So much for the merits sublime
(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop)
Of the three greatest lights of our time,
Doctor Eady and Southey and Slop!
Should you ask me, to _which_ of the three
Great Doctors the preference should fall,
As a matter of course I agree
Doctor Eady must go to _the wall_.
But as Southey with laurels is crowned,
And Slop with a wig and a tail is,
Let Eady's bright temples be bound
With a swingeing "Corona _Muralis_!"[3]
[1] The editor of the Morning Herald, so nicknamed.
[2] Alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in chalk, on all the
walls round the metropolis.
[3] A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to persons who performed
any extraordinary exploits upon wall, such as scaling them, battering
them, etc.--No doubt, writing upon them, to the extent Dr. Eady does,
would equally establish a claim to the honor.
EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER.
Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,
Put mourning round thy page, Debrett,
For here lies one who ne'er preferred
A Viscount to a Marquis yet.
Beside him place the God of Wit,
Before him Beauty's rosiest girls,
Apollo for a _star_ he'd quit,
And Love's own sister for an Earl's.
Did niggard fate no peers afford,
He took of course to peers' relations;
And rather than not sport a Lord
Put up with even the last creations;
Even Irish names could he but tag 'em
With "Lord" and "Duke," were sweet to call;
And at a pinch Lord Ballyraggum
Was better than no Lord at all.
Pages:
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106