P O E T R 1. 916 



" O Castlereagh, thou spotless peer, 

 " My vote shall ever true remain, 

 Let me wipe off that Union tear, 

 " We only part to meet again. 

 " Change ministers about ! my vote shall be 

 " The faithful compass that still points to thee ! 



" Believe not what Reformers say 



" Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind, 

 «' They swear Contractors, when away, 

 " Truo strings to ev'rt/ boiv can find ; 

 " Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 

 " Thine are my only strings, and only bow. 



" Though Flushing claim this face to-day, 



" Let not a paler statesman mourn, 

 " Though cannon roar, yet Castlereagh 

 " Shall see his alderman return 

 " All safe and sound, tho' forc'd-meat balls should fly, 

 " And claret still shall wet his civic eye." 



Tremendous Chatham gave the word. 



Sir Home his swelling topsails spread, 

 No longer Castlereagh's on board, 

 Sir William wept, and went to bed. 

 The Viscount's boat unwilling rows to land, 

 " A Jew !" he cried, and waved his lily hand. 



TOBY TOSSPOT. 



[From a Morning Paper.} 



A' 



LAS ; what pity 'tis that regularity, 

 Like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity : 

 But there are swilling wights in London town, 



Term'd Jolly Dogs — Choice Spirits, — alias Swine ; 

 Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down, 

 Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. 



These spendthrifts, vho life's pleasures thus out-run, 



Dosing, with head-achs, till the afternoon, 

 Lose half man's regular estate of sun, 



By borrowing, too largely, of the moon. 



One of this kidney — Toby Tosspot hight, — 

 Was coming from the Bedford late at night : 

 And being Bacchi plenus, — full of wine,— 

 Although he had a tolerable notion 

 Of aiming at progressive motion, 

 'T wasn't direct,— 'twas serpentine. 



3 N 2 He 



