This _Double Dealer_, who has excited dismay _Abroad and at Home_, and gained _Notoriety_ by the magnitude of the mischiefs he has achieved, still presumes, by _the Wheel of Fortune_, like another _Pizarro_, to satiate his _Revenge_, and to learn _How to grow Rich_, by renewing the distressing scenes of _the Siege of Damascus_; until amongst the desolated ruins of our City, he should establish himself like _a London Hermit_. That _he Would if he Could_, is past all doubt; but if he will take _a Word to the Wise_, from _a Man of the World_, he will believe _He’s much to blame_, and _All in the Wrong_; for _the Doctor and the Apothecary_ are in _the Committee_; and by good _Management_, are forward in _the Rehearsal_ of the lively Comedy of _the Way to keep Him_ under _Lock and Key_. They may not be able to produce for him _a Cure for the Heartache_, or for _the Vapourish Man_, but they will shew him at least _Cheap Living_, and prove that he has sown his _Wild Oats_, in a _Comedy of Errors_. _The Poor Soldier_, whose generous heart expands to render _Love for Love_, is like the gallant and gay Lothario, armed for either field, and prepared to give _Measure for Measure_; and to convert the _Agreeable Surprize_, which the Acre _Runaway_ anticipates in _the Camp_, from _the Beaux Stratagem_ into _a Tale of Mystery_. _Appearances are against him_, as well as _the Chances_; but he is a desperate _Gamester_; and although his schemes of Conquest will end in _Much ado about Nothing_, like a _Midsummer’s night’s Dream_, or _a Winter’s Tale_, yet he is _Heir at Law_ to our hate; and _Every one has his Fault_, if he does not unite to revive the splendid scenes of _Edward the Black Prince_, and _Henry the Fifth_, when France trembled beneath our arms at Cressy and Agincourt; and give to this unprincipled _Bajazet_ an exit corresponding with his crimes. A NEW SONG OF OLD SAYINGS. Bonaparte the Bully resolved to come over, With flat-bottomed Wherries, from Calais to Dover; No perils to him in the billows are found, ‘_For if born to be hang’d, he can never be drown’d_.’ From a Corsican dunghill this fungus did spring, He was soon made a Captain and would be a King; But the higher he rises the more he does evil, ‘_For a Beggar, on horseback, will ride to the Devil_.’ To seize all that we have and then clap us in jail, To devour our victuals, and drink all our ale, And to grind us to dust is the Corsican’s will-- ‘_For we know all is grist that e’er comes to his mill_.’ To stay quiet, at home, the First Consul can’t bear Or, mayhap, ‘_he would have other fish to fry there_’; So, as fish of that sort does not suit his desire, ‘_He leaps out of the frying pan, into the fire_.’