XLII.

I like on Autumn evenings to ride out,
Without being forc'd to bid my groom be sure
My cloak is round his middle strapp'd about,
Because the skies are not the most secure;

I know too that, if stopp'd upon my route,
Where the green alleys windingly allure,
Reeling with grapes red waggons choke the way,—
In England 'twould be dung, dust, or a dray.

XLIII.

I also like to dine on becaficas,

To see the Sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow, Not through a misty morning twinkling weak as

A drunken man's dead in maudlin sorrow,

eye

But with all Heaven t' himself; that day will break as Beauteous as cloudless, nor be forc'd to borrow

That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers

Where recking London's smoky cauldron simmers.

XLIV.

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth,

And sounds as if it should be writ on satin,

With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in,

That not a single accent seems uncouth,

Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, Which we're oblig'd to hiss, and spit, and sputter ali.

XLV.

I like the women too (forgive my folly),
From the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy bronze,
And large black eyes that flash on you a volley
Of rays that say a thousand things at once,
To the high dama's brow, more melancholy,
But clear, and with a wild and liquid glance,
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

XLVI.

Eve of the land which still is Paradise!

Italian beauty! didst thou not inspire Raphael', who died in thy embrace, and vies With all we know of Heaven, or can desire, In what he hath bequeath'd us?—in what guise,

Though flashing from the fervow of the lyre, Would words describe thy past and present glow, While yet Canova can create below ??

1

For the received accounts of the cause of Raphael's death, sce his Lives.

2 Note.

(In talking thus, the writer, more especially
Of women, would be understood to say,
He speaks as a spectator, not officially,
And always, reader, in a modest way;
Perhaps, too, in no very great degree shall he
Appear to have offended in this lay,

Since, as all know, without the sex, our sonnets

Would seem unfinish'd like their untrimm'd bonnets.)

(Signed) PRINTER'S DEVIL.

66

XLVII.

England! with all thy faults I love thee still,"

I said at Calais, and have not forgot it;

I like to speak and lucubrate my fill;

I like the government (but that is not it); I like the freedom of the press and quill;

I like the Habeas Corpus (when we've got it); I like a parliamentary debate,

Particularly when 'tis not too late;

XLVIII.

I like the taxes, when they're not too many;

I like a seacoal fire, when not too dear;

I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any;
Have no objection to a pot of beer;

I like the weather, when it is not rainy,

That is, I like two months of every year.

And so God save the Regent, Church, and King!

Which means that I like all and every thing.

XLIX.

Our standing army, and disbanded seamen,
Poor's rate, Reform, my own, the nation's debt,
Our little riots just to show we are free men,

Our trifling bankruptcies in the Gazette,
Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women,

All these I can forgive, and those forget, And greatly venerate our recent glories,

And wish they were not owing to the Tories.

L.

But to my tale of Laura,-for I find

Digression is a sin, that by degrees

Becomes exceeding tedious to my mind,

And, therefore, may the reader too displease

The gentle reader, who may wax unkind,

And caring little for the author's ease,

Insist on knowing what he means, a hard
And hapless situation for a bard.