161

Nor a sou had he got,--not a guinea or note,
And he looked confoundedly flurried,
As he bolted away without paying his shot,
And the Landlady after him hurried.

We saw him again at dead of night,
When home from the Club returning;
We twigged the Doctor beneath the light
Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning.

All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews,
Reclined in the gutter we found him;
And he looked like a gentleman taking a snooze,
With his Marshall cloak around him.

"The Doctor's as drunk as the Devil," we said,
And we managed a shutter to borrow;
We raised him, and sighed at the thought that
his head

Would "consumedly ache on the morrow.

We bore him home, and we put him to bed,
And we told his wife and daughter
To give him, next morning, a couple of red
Herrings, with soda water.

Loudly they talked of his money that's gone,
And his Lady began to upbraid him;

But little he recked, so they let him snore on

'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him.

We tucked him in, and had hardly done
When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun
Of a watchman "One o'clock!" bawling.

Slowly and sadly we all walked down
From his room in the uppermost story;
A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone,
And we left him alone in his glory.

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM (1788-1845).

162

THE LAST LAMP OF THE ALLEY

THE last lamp of the alley
Is burning alone!

All its brilliant companions
Are shivered and gone.
No lamp of her kindred,
No burner is nigh,

To rival her glimmer,
Or light to supply.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To vanish in smoke!

As the bright ones are shattered,

Thou too shalt be broke.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy globe o'er the street,
Where the watch in his rambles
Thy fragments shall meet.

Then home will I stagger
As well as I may;

By the light of my nose sure
I'll find out the way.

When thy blaze is extinguished,

Thy brilliancy gone,

Oh! my beak shall illumine

The alley alone.

WILLIAM MAGINN (1793-1842).

163

INISHOWEN

I CARE not a fig for a flagon of flip,

Or a whistling can of rumbo;

But my tongue through whisky-punch will slip As nimble as Hurlothrumbo.

So put the spirits on the board,

And give the lemons a squeezer,

And we'll mix a jorum, by the Lord!

That will make your worship sneeze, sir.

The French, no doubt, are famous souls,
I love them for their brandy;
In rum and sweet tobacco-rolls
Jamaica men are handy.

The big-breeched Dutch in juniper gin,
I own, are very knowing;

But are rum, gin, brandy worth a pin
Compared with Inishowen?

Though here with a lord 'tis jolly and fine
To tumble down Lachryma Christi,
And over a skin of Italy's wine

To get a little misty;

Yet not the blood of the Bordeaux grape,
The finest grape-juice going,

Nor clammy Constantia, the pride of the Cape, Prefer I to Inishowen.

164

WILLIAM MAGINN.

DRINK

WHEN Panurge and his fellows, as Rab'lais will tell us,

Set out on a sail to the ends of the earth,
And jollily cruising, carousing, and boosing,
To the oracle came in a full tide of mirth;
Pray, what was its answer? Come, tell if you
can, sir:

'Twas an answer most splendid and sage, as I

think;

For sans any delaying, it's summed up by saying:

The whole duty of man is one syllable— "DRINK!"

O bottle mirific! Advice beatific!

A response more celestial sure never was known; I speak for myself, I prefer it to Delphi, Though Apollo himself on that rock fixed his throne.

The foplings of fashion may still talk their trash on,

And declare that the custom of toping should

sink;

A fig for such asses, I stick to my glasses,

And swear that no fashion shall stint me in drink!

And now in full measure I toast you with

pleasure,

The warrior-*

The poet-t

The statesman—‡

And sage; §

Whose benign constellation illumines the nation,
And sheds lively lustre all over the age;
Long, long may its brightness, in glory and
lightness,

Shine clear as the day-star on morning's sweet brink!

May their sway ne'er diminish! And therefore I finish,

By proposing the health of the four whom I

drink.

WILLIAM MAGINN.

* Ensign Odoherty, i.e. Maginn himself.
+ Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd.

Timothy Tickler, i.e. Robert Sym.

§ Christopher North, i.e. Professor John Wilson.