480 
Death’s Doings, ’ [Nov. 
Thow bast: drunk life’s richest draught, 
Glory, tempter of the soul! 
Wild and deep thy spirit quaff’d, 
There was poison in the bowl. 
Then the haunting visions rose, 
Spectres round thy bosom’s ‘throne. l 
| Poet! what shall paint thy. woes, | ; be 
But a pencil like thine own? } 
Thou art vanish’d! Earthly Fame, 
See of what thy pomps are made ! 
Genius ! stoop thine eye of flame! 
Byron’s self is but a shade. 
DEATH (A DEALER), 
TO HIS LONDON CORRESPONDENT. 
, Sept. 1, 1826. 
Per post, sir, received your last invoice and letter, 
No consignment of your’s ever suited me better : 
The burnt bones (for flour) far exceeded my wishes, 
And the coculus-indicus beer was delicious. 
Well, I’m glad that at last we have hit on a plan 
Of destroying that long-living monster, poor man : 
With a long-neck’d green bottle I’ll finish a lord, 
And a duke with a pdaté a la perigord ; 
But to kill a poor wretch is a different case, 
For the creatures will live, though I stare in their face. 
Thanks to you, though, the times will be speedily altered, 
And the poor be got rid of without being haltered : 
For ale and beer drinkers there’s nothing so proper as 
Your extracts of coculus, quassia, and copperas— 
' Called ale, from the hundreds that ail with them here, 
And beer, from the numbers they bring to their bier, 
Im yain shall they think to find refuge in tea— 
' That decoction’s peculiarly flavoured by me; 
Sloe-leaves make the tea—verdigris gives the bloom— 
And the slow poison’s sure to conduct to the tomb, 
As for coffee, Fred. Accum well knows the word means 
Naught but sand, powder, gravel, and burnt peas and beans.. ; 
But let us suppose that they drink only water— 
I think there may still be found methods to slaughter 
A few of the blockheads who think they can bam me 
By swallowing that tasteless liqueur.— Well, then, d— me 
(You'll pardon my wrath), they shall drink till they're dead 
From /ead cisterns—to me twill be sugar of lead! 
But why. do I mention such matters to you, 
Who without my poor hints know so well what to do? 
You provide for the grocer, the brewer, the baker, 
As they in their turn do for the undertaker. 
P. S.— By the bye, let me beg you, in future, my neighbour, 
To send me no sugar that’s raised by free labour, 
Unless you can mingle a litile less salt 
In the pound—for the public presume to find fault 
With the new China sweet’ning—and though they allow 
That they'll take the saints’ sugar (attend to me now), 
Even cum grano salis—they do say that such 
An allowance as 30 per cent. is too much. 
sot 
We congratulate Mr. Dagley on the coadjutors who ave aided him in His 
work, ees 
