"
Quoth the Bird, "Yes--I know him--a Bonze, by his phiz-
"And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low
"Can be none but our round-about god-head, fat Fo!"
It chanced at this moment, the Episcopal Prig
Was imploring the Prince to dispense with his wig,[1]
Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his head,
And some TOBIT-like marks of his patronage shed,
Which so dimmed the poor Dandy's idolatrous eye,
That, while FUM cried "Oh Fo!" all the court cried "Oh fie!"
But a truce to digression;--these Birds of a feather
Thus talkt, t'other night, on State matters together;
(The PRINCE just in bed, or about to depart for't,
His legs full of gout, and his arms full of HARTFORD,)
"I say, HUM," says FUM--FUM, of course, spoke Chinese,
But, bless you! that's nothing--at Brighton one sees
Foreign lingoes and Bishops _translated_ with ease--
"I say, HUM, how fares it with Royalty now?
"Is it _up_? is it _prime_? is it _spooney_-or how?"
(The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree
Under BARRYMORE, YARMOUTH, and young Master L--E,)
"As for us in Pekin"--here, a devil of a din
From the bed-chamber came, where that long Mandarin,
Castlereagh (whom FUM calls the _Confucius_ of Prose),
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose
To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol's nose.
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