serjeant Legge, at the capture of the Conspirators in Cato Street._
