Keene, thou art gone, while I was poor, my cupid; 140
But, I got rich-thou waxed'st old, and stupid.
Thou, Sheridan, accept my fond farewell.—
Raymond, and Tempest, nothing, now, can tell.
Ragghi, and Morriset, no more shall dodge,
Within the precincts of dear Holly-Lodge.
To Arnold, half; Barry, one sigh, to thee;
But, as for Haines, I can well spare him three.

Be silent, Spring! Thou art my sprig of myrtle,
An ever-green-nor much unlike a turtle.

.149

END OF CANTO I.

NOTES

ON

HOLLY-GROVE.

CANTO 1.

Line 8. And witless fifteen weds with ninety-fivé.

We all know that such matches, as this, have taken place; but what have the Duke and Duchess of St. Alban's to do with it? Every one must be aware that the Duke was, at least, twenty-one, or he could not have taken his seat, in the House of Peers; and SHELDRAKE'S Memoirs prove that the Duchess must be under sixty; though I have some reason to think her older, than, even, he makes her. She really, carries her age, admirably. When Miss Duncan, at about thirty, married Davison, who was only twenty-three, Harriet Mellon was one of the loudest declaimers against the indecency of the bride, for having entered into an alliance, so preposterous, in point of years!! The cases of the late Duke of Roxburgh, with the fair wanderer, and that of Mr. Coke of Norfolk with Lord Albemarle's daughter, were the reverse

of that of the Duke of St. Alban's. They both married young girls, who brought them children.

Line 13.

Where Florizel enjoy'd Perditta's charms,
And fat, fair, forty, sunk in George's arms.

The Prince, and Mistresses Robinson and Fitzherbert, are not out of recollection. The latter has a complexion, now, that she has turned eighty, which girls might envy. I believe that, if it were, ever paralleled, it was only by Ninon de l'Enclos. The poet errs in saying that she sunk, if the allusion be to her conduct. The Prince sunk; but HIS WIFE ROSE,

Line 17. Long, Beauclerc sigh'd for Coutts' exhaustless bag, Deplor'd the price; yet would not lose the swag.

Slang" has long been rising, in the esteem of fashionables, or such a phrase would not come within, even poetical license. Swag" is the slang-term for BOOTY,

Line 39. Addresses may, from Corporations, come, Invites, and dinners, want us, next, at home.

This may, by a stretch of poetical license, refer to Mrs. Coutts's attempt (see Memoirs, p. 115,) to obtain the freedom of Edinburgh and her endeavour, through Sir William Beechey, to dine with the Royal Academy!

+

Albeit, I confess, very much of a head and shoulder introduction, being in the mood, I cannot refrain, and therefore, humbly, beg pardon, for my abruptness. The Duchess will not withhold her mercy; for, if her Grace, attach any portion of it, to herself, it must either be in a corporate, or papa-imperial capacity: and, if, in the latter, it must be as Pope Joan!

The Pope, stopping, in a little village, of Italy, for the night, the inhabitants resolved to send him, a deputation. The Mayor thought it an excellent opportunity of offering, to his holiness, the productions of the country-pine-apples, figs, and cream. The pine-apples were over-ruled : perhaps they were rarities, to the villagers themselves. It was resolved that each deputy should carry figs, and cream, in silver basins.

Now, said the Mayor, big with self-sufficiency, You are not in the common habit of familiar intercourse, with personages of high rank; let us have no vagaries: do just what you see me do: neither more, nor less—an instruction, scarcely inferior to that of Prince Hamlet, to the players, 6 od 5 !

The deputation fell into its respectively assigned places, preceded by the Mayor, himself a conglomeration of majesty, holding, like his followers, a basin filled with figs in the left hand, and a similar basin of cream in the right.

At that time, beards were in vogue. The door opened, and the care-taking Mayor, repeated to his train, in an audible whisper" Neither more, nor less, I beseech you."

There was a descending step, to the room; but, the Mayor, solely intent on the importance of the occasion, stumbled, which caused him to dip his head into the basin of cream, and fell, upon his knees, with his hands under him, and his face protruding.

The Corporation, thinking this an essential point of form, prostrated themselves, one by one, in rapid succession, ducking their heads, in the cream, and turning their faces, masked as they were, towards their leader, to be sure that all was right.

The Pope was, for a moment, astounded; but, at length, he burst into a roar of laughter; while his attendants, conceiving that some sturdy vagabonds had, merely, sought an audience, to insult his holiness, scrambled up the figs, and pelted the sapient Corporation, most lustily.

The Mayor, covered with bruises, got out of the presence, as speedily, as possible, followed, in quick time, though orderly too, by his brethren, one of whom, in a half-tone, said in his ear, "Wasn't it lucky we didn't bring the pine-apples? They'd have batter'd our brains, to mummy!"

Line 46. D-n me, the mortgage, if I don't foreclose.

I once heard Lady swear, like a trooper, at one of her grooms; but that was in "auld lang syne," and such things never occur, in this Bible-age! She squared her elbows, and stuck her knuckles, upon her hip bones..