Then all distinctions were forgot―― Then, silk and velvet had one lot With _tatter’d stuffs_, upon that spot Which sacred was to bravery. No signs of fear, no signs of dread, Of bloody nose or broken head, Of wretch by Proctors homeward led For “acting contumaciously.” No thoughts were there, but such as grace The memory of that crowded place, The memory of that gallant race Who _took_ and _gave_ so heartily. The combat deepens; on, ye brave, Who rush to conquest, or to save; Wave all your _stuffs_ and _poplins_ wave! And charge with all your chivalry! Few, few, shall part where many meet, Dull soon shall be each crowded street, Responsive, now, to thousand feet Pursuing on to Victory. From _The Gradus ad Cantabrigiam_, by a Brace of Cantabs, John Hearne, London, 1824. ―――― JENNY-LINDEN. A Dreadful Engagement between the Swedish Nightingale, and the Poet Bunn. On Lind, when Drury’s sun was low, And bootless was the wild-beast show, The lessee counted for a flow Of rhino to the treasury. But Jenny Lind, whose waken’d sight Saw Drury in a proper light, Refused, for any sum per night, To sing at the Menagerie. With rage and ire in vain displayed Each super drew his wooden blade, In fury half and half afraid, For his prospective salary. Bunn in a flaming frenzy flew, And speedily the goosequill drew With which he is accustomed to Pen such a deal of poetry. He wrote the maiden, to remind Her of a compact she had signed, To Drury Lane’s condition blind, And threaten’d law accordingly. Fair as in face in nature, she Implored the man to set her free, Assuring him that he should be Remunerated handsomely. Two thousand pounds she offered, so That he would only let her go: Bunn, who would have his bond, said, No! With dogged pertinacity. And now his action let him bring, And try how much the law will wring From her to do the handsome thing, Who had proposed so readily! The Swedish Nightingale to cage He fail’d; she sought a fitting stage, And left him to digest his rage, And seek his legal remedy. Then shook the House with plaudits riven, When Jenny’s opening note was given, The sweetest songstress under heaven Forth bursting into melody, But fainter the applause shall grow, At waning Drury’s wild-beast show, And feebler still shall be the flow Of rhino to the treasury. The Opera triumphs! Lumley brave, Thy bacon thou shalt more than save; Wave, London, all thy ’kerchiefs wave, And cheer with all thy chivalry.