THE SPORTING PUNSTERS.

Two merry wags, of c.o.c.kney land, Well known at Rhodes's, in the Strand, Where tavern wits choice puns let fly, Resolved their dogs and guns to try.

Dress'd cap-a-pee, in sporting suit, With jacket, belt, and net to boot, Away they trudge to Hampstead Rise, To take the pheasants by surprise.

And what will strange appear, though true, A poor stray'd c.o.c.k-bird came in view, Uprising 'tween the punning elves, Who miss'd the bird, but shot themselves.

Condoling on their hapless gunning, They yet could not desist from punning: "Ne'er mind, Tom, _peasants_ each we've hit."

"Why leave the _aitch_, Ned, out of it?"

"Because," quoth Ned, "I'd fain forget The _aitch_ that frets my body yet."

"Still _pop_ for _pop_," quoth Tom again.

Says Ned, "I feel a _shooting pain_; But then I've heard, those who aspire To be good sportsmen must stand fire."

"Agreed," cries Tom, "and in my head 'Tis now engraved in _molten lead_."

_By_ Bernard Blackmantle.

ON SIR THOMAS MORE, LORD CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND.

When _More_ had few years Chancellor been, No _more_ suits did remain; The like shall never _more_ be seen, Till _More_ be there again!

R.B. SHERIDAN'S EPIGRAM ON PITT.

The nation is _p.a.w.n'd_! we shall find to our cost, And the minister since has the _duplicate_ lost.

We shall all be undone by the politic schemer, Who, though "_Heav'n-born_[23]," will not prove a _Redeemer_.

[23] In the ministerial prints Mr. Pitt was usually so designated.

ON "RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON, BY THE LATE R.C. DALLAS, EDITED BY HIS SON."

A mighty DULL a.s.s is old prosing Dallas, And quite as dull and prosing is his Son-- What! fifteen shillings for the book! Alas!

No pleasant "_Recollection_"----I am _done_.

DEAN SWIFT'S BARBER.

Dean Swift's barber one day told him that he had taken a public house.

"And what's your sign?" said the Dean. "Oh, the pole and bason; and if your worship would just write me a few lines to put upon it, by way of motto, I have no doubt but it would draw me plenty of customers." The Dean took out his pencil, and wrote the following couplet, which long graced the barber's sign:

"Rove not from _pole_ to _pole_, but step in here, Where nought excels the _shaving_ but the _beer_."

G. COLMAN TO MISS M. TREE,

_Impromptu, on Miss M. Tree's intended marriage and retirement from the stage._

You bloom and charm us!--still the bosom grieves, When Trees of _your description_ take their _leaves_.

TO CAPTAIN PARRY, THE POLAR NAVIGATOR,

_On his giving a Fete on board the Hecla._

Dear Captain Parry, you are right To give the belles a levee; G.o.d grant your _dancing_ may be _light_, For oh! your _book is heavy_.

SAM ROGERS TO CHARLES LAMB.

_Elia's Pen._

Says _Elia_, "Zounds, this pen is hard!"

Quoth Samuel Rogers, "Do not huff; But write away, my honey bard, You soon can make it _soft enough_."

FRI _v._ DAY.

_Good Friday_ rain'd, _Sam Rogers_ dined On soles, for fish were all the go; And Sam allowed the _Fri_ was _good_, Although the _day_ was but _so so_.

TO THE LATE MR. COUTTS.

_Written at Holly Lodge, Highgate, by the Duke of Gordon, and presented in the Drawing-room by the Marquis of Huntley._

An _apple_, we know, caused old Adam's disgrace, Who from Paradise quickly was driven; But yours, my dear Tom, is a happier case, For a _Melon_ transports you to heaven.

TO MRS. COUTTS, THE GAY WIDOW.

Her mourning is all make-believe; 'Tis plain there's nothing in it; With weepers she has tipp'd her sleeve, The while she's laughing in it.

IMPROMPTU, BY LORD ERSKINE TO LADY PAYNE, ON BEING TAKEN ILL AT HER HOUSE.

'Tis true I am ill, but I need not complain; For he never knew pleasure who never knew _Payne_.

TO C.J. FOX, ON HIS MARRIAGE.

G.o.d's n.o.blest work's an _honest man_, Says Pope's instructive line; To make an _honest woman_, then, Most surely is divine.

TO JOSEPH HUME, ON HIS ORATORY.

You _move_ the people, when you speak, For one by one, _away_ they sneak.

COWPER'S HOMER.

_Any-mad-versions_ when like this I see, _Animadversions_ they will draw from me.