And if seeking an illicit connection with fame, Any one else should put in a claim, In this comical competition; That excellent poem will prove A man-trap for such foolish ambition, Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg, And exposed in a second edition. Now the morning air was cold for him Who was used to a warm abode; And yet he did not immediately wish, To set out on his homeward road, For he had some morning calls to make Before he went back to Hell; So thought he I'll step into a gaming-house, And that will do as well; But just before he could get to the door A wonderful chance befell. For all on a sudden, in a dark place, He came upon General ----'s burning face; And it struck him with such consternation, That home in a hurry his way did he take, Because he thought, by a slight mistake 'Twas the general conflagration. CHURCH AND STATE. THOMAS MOORE. When Royalty was young and bold, Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become-- If't is not civil to say OLD-- At least, a ci-devant jeune homme. One evening, on some wild pursuit, Driving along, he chanced to see Religion, passing by on foot, And took him in his vis-a-vis. This said Religion was a friar, The humblest and the best of men, Who ne'er had notion or desire Of riding in a coach till then. "I say"--quoth Royalty, who rather Enjoy'd a masquerading joke-- "I say, suppose, my good old father, You lend me, for a while, your cloak." The friar consented--little knew What tricks the youth had in his head; Besides, was rather tempted, too, By a laced coat he got in stead, Away ran Royalty, slap-dash, Scampering like mad about the town; Broke windows--shiver'd lamps to smash, And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down. While naught could they whose heads were broke Learn of the "why" or the "wherefore," Except that 't was Religion's cloak The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore. Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd By the laced coat, grew frisky too-- Look'd big--his former habits spurn'd-- And storm'd about as great men do-- Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses-- Said "Damn you," often, or as bad-- Laid claim to other people's purses-- In short, grew either knave or mad. As work like this was unbefitting, And flesh and blood no longer bore it, The Court of Common Sense then sitting, Summon'd the culprits both before it; Where, after hours in wrangling spent (As courts must wrangle to decide well), Religion to St. Luke's was sent, And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell: With, this proviso--Should they be Restored in due time to their senses, They both must give security In future, against such offenses-- Religion ne'er to LEND HIS CLOAK, Seeing what dreadful work it leads to; And Royalty to crack his joke-- But NOT to crack poor people's heads, too. LYING. THOMAS MOORE.