DRUNKEN POLITENESS.

CENTRIC in London noise and London folly,
Proud Covent Garden blooms in smoky glory;
For chairmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, holly,
Cabbages and comedians famed in story.

Near this famed spot, upon a sober plan,
Dwelt a right regular and staid young man ;-
Much did he early hours and quiet love,
And was entitled, Mr. Isaac Shove.

He had apartments up two pair of stairs;
On the first floor lodged Dr. Crow ;-
The landlord was a torturer of hairs,
And made a grand display of wigs below,

From the Beau's Brutus to the parson's frizzle ;-
Over the doorway was his name; 'twas Twizzle.

Now, Isaac Shove living above this Dr. Crow,-
And knowing barber Twizzle lived below,—
Thought it might be as well,

Hearing so many knocks, single and double,
To buy at his own cost a street-door bell,
And save confusion in the house, and trouble.

Whereby his (Isaac's) visitors might know,
Without long waiting in the dirt or drizzle,
To ring for him at once,

And not to knock for Crow or Twizzle.

Besides, he now began to feel

The want of it was rather ungenteel ;-
For he had often thought it a disgrace,
To hear, while sitting in his room above,
Twizzle's shrill maid on the first landing-place,
Screaming, "A man below vants Mr. Shove."

The bell was bought ;-the wire was made to steal
Round the dark staircase like a tortured eel

Twisting and twining;

The jemmy handle Twizzle's door-post graced ;-
And just beneath a brazen plate was placed,

Lacquered and shining,

Graven whereon, in characters full, clear,
And legible, did "Mr. Shove" appear;-

And, furthermore, which you might read right well,
Was, "Please to ring the bell."

Alas! 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, who life's pleasures thus run out,
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon,
Lose half men'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,
"Twasn't direct-'twas serpentine.

He work'd with sinuosities along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong. a fork.

At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate,
When reading, "Please to ring the bell,"

And being civil beyond measure,

Ring it!" says Toby-" very well,
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure."

Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk that almost jerk'd it down.
He waited full two minutes-no one came;

He waited full two minutes more; and then

Says Toby, "If he's deaf, I'm not to blame,
I'll pull it for the gentleman again.”

But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright;
Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head,
Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed,

Pale as a parsnip,-bolt upright.

At length, he wisely to himself doth say,-
Calming his fears,—

"Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away;"

When peal the second rattled in his ears!

Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor;

And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd, He groped down stairs, and open'd the street door; While Toby was performing peal the third.

Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant,

And saw he was a strapper-stout and tall; Then put this question-"Pray, sir, what d'ye want?" Says Toby, "I want-want nothing, sir, at all.”

“Want nothing, sir!-you've pull'd my bell, I vow, As if you'd jerk it off the wire."

Quoth Toby,-gravely making him a bow,—
"I pull'd it, sir, at your desire."

"At mine!". Yes, yours; I hope I've done it well:
High time for bed, sir; I was hastening to it;
But, if you write up-' Please to ring the bell,'
Common politeness makes me stop and do it."

COLMAN.

HODGE AND THE VICAR.

HODGE, a poor honest country lout,
Not over-stock'd with learning;
Chanced on a summer's eve to meet
The vicar, home returning.

"Ah! master Hodge," the vicar cried,
"What still as wise as ever?

"We'll try your skill," the parson cried, For learning what digestion:

"And this you'll prove or right or wrong,

By solving me a question.

Noah, of old, three babies had "Or grown-up children rather,

Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called: 'Now who was Japhet's father?”

"Rat it !" cried Hodge, and scratched his head,

That does my wits belabour;

But howsomede'er, I'll homeward run, "And ax old Giles, my neighbour."

To Giles he went and put the case,

With circumspect intention;

Thou fool," cried Giles, "I'll make it clear

"To thy dull comprehension.

"Three children has Tom Long, the smith,

"Or cattle-doctor rather;

"Tom, Dick, and Harry, they are called; "Now who is Harry's father?"

"Adzooks, I have it," Hodge replied,

66

Right well I know your lingo;

"Who's Harry's father?-stop-here goes,

"Why Tom Long Smith, by jingo."

Away he ran to find the priest,

With all his might and main;

Who with good humour instant put
The question once again.

Noah, of old, three babies had,

Or grown-up children rather,
Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called :
Now who was Japhet's father?”

"I have it now," Hodge grinning cried,
I'll answer like a Proctor;

Who's Japhet's father? Now I know;
"Why Long Tom Smith, the doctor."

ANON.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

WHO has e'er been in London, that over-grown place,
Has seen "Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face.
Some are good and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun,
Or like two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But all the night long he felt fevered and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same! and the next! and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed;
Week past after week, till by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him;
For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him.
He sent for a Doctor, and cried, like a ninny,
"I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea."

.

The Doctor looked wise:- a slow fever," he said;
Prescribed sudorifics,-and going to bed.