Round his head spins like a top as fast as it can go: Now he twirls his magic sword, whacks the clown, and whisks along, Dances on his head and hands, and jumps Jim Crow. In his jazey, crack'd and crazy, very queer in Lear he is; And quite as queer telling Pierre how dear his Belvi- deary is! “A horse! my kingdom for a horse!” if legs he can but go on two-- Another bring--twice two is four--and, like Ducrow, I'll crow on two. Punch's scions, see the lions! Bartlemy, come startle me! Ladies and gentlemen, walk in, walk in! O, Mr. Dunderhead; is it to be wonder-ed, Old chap, you let Miss Capulet make love to you till dawn? 'For when you play'd at Dunstable, and overrun the constable, The ladies would have pledged their hearts to take you out of pawn. Among the stars of Smithfield bars you'll stick so fiery off indeed, The deuce a bit of goose you'll get, or “Nosey! off!” * or cough, indeed; And if in fun for number one folks think to spend a penny fit, They'll come and see you off a tree the bark grin, at your benefit. Punch's scions, see the lions! Bartlemy, come startle me! Ladies and gentlemen, walk in, walk in! * About the year 1775, there was a performer on the violin- cello in the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, named Cervetti, to whom the gods had given the appropriate nickname of Nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. “Nosey!” shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command for the fiddlers to strike up. This man was originally an Italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to England, and adopted music for a profession. He had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up Garrick's expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of little Davy, and the laughter of the audience. In the summer of 1777 he played at Vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight. The Lauréat of Little Britain must have had just such another Nose in his eye when he wrote the following.