Why, when thus Thames--bed-bother’d--why repine! Do try a spare bed at the Serpentine! Yet let none think thee daz’d, or craz’d, or stupid; And sunk beneath thy own and Thames’s craft; Let them not style thee some Mechanic Cupid Pining and pouting o’er a broken shaft! I’ll tell thee with thy tunnel what to do; Light up thy boxes, build a bin or two, The wine does better than such water trades: Stick up a sign--the sign of the Bore’s Head; I’ve drawn it ready for thee in black lead, And make thy cellar subterrane,--Thy Shades? ANACREONTIC. FOR THE NEW YEAR. Come, fill up the Bowl, for if ever the glass Found a proper excuse or fit season, For toasts to be honour’d, or pledges to pass, Sure, this hour brings an exquisite reason: For hark! the last chime of the dial has ceased, And Old Time, who his leisure to cozen, Had finish’d the Months, like the flasks at a feast, Is preparing to tap a fresh dozen! Hip! Hip! and Hurrah! Then fill, all ye Happy and Free, unto whom The past Year has been pleasant and sunny; Its months each as sweet as if made of the bloom Of the _thyme_ whence the bee gathers honey-- Days usher’d by dew-drops, instead of the tears, May be wrung from some wretcheder cousin-- Then fill, and with gratitude join in the cheers That triumphantly hail a fresh dozen! Hip! Hip! and Hurrah! And ye, who have met with Adversity’s blast, And been bow’d to the earth by its fury; [Illustration: THE BOTTLE IMP.] [Illustration: “THE IDES OF MARCH ARE COME!”] To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass’d, Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury,-- Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime, The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen! Hip! Hip! and Hurrah! A WATERLOO BALLAD. To Waterloo, with sad ado, And many a sigh and groan, Amongst the dead, came Patty Head, To look for Peter Stone. “O prithee tell, good sentinel, If I shall find him here? I’m come to weep upon his corse, My Ninety-Second dear! “Into our town a sergeant came With ribands all so fine, A-flaunting in his cap--alas, His bow enlisted mine! “They taught him how to turn his toes, And stand as stiff as starch; I thought that it was love and May, But it was love and March! “A sorry March indeed to leave The friends he might have kep’,-- No March of Intellect it was, But quite a foolish step. “O prithee tell, good sentinel, If hereabout he lies? I want a corpse with reddish hair, And very sweet blue eyes.”