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MONTHLY MAGAZINE 



OF 



POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES. 

 VOL. XI.] MARCH, 1831. [No. 63. 



MARCH NIGHT-THOUGHTS OF GOG AND MAGOG. 



Scene Guildhall. Time Midnight. 



THE feast was done, the lamps were out, 



The clamours of the hall were past ; 

 The orators had ceased to spout, 



The Lady Mayoress broke her fast ; 

 My Lord had left the yearly throne 

 The day of callipash was done. 



Yet on the ear if ear were there 



Had come by fits a fearful sound, 

 Like Aldermen bemused in beer, 



Taking their doze the hall around ; 

 'Twas Gog to Magog sent the groan 

 Majestic, angry, and alone ! 



GOG. 

 " What think' st thou, MAGOG, of the times ? 



Is England going to the dogs ? 

 Does SOUTHEY steal or make his rhymes ? 



Is GREY'S a cabinet of logs ? 

 Is all this prate about Reform 

 A trick to keep their benches warm?" 



The Giant paused ; a thunder-roll 

 Was like the sigh that spoke his soul ! 

 Grimly the Brother-Giant rose 

 A mountain shook from its repose ! 

 Then spoke his sorrows in his turn, 

 With upraised club, and eyes that burn. 



MAGOG. 

 " Now let me ask one question, GOG : 



How long shall England play the Quaker, 

 When scoffs her every son of bog 



When DAN turns Ireland's undertaker, 

 And all his yelping rascals dabble 

 In riot, robbery, and rabble ?" 

 M. M. New Series. VOL. XI. No. 63. 2 I 



