All dancing declin'd till the ball was just done, And then he made shift just to drawl on his legs, As a lame Chelsea pensioner does when he begs, But in spite of his ennui and indolent air He dances _divinely_ the ladies declare. 258 Of these tho' a great many caper'd away, Yet many sat still who were lovely as they, Fair F--z--r was there, and the beautiful P--k--r With the elegant H--tt--n as lovely tho' darker, The gay A--x--nd--r and R--g--rs the pretty, And M--w--r the graceful, and B--ley the witty. Some came from the Granby and some from the Dragon, But these are all belles that our own house may brag on, For at present the Crown is much fuller than any, Tho' the Inns at High Harrogate boast a good many The Crescent our neighbour is full to o'erflowing, And numbers I see to the White Hart are going. As bad as the times are John Bull makes a shift, To give the gay world an effectual lift, And so long as these places can live by their trading We may smile at Napoleon's threats of invading. The place of all places for lounging away, In amusement and style the first half of the day, Is at each of the Libraries[3]; where you may find, Books, music, fine prints, in short all things combin'd, Which those who have taste are delighted to cherish And those who have none yet affect much to relish, Politicians, and ladies, bucks, authors, and peers, The busy all eyes, and the idle all ears, 284 May here every morning be seen in perfection, Like the books, or the news, just laid out for inspection, So to Wilson's I go every morning inquiring, "What arrivals there are?"----and the papers desiring, And look with a deep and significant phiz, For Peninsula news, or a boxing match quiz, Nay at times I converse on a poem or play, And utter no less 'cause I've nothing to say, Rememb'ring in all kinds of difficult cases, To make out my meaning by shrugs and grimaces, Thus a man without reading may give an opinion, And snatch for an hour dilletanti dominion, From what sources great critics may judge I can't tell But I always find mine are produc'd at the well, When my breakfast eats good and the waters agree Capel Loft's sugar-candy's not sweeter than me, This morning I dazzled the minds of the crowd, By pronouncing Lord Byron "a poet" aloud, Of Strangford and Moore then condemned the sweet flummery, Talk'd of Southey the chaste, and the matchless Montgomery, Call'd Campbell the elegant, Wordsworth the wild And the great Walter Scott Inspiration's own child; Then prais'd the sweet bard tho' unknown be his name, Who gave Talavera's dread battles to fame, Thus 'mongst reading-room gents I set up for a judge, And an eulogist too (when the waters will budge) But if on my stomach they happen to rest, With such critical spleen is my humour opprest, Whether minister, gen'ral, or author I seize on,