And joy 'tis to know that old High Church and Co., Though not capital priests, are such capitalholders.

There's one on 'em, Ph-llp-ts, who now is away, As we're having him fill'd with bumbustible stuff, Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day, When we annually fire his Right Reverence off.

'Twould do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by, When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with

bile,

Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers cry, "How like the dear man, both in matter and

Should

style!"

you want a few Peers and M. P.s, to bestow, As presents to friends, we can

these*:

recommend

Our nobles are come down to nine-pence, you know, And we charge but a penny a piece for M. P.s.

* Producing a bag full of lords and gentlemen.

Those of bottle-corks made take most with the trade, (At least, 'mong such as my Irish writ summons,) Of old whiskey corks our O'Connells are made, But those we make Shaws and Lefroys of, are rum 'uns.

So, step in, gentlefolks, &c. &c.

Da Capo.

ANNOUNCEMENT

OF

A NEW GRAND ACCELERATION COMPANY

FOR THE PROMOTION OF

THE SPEED OF LITERATURE.

LOUD complaints being made, in these quick-reading times,

Of too slack a supply, both of prose works and

rhymes,

A new Company, form'd on the keep-moving plan, First propos'd by the great firm of Catch-'em-who

can,

Beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and speed, Some fast-going authors, of quite a new breedSuch as not he who runs but who gallops may read

And who, if well curried and fed, they've no doubt, Will beat even Bentley's swift stud out and out.

It is true, in these days, such a drug is renown,
We've "Immortals" as rife as M. P.s about town;
And not a Blue's rout but can off-hand supply
Some invalid bard who's insur'd "not to die."
Still, let England but once try our authors, she'll
find

How fast they'll leave ev'n these Immortals behind ;
And how truly the toils of Alcides were light,
Compar'd with his toil who can read all they write.

In fact, there's no saying, so gainful the trade,
How fast immortalities now may be made;

Since Helicon never will want an 66

Undying One," As long as the public continues a Buying One; And the company hope yet to witness the hour, When, by strongly applying the mare-motive* power, A three-decker novel, 'midst oceans of praise, May be written, launch'd, read, and-forgot, in three days!

In addition to all this stupendous celerity,
Which to the no small relief of posterity -

*"'Tis money makes the mare to go."

Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame,
Nor troubles futurity ev'n with a name

(A project that wo'n't as much tickle Tom Tegg as

us,

Since 'twill rob him of his second-priced Pegasus);
We, the Company - still more to show how immense
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and
pence;

And that not even Phœbus himself, in our day,
Could get up a lay without first an outlay—
Beg to add, as our literature soon may compare,
In its quick make and vent, with our Birmingham

ware,

And it doesn't at all matter in either of these lines,
How sham is the article, so it but shines,-
We keep authors ready, all perch'd, pen in hand,
To write off, in any giv'n style, at command.
No matter what bard, be he living or dead*,
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as said:
There being, on th' establishment, six Walter Scotts,
One capital Wordsworth, and Southeys in lots;

* We have lodgings apart, for our posthumous people, As we find that, if left with the live ones, they keep ill.