Follow this, young aspirer who pant'st for a peerage,
Take S--m for thy model and B--z for thy steerage,
Do all and much worse than old Nicholas Flam does,
And--_who_ knows but you'll be Lord Baron of Shamdos?
[1] The claim to the barony of Chandos (if I recollect right) advanced by
the late Sir Egerinton Brydges.
THE DUKE IS THE LAD.
Air.--"A master I have, and I am his man,
Galloping dreary dun."
"_Castle of Andalusia_."
The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass.
Galloping, dreary duke;
The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass,
He's an ogre to meet, and the devil to pass,
With his charger prancing,
Grim eye glancing,
Chin, like a Mufti,
Grizzled and tufty,
Galloping, dreary Duke.
Ye misses, beware of the neighborhood
Of this galloping dreary Duke;
Avoid him, all who see no good
In being run o'er by a Prince of the Blood.
For, surely, no nymph is
Fond of a grim phiz.
And of the married,
Whole crowds have miscarried
At sight of this dreary Duke.
EPISTLE
FROM ERASMUS ON EARTH TO CICERO IN THE SHADES.
Southampton.
As 'tis now, my dear Tully, some weeks since I started
By railroad for earth, having vowed ere we parted
To drop you a line by the Dead-Letter post,
Just to say how I thrive in my new line of ghost,
And how deucedly odd this live world all appears,
To a man who's been dead now for three hundred years,
I take up my pen, and with news of this earth
Hope to waken by turns both your spleen and your mirth.
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