But Heaven, that brings out good from evil, And loves to disappoint the devil, Had predetermined to restore Twofold all he had before; His servants, horses, oxen, cows-- Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse! SENTIMENTAL. The rose that blushes like the morn, Bedecks the valleys low: And so dost thou, sweet infant corn, My Angelina's toe. But on the rose there grows a thorn, That breeds disastrous woe: And so dost thou, remorseless corn, On Angelina's toe. AN ETERNAL POEM. Your poem must ETERNAL be, Dear sir, it can not fail, For 'tis incomprehensible, And wants both head and tail. BAD POETS. Swans sing before they die--'t were no bad thing; Did certain persons die before they sing. TO MR. ALEXANDRE, THE VENTRILOQUIST. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Of yore, in Old England, it was not thought good, To carry two visages under one hood: What should folks say to YOU? who have faces so plenty, That from under one hood you last night showed us twenty! Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? Man, woman or child--a dog or a mouse? Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? Each live thing did I ask?--each dead implement too, A workshop in your person--saw, chisel, and screw! Above all, are you one individual?--I know You must be, at least, Alexandre and Co. But I think you're a troop, an assemblage, a mob, And that I, as the sheriff, should take up the job: And, instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse! THE SWALLOWS. R. BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. The Prince of Wales came into Brooke's one day, and complained of cold, but after drinking three glasses of brandy and water, said he felt comfortable. The prince came in and said't was cold, Then put to his head the rummer, Till SWALLOW after SWALLOW came, When he pronounced it summer. FRENCH AND ENGLISH. ERSKINE The French have taste in all they do, Which we are quite without; For Nature, that to them gave GOUT To us gave only gout. EPIGRAMS BY THOMAS MOORE. TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson LOW (By name, and ah! by nature so), As thou art fond of persecutions, Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, How Captain Gulliver was treated, When thrown among the Lilliputians. They tied him down-these little men did-- And having valiantly ascended Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, They did so strut!--upon my soul, It must have been extremely droll To see their pigmy pride's exuberance! And how the doughty mannikins Amused themselves with sticking pins And needles in the great man's breeches; And how some VERY little things, That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings Got up and worried him with speeches.