TO A BlSAPPOlNtBD WASP. tf 



ballets, &c., there might be a chance of eiiceees to till ; the public knight 

 have the drama again raising its head as proudly as ever, and bpefas and 

 ballets well sustained, and the managers find, bj' their replenished ex- 

 chequers, that the English will still patronize their native talent. 



At the present day we have no national theatre, for those so miscalled 

 are the least of all to be considered as such : the English drama has 

 latterly taken up its resting-place in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel, 

 the denizens of which still relish the literature of their native country, 

 and care little for the incongruous translation of the theatres of the 

 Parisian Boulevards. B. 



TO A DISAPPOINTED WASP. 



FOUND ON MV BUEAKFAST-TABLE IN NOVEMBER, ON WHICH THE TIMES 



NEWSPAPER WAS LYING. 



Say, aged thing, 

 What chance till now has kept thee on the wing ; 



Say, sober veteran. 

 Ere Death e'en thee within his clutches clasps. 



Why art thou here. 



Long after each compeer. 



Thou obsolete, old-fashion'd man, 



Methusaleh of wasps ? 

 Methought that thou wert dead, entomb'd and rotten, 



With all thy beautiful array 



Of pleasures in a happier day. 

 Quite, quite forgotten ! — 



Dost come once more, ere slumb'ring in thy grave, 



December's storms to brave. 

 Prowling about in speculative mood, 

 Despite thy grey decrepitude. 



For ancient food ? 



Dost come with tott'ring limb. 



Once more to climb 



The sugar-bason's parapet. 

 And make thereon thy wonted revolution ? 

 Although the time when you shone 



Is at a distance I would fain forget. 

 But for thy impotent endeavour. 

 To be so frolicsome and clever. 



And frisky yet ! — ■ 

 Oh ! for the days when thou wert young ! 



A rival of the Goseamer, 

 As on the Zephyr's breast it hung. 



Which of the two were happier ! — 



