Tell me of Southeys and Scotts, they are ninnies To foolishly trifle with time as they do, Give me the music of soul-witching guineas, While they address lays to the “summer skies blue!” What if they scribble like Virgils or Plinies, At sixpence per line in each London review? I’d be a Rothschild! and laugh at the ninnies, Whose brains such absurd undertakings pursue. Commerce shall wave her proud flag o’er the ocean, When the wreath and the minstrel have vanished from hence, Rhymes may give to the muse their devotion, But mine is concentred in consols and rents Of Tempe and Castaly I have no notion Oh! they give song the importance of sense; I’d be a Rothschild! with every emotion Awake at the tune of _pounds, shillings, and pence_! REGINALD AUGUSTINE. From _The Mirror_, 1830. ―――― NEGRO LIBERTY. Me be a nigger boy, born in de hovel, What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine, Me learn to dig wid de spade and de shovel, Me learn to hoe up de cane in a line. Me drink my rum, in de calabash oval, Me neber sigh for de brandy and wine; Me be a nigger boy, born in de hovel, What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine. Me be a nigger boy, When me live happy, wha for me repine? Me neber run from my massa’s plantation, Wha for me run? me no want to get lick; He gib me house, and me pay no taxation―― Food when me famish, and nurse when me sick. Willy-force[8] nigger, he belly be empty, He hab the freedom, dat no good for me; My massa good man, he gib me plenty Me no lobe Willy-force[8] better dan he. Me be de nigger boy, Me happy fellow, den why me want free? From_ Fraser’s Magazine_, 1830. ―――― SONG BY THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. I’d be a Minister born into power, Grasping the pay and the patronage sweet, Making fine speeches to last for an hour. At night when the Members of Parliament meet I’d never care for the Whigs looking sour, I should have plenty of slaves at my feet. I’d be a Minister born into power, Grasping the pay and the patronage sweet. Then could I pilfer the office of Grey now I’d get a share of those nice little things, Giving the patronage, drawing the pay now And making the most of whatever it brings. Those that are out, great complaints have to say now Office around them complacency flings. I’d be a Minister, like I see Grey now I’d get a share of those snug little things. _Figaro in London_, April 13, 1833. ―――― I’D BE A BUTTERFLY.