HOLLY GROVE.

AN

EPITHALAMIC SATIRE.

CANTO II.

OH! Royal York, why was I not thy bride?

Had I but cradled thee, thou hadst not died—
And love, and need, have nought to do, with pride,
Thy King, and brother's self, was not so nice,
He married-first for love, and last for vice.

The case is clear: if love cannot attain

To rank-rank must descend, again.

At times, I love; and, having money, too,
I'll have a duke, though one step below you.

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10.

Then, Harriet, quickly mov'd her sturdy stumps—
Queen Dollollolla marries, Jemmy Jumps.

She, singly, beat him, at his favorite cricket;

He, fairly, bowl'd him into her double wicket.

Still, what is done? We've, almost, play'd a year—
This match, will never have an end, I fear.

My motto sooth'd-I took the tempting bait,
Sprung out of debt, into the marriage-state:
But now, methinks; the Oracle's a liar-
"Twas, from the frying-pan, into the fire;

And as I look upon my helpmate's hairy

Lip, think that it should be read, just contrary.
Harriet quotes Shakspeare's book, inferring thence,
They "palter with us, in a double sense."

Our prospect will be realised, again,

When" Birnam Wood return to Dunsinane."

Fortune! have I not dar'd enough for thee?

'What man dare, I dare!"—thou'rt too much for me.

Sire of my ancestors! that thou didst sin,

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In by-gone days, with naughty Mistress Gwynne,

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I owe my being. Thy example, now,

If I adopt, needs no defence, I trow.

To save his bacon, much, thy coz, it boots,
For she is rich, to marry Widow Coutts.
Whether that thou look on me, up or down,

Thou can'st not, surely, knit thy brows, and frown ;
And tho' thy father shake his gory head,

And bring no cash-"needs must"--I, therefore, wed.*

Some say a certain royal duke is silly

The duchess laughs, because my name is Billy.

Still rest your royal manes! I'm no fool,
Whate'er folks think; I was at a good school-
And, with my reverend uncle, as a tutor,

At last, doubt not, I, to a T, shall suit her.
Young folks may die; but old folks MUST, we know,
And when it pleases God, I'll let her go:

Nor, like Van Butchell, pickle, frame, and glaze her;
But, rather, by some shorter scheme, amaze her.
Then, I may choose, of all the empire round,

The fairest, best, and richest to be found,

Give brains, with wealth, unto my embryo-son,

And e'en Tom Sheldrake shall exclaim-well done:

Or, if he chose to quit his earthly post,

The self-same cheer shall give, Tom Sheldrake's ghost.

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$50

Now squeamish lords, who scrupled, heretofore,
To let your spouses meet old Coutts's w―e,
And e'en, in after-times, would toss your head,
At Harriet Coutts's cire-cloth, nuptial bed:
Tho' England's King, with Mrs. Coutts, would dine,
And royal Frederick quaff the banker's wine.

Who shall St. Alban's Duchess dare refuse,

And risk the dangers of her angry muse?

She cannot write; but she has cash, you know,
And here 'tis "money makes the mare to go."
She keeps her poets, and the press, in pay,
That those shall laud, and these shall nothing say,
Britain may, well, its press impartial boast,
The independent press, a standing toast,

While the most clamorous of its venal fry,
Half-whisper-Come-I'm up-who'll buy?
buy?!

This brand applies to all the motley crew

Who'll

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They sell themselves-their daughters-wives, and you— With horror quote of tyrant-states, the vice,

Of selling justice, at the highest price;

While all, descending from " The Times," and "Post,"

Adopt one plan-and side with, who pays most.

Aurora, lowring, wept her sore disgrace;

Phoebus, for shame, too, veil'd his glowing face:

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But, as the famish'd great went out of town,

He spat, and sputtered, with attempts to frown,

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And, when our Princes, even, join'd the raff,

The God relax'd, and burst into a laugh; ' mana

Then blazed forth, with unrestricted shine,

T'expose the set, so cheaply brib'd—to dine. ‚'

What! princely Cumberland? not precocious George,
To aid the splendor of this nuptial gorge?

Nor Sussex bring, nor Este, nor d'Amiland,
To kiss a Mellon's b-or Beauclerc's hand?
Lank, half-starv'd Leopold, is here, of course, ly
As church-mouse poor, and hungry as a horse.

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Prince Polignac, ambassador of France, culta qi' nola? Declin'd, e'en in quadrille, to join the dance,

While Puckler Muskau quizz'd a Russian ballete-cla

But Esterhazy waltz'd, to Cranbourn Alley,

And could not come and smiling Cimitellil að to yếu Preferr'd the whips and ice, to vermicelli.