Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole;
For--if my fate is to be chosen
'Twixt bores and icebergs--on my soul,
I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
[1] The Horn Gate, through which the ancients supposed all true
dreams (such as those of the Popish Plot, etc.) to pass.
A CASE OF LIBEL.
"The greater the truth, the worse the libel."
A certain Sprite, who dwells below,
('Twere a libel perhaps to mention where,)
Came up _incog_. some years ago
To try for a change the London air.
So well he lookt and drest and talkt,
And hid his tail and horns so handy,
You'd hardly have known him as he walkt
From C----e, or any other Dandy.
(His horns, it seems, are made to unscrew;
So he has but to take them out of the socket,
And--just as some fine husbands do--
Conveniently clap them into his pocket.)
In short, he lookt extremely natty,
And even contrived--to his own great wonder--
By dint of sundry scents from Gattie,
To keep the sulphurous _hogo_ under.
And so my gentleman hoofed about,
Unknown to all but a chosen few
At White's and Crockford's, where no doubt
He had many _post-obits_ falling due.
Alike a gamester and a wit,
At night he was seen with Crockford's crew,
At morn with learned dames would sit--
So past his time 'twixt _black_ and _blue_.
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