Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies; Between them stands another sceptered thing-- It moves, it reigns--in all but name, a king; Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, --In him the double tyrant starts to life; Justice and death have mixed their dust in vain, Each royal vampyre wakes to life again. Ah! what can tombs avail, since these disgorge The blood and dust of both to mold a George? ON A CARRIER WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS. John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell, A carrier who carried his can to his mouth well; He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more--so was carried at last; For the liquor he drank, being too much for one, He could not carry off--so he's now carriON. EPIGRAMS OF BARHAM. ON THE WINDOWS OF KING'S COLLEGE REMAINING BOARDED. Loquitur Discipulus Esuriens. Professors, in your plan there seems A something not quite right: 'Tis queer to cherish learning's beams By shutting out the light. While thus we see your windows block'd, If nobody complains; Yet everybody must be shock'd, To see you don't take pains. And tell me why should bodily Succumb to mental meat? Or why should Pi-ra, Beta Pi-ra, Pi-c, Be all the pie we eat? No HELLUO LIBRORUM I, No literary glutton, Would veal with Virgil like to try, With metaphysics, mutton. Leave us no longer in the lurch, With Romans, Greeks, and Hindoos: But give us beef instead of birch, And BOARD US--not your windows. NEW-MADE HONOR. [IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.] A friend I met, some half hour since-- "GOOD-MORROW JACK!" quoth I; The new-made Knight, like any Prince, Frown'd, nodded, and pass'd by; When up came Jem--"Sir John, your slave!" "Ah, James; we dine at eight-- Fail not--(low bows the supple knave) Don't make my lady wait." The king can do no wrong? As I'm a sinner, He's spoilt an honest tradesman and my dinner. EHEU FUGACES. What Horace says is, Eheu fugaces Anni labunter, Postume, Postume! Years glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me I Now, when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, Taglionis, and Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, Sighing, I murmur, "O mihi praeteritos !" ANONYMOUS EPIGRAMS ON A PALE LADY WITH A RED-NOSED HUSBAND. Whence comes it that, in Clara's face, The lily only has its place? Is it because the absent rose Has gone to paint her husband's nose? UPON POPE'S TRANSLATION OF HOMER So much, dear Pope, thy English Homer charms, As pity melts us, or as passion warms, That after ages will with wonder seek Who 'twas translated Homer into Greek. RECIPE FOR A MODERN BONNET.