Robins, at knocking houses down so fond, Exclaims, with Shakespeare’s Jew, I’ll have my bond. Put down your hammer, Mr Robins, stop; You take my house when you do touch the prop. Hard-hearted man, such antique relics ridding, With hammer soon to fall and looks for-bidding, Shakespeare by you has been puffed up and praised, To sell his house you have a story raised. And is it true this house is coming down, To be put on wheels and dragged about the town? Can such things be, can it be so! What, make this classic pile a travelling show? Tis true; ’tis pity chaps from Yankee land Are coming over with the cash in hand. Blow winds, crack cheeks, their paltry lucre spurn, To what base uses may we not return. Speculation--British nation, Oh, save the house from exportation! Time was, and it seems but t’other day, When we could see a real Shakesperian play, With Miss O’Neill, Siddons, or the great John Kemble, Could laugh at Munden, or at old Kean tremble. Macready does Shakespeare now, with Kean’s son Charlie, And Drury Lane holds legitimate with Harley; Shakespeare inside has long been quite neglected, His statue outside looks forlorn, dejected; For great folks now run after Greas or All-bony, Tamburini, Jenny Lind, or Taglioni, Which John Bull’s dire indignation rouses, Till he exclaims, “A plague on both your houses.” Portia, Miranda, Juliet for him plead, Preserve this house, thy potent spell we need.” My song is done, and you I pardon crave-- All’s well that ends well, if this house we save. Determination, stimulation,--and Shakespeare’s house an honour to the nation. E. Hodges, Printer (from the late J. Pitt’s), Wholesale Toy Warehouse, 38, Dudley Street, 7 Dials. A NEW SONG ON THE BLOOMER COSTUME. Oh, did you hear the news of late, According to the rumours, The pretty ladies one and all, Are going to join the bloomers. Since Mrs Dexter’s come to town, She says, oh, what a row, sir, The men shall wear the petticoats And ladies wear the trousers. Oh, did you hear, &c. Now Mrs. Dexter’s come to town, She says, she’ll not be lazy, But quickly turn the ladies’ brains, And set the men all crazy. Old maids and lasses fine and gay, Short, stumpy, tall and bandy, Long petticoats now throw away, And beat the yanky dandy. Prince Albert and the Queen one day, Had such a jolly row, sirs, She threw off her petticoats And put on boots and trousers; Won’t it be funny for to see Ladies possessed of riches, Riding up and down the town In Wellingtons and breeches.