worth of stationery, which his Lordship
is said to have ordered, when on the point of _vacating_ his place.
SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA.
"And now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose,
"Having got good materials, I'll brew such a dose
"Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall say,
"They've not known its equal for many a long day."
Here she winkt to her subaltern imps to be steady,
And all wagged their fire-tipt tails and stood ready.
"So, now for the ingredients:--first, hand me that bishop;"
Whereupon, a whole bevy of imps run to fish up
From out a large reservoir wherein they pen 'em
The blackest of all its black dabblers in venom;
And wrapping him up (lest the virus should ooze,
And one "drop of the immortal"[1] Right Rev.[2] they might lose)
In the sheets of his own speeches, charges, reviews,
Pop him into the caldron, while loudly a burst
From the by-standers welcomes ingredient the first!
"Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor," muttered the dame--
"He who's called after Harry the Older, by name."
"The Ex-Chancellor!" echoed her imps, the whole crew of 'em--
"Why talk of _one_ Ex, when your Mischief has _two_ of 'em?"
"True, true," said the hag, looking arch at her elves,
"And a double-_Ex_ dose they compose, in themselves.
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