Thro' Manchester Square took a canter just now--
Met the _old yellow chariot_[1] and made a low bow.
This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,
But got such a look--oh! 'twas black as the devil!
How unlucky!--_incog_. he was travelling about,
And I like a noodle, must go find him out.
_Mem_.--when next by the old yellow chariot I ride,
To remember there _is_ nothing princely inside.
_Thursday_.
At Levee to-day made another sad blunder--
What _can_ be come over me lately, I wonder?
The Prince was as cheerful as if all his life
He had never been troubled with Friends or a Wife--
"Fine weather," says he--to which I, who _must_ prate,
Answered, "Yes, Sir, but _changeable_ rather, of late."
He took it, I fear, for he lookt somewhat gruff,
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough,
That before all the courtiers I feared they'd come off,
And then, Lord, how Geramb[2] would triumphantly scoff!
_Mem_.--to buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers--sure road to promotion![3]
_Saturday_.
Last night a Concert--vastly gay--
Given by Lady Castlereagh.
My Lord loves music, and we know
Has "two strings always to his bow."[4]
In choosing songs, the Regent named
"_Had I a heart for falsehood framed_."
While gentle Hertford begged and prayed
For "_Young I am and sore afraid_.
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