He was a Whig-a true, true Whig-all property he hated
In funds or land, in purse or hand, tithed, salaried, or estated.
When he saw a fob, he itch'd to rob, the genuine whiggish feeling;
No matter what kind was the job, fraud, larceny, cheating, stealing.
Were he a peer our proud career he'd rule in mansion upper,

In the Lower House, behind him Brougham would amble on the crupper,
Like Bennet Grey, or Scarlett J.* he'd wield the poleaxe curtal

(My rhymes are out) 'gainst Ministers! Alas! for Whig Jack Thurtell!

*

Grey Bennett and Sir James Scarlett (afterwards Lord Abinger, and Chief Baron of the Exchequer,) were leading members of the Whig opposition in 1824.-M.

Moore-ish Melodies.*

1. 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.

2.-'TIS THE LAST GLASS OF CLARET.

'Tis the last glass of Claret,

Left sparkling alone,

All its rosy companions

Are clean'd out and gone.

No wine of her kindred,

No Red Port is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,

And gladden my eye.

*These appeared in the Literary Gazette for 1820, 1821, and 1822.-M.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,

This desert to crown:

As the bowls are all empty,

Thou too shalt float down.
Thus kindly I drink up
Each drop of pure red,
And fling the bright goblet
Clean over my head.

So soon may dame Fortune
Fling me o'er her head,
When I quit brimming glasses,

And bundle to bed.

When Champaigne is exhausted,

And Burgundy's gone,

Who would leave even Claret,

To perish alone.

3.-RICH AND RARE.

RICH and rare was the chain he wore,

And a long white wand in his hand he bore;

But oh! his paunch strutted far beyond

His bright gold chain, and his snow-white wand.

"Oh, Alderman, dost thou not fear to go,

Where the turtle shall smoke, and the Burgundy flow?

Are the doctors so sparing of lancet and pill,

Not to physic or bleed thee for this night's swill?"

"Good ma'am," said he, "I feel no alarm;
Nor turtle nor Burgundy does me a harm;
For though of your doctors I've had a score,
I but love good eating and drinking the more."

On he went and his purple nose
Soon over dish, platter, and bottle glows:
And long may he stuff, who thus defied
Lancet, pill, bolus, and potion beside.

4. TOM STOKES LIVED ONCE.

"Young Love."

TOM STOKES liv'd once in a garret high

Where fogs were breathing,

And smoke was wreathing

Her curls to give the cerulean sky,
Which high up above Tom's head did lie:
His red cheeks flourish'd,

For Sam Swipes nourish'd

Their bloom full oft with Whitbread's showers.
But debts, tho' borish, must be paid,

And Bailiffs a'nt bam'd for many hours.

Ah! that the Nabman's evil eyes
Should ever come hither,

Such cheeks to wither!

The fat soon, soon, began to die,

And Tom fell sick as the blades drew nigh.
They came one morning,

Ere Stokes had warning,

And rapp'd at the door where the wild spark lay. 'Oh, ho!' says Tom, 'Is it you?' good bye.— So he pack'd up his awls, and he trudg'd away.

6.- -TO A BOTTLE OF OLD PORT.

1.

WHEN he, who adores thee, has left but the dregs

Of such famous old stingo behind,

Oh! say will he bluster or weep; no, ifegs!

He'll seek for some more of the kind.

He'll laugh, and though doctors perhaps may condemn,

Thy tide shall efface the decree,

For many can witness, though subject to phlegm,
He has always been faithful to thee!

2.

With thee were the dreams of his earliest love,
Every rap in his pocket was thine,

And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove,
Was to finish the evening in wine.

How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outlive
The effects of four bottles of thee,

But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give,
Is to stagger home muzzy from three!

7. TO THE FINISH I WENT.

1.

To the Finish I went, when the moon it was shining, The jug round the table moved jovially on;

I staid 'till the moon the next morn was declining -
The jug still was there, but the punch was all gone!
And such are the joys that your brandy will promise,
(And often these joys at the finish I've known)
Every copper it makes in the evening ebb from us,
And leaves us next day with a headache alone!

2.

Ne'er tell me of puns or of laughter adorning
Our revels, that last till the close of the night,
Give me back the hard cash that I left in the morning,
For clouds dim my eye, and my pocket is light.
O! who's there who welcomes that moment's returning,
When daylight must throw a new light on his frame -
When his stomach is sick, and his liver is burning,

His eyes, shot with blood, and his brow in a flame!