But--whether the Ministers _pawed_ them too much--
(And you--know how they spoil whatsoever they touch)
Or, whether Lord George (the young man about town)
Has by dint of bad poetry written them down.
One has certainly lost one's _peninsular_ rage;
And the only stray Patriot seen for an age
Has been at such places (think, how the fit cools!)
As old Mrs. Vaughan's or Lord Liverpool's.
But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztschitstopschinzoudhoff
Are the only things now make an evening go smooth off:
So, get me a Russian--till death I'm your debtor--
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so much the better.
And--Lord! if he would but, _in character_, sup
Off his fish-oil and candles, he'd quite set me up!
_Au revoir_, my sweet girl--I must leave you in haste--
Little Gunter has brought me the Liqueurs to taste.
POSTSCRIPT.
By the by, have you found any friend that can conster
That Latin account, t'other day, of a Monster?[1]
If we can't get a Russian, and _that think_ in Latin
Be not _too_ improper, I think I'll bring that in.
[1] Alluding, I suppose, to the Latin Advertisement of a _lusus
Naturae_ in the Newspapers lately.
LETTER VI.
FROM ABDALLAH,[1] IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN ISPAHAN.
Whilst thou, Mohassan, (happy thou!)
Dost daily bend thy loyal brow
Before our King--our Asia's treasure!
Nutmeg of Comfort: Rose of Pleasure!--
And bearest as many kicks and bruises
As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses;
Thy head still near the bowstring's borders.
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