Y. Z.--
The nameless author, better known than read--
Sir Jo--the Honorable Mr. Lister,
And last, not least, Lord Nobody's twin-sister--
Blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and rhymes
And sins about them, far into those climes
"Where Peter pitched his waistcoat"[5] in old times,
Leaving me much in doubt as on I prest,
With my great master, thro' this realm unblest,
Whether Old Nick or Colburn puffs the best.
[1] The classical term for money.
[2] Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the political
articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to
preside--"_regnat Rosa_"--over its pages.
[3] _Not_ the charming L. E. L., and still less, Mrs. F. H., whose poetry
is among the most beautiful of the present day.
[4] "History of the Clubs of London," announced as by "a Member of
Brooks's."
[5]A _Dantesque_ allusion to the old saying "Nine miles beyond Hell, where
Peter pitched his waistcoat."
LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD BATHURST'S TAIL.[1]
All _in_ again--unlookt for bliss!
Yet, ah! _one_ adjunct still we miss;--
One tender tie, attached so long
To the same head, thro' right and wrong.
Why, Bathurst, why didst thou cut off
That memorable tail of thine?
Why--as if _one_ was not enough--
Thy pig-tie with thy place resign,
And thus at once both _cut_ and _run_?
Alas! my Lord, 'twas not well done,
'Twas not, indeed,--tho' sad at heart,
From office and its sweets to part,
Yet hopes of coming in again,
Sweet Tory hopes! beguiled our pain;
But thus to miss that tail of thine,
Thro' long, long years our rallying sign--
As if the State and all its powers
By tenancy _in tail_ were ours--
To see it thus by scissors fall,
_This_ was "the unkindest _cut_ of all!"
It seemed as tho' the ascendant day
Of Toryism had past away,
And proving Samson's story true,
She lost her vigor with her _queue_.
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