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With a plain good woman, neisher blue-stocking nor snarler,
Who had no objection to draw a cup from the barrel, or
Do any little turn about her neat back-parlour,
And thought it a long journey to Richmond-hill or Marlow,

Like an old Cockney, &c.
With a warm house, into which came neither belles nor beaux,
But worthy men of substance, in comfortable trunk-hose,
Who considered the Pope, the Pretender, and Monsieur as their foes,
But bore good will and amity to all mankind but those,

Like an old Cockney, &c.

With an old cupboard full of decent old books,
A great oak-boarded BIBLE, you might know it by its looks,
With an old Hollinshed fastened with copper hooks,
And Jane Shore, and the Children of the Wood, and such old ditties in
the nooks,

Like an old Cockney, &c.
With an old fashion, when Sunday was come,
To walk to church with his prayer-book between his finger and his thumb,
But when service was over he had good roast beef and plum-
Pudding, -whereof every merry apprentice had some,

Like an old Cockney, &c.
With a good fashion, after dinner was done,
To drink a glass of Arrack-punch made by his wife or his son,
Whereof each filled a bumper that did almost overrun,
And then drunk to the King's health-jollily every one,

Like an old Cockney, &c.
But, in different times, more's the pity, different manners we find,
This old man's descendant is to foppish courses inclined,
And, with newspapers and tavern-speeches, so corrupted is his mind,
That, not to speak the thing harshly, he is fit to be joined

With the new Cockneys of King Leigh's,

[and King Leigh’s new Cockneys.]
Like a green Cockney, who dwells by Hampstead in a Box,
Whence he looks down on Pope, and Dryden, William Pitt, and Charles

And writes Essays, which he swears are better than Addison's or Locke's,
And filthy obscene sonnets withal, for which he should be set in the stocks,

Like a new Cockney of King Leigh's,

[and King Leigh’s new Cockney.] Who, amidst a vile raffish company, is always giving of himself airs, Thrumming upon a crazy spinnet, with fingers like a bear's; Laughing at all decent people who go to church and say their

prayers, But don't consort with kept-madams, washer-women, and stage-players,

Like a new Cockney, &c.


Who thinketh himself a Homer, and placeth above Aristotle
A stuck painter, whose nose ten dozen swandrops do mottle ;
Who would think it no harm the whole bench of Bishops to throttle;
And drinks green gooseberry wash out of a Champagne bottle,

Like a new Cockney, &c.
Who hangs his parlour with smutty prints, and makes a mighty fuss too,
About a painted book-case topp'd with his own down-looking busto,
And jabbers all day long about Brio and Gusto,
And rails against Lord Wellington, Crib, Gas, and Little Puss too,

Like a new Cockney, &c.

Whose mental vision squints so Morgan-like, so abominably oblique,
That he dares to publish translations from Italian and Greek,
Though of these he knows nothing; and even in English is sorely to seek,
Rhyming rhymes which all abhor, except little Jeffrey's little critique.

Like a new Cockney, &c.
Now may Hazlitt, and Hunt, and Jeffrey, and M'Intosh, and Brougham,
Hold their tongues from henceforth ever, and their proper stations resume;
For, not one of them will write a history or poem till the crack of doom,
That any gentleman or lady would not hate to see in their room,

Like a new Cockney, &c. If Hazlitt writes any more Stable-Talk he shall certainly be feruledIf Hunt reaches forth his sceptre, his crown shall be perildIf Jeffrey ever struts again, the Black Dwarf shall strut his heraldAnd if Sir Jemmy talks of Histories, I'll dedicate my History of Gerald

To spotless Brougham and princely Leigh,

And King Leigh's new Cockneys.

Song II.
Cobbett's Complaint. A Virge.
To the Tune of “ Hone, O Hone."

Now let no eyes be dry, O Hone, O Hone! Now let all lament and cry,

O Hone, O Hone! For Ca--ro -- line is dead, And with her our

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hopes are fled, For by her we all were fed, 0 Hone, o Hone! 1.

4. Now let no eyes be dry,

The nose of Harry Brougham,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, o Hone! Now let all lament and cry

Had before the twitch of gloom,
O Hone!

O Hone!
For Caroline is dead,

But now he'll burst with spleen, And with her our hopes are fled,

When brought back to bombazeen For by her we all were fed,

By the exit of the Queen,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, O Hone! 2.

5. Now Chronicle and Times,

Her Majesty, 'tis known,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, O Hone! Are fill'd with rueful rhymes,

He was willing to disown,
O Hone!

O Hone!
Mr Walter, Mr Perry,

But my Lord of Castlereagh Shall no longer be made merry

For his purchase would not pay,
On her brandy, port, and sherry,

Therefore now he well may say
O Hone, O Hone !

O Hone! O Hone! 3.

6. Sir Robert weeps his loss,

Now, Sir Jamie Mackintosh,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, O Hone! He at last has got a CROSS,

Needs a cogie o' Fairntosh,
O Hone!

O Hone!
This Baños' chevalier

He well may take a cup Will look yellow, thin and queer,

To keep his spirits up,
When reduced to Lambton's cheer,

For with her no more he'll sup,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, o Hone!

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But subscriptions may arise,

Had Caroline gone forth,
O Hone, O Hone!

O'Hone, O Hone !
Even out of obsequies

On her travels to the North,
O Hone!

O Hone!
To be busy about these

What addresses, speeches, thanks,
May restore a patriot's ease,

What Sir Fiddles and Sir Franks
As when Gerald cross'd the seas,

In Bartolomeo's ranks !
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, O Hone!

For the Radical Review,

Now, like Patience in a Punt,
O Hone, O Hone!

O Hone, O Hone!
My tears are not a few-

Sits the majesty of Hunt,
O Hone!

O Hone!
Little Goblin and his crew

Sure a thousand years may wing
Have nothing more ado

Their flight, and never bring
But strike up with Ullalooh,

Such a Queen for such a King,
O Hone, O Hone!

Q Hone, O Hone!
Wolsely, Wooler, and Carlisle,

And Hone, O Hone!
And thou glory of our Isle,

Saint Hone!
Pour a bumper solemnly
Of imitation tea-
And sing dolefully with me

O Hone, O Hone!

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Dedicatory, Panegyrical, and Discursive,
To CHRISTOPHER North, Esq. formerly the Veiled Conductor, but now the

bare-fuced and much-stared-at Editor of Blackwoods Magazine, Health,
Wealth, and Good Spirits;

CHRISTOPHER, Cock of the North, word with you—and you insist on
Prince of Periodicals, and Monarch of their winnowing away their husks,

Magazinists, I dedicate to you the and so compressing into a quart-pottle bagno spoils of my first incursion into the what looked a big and bulky heap,

territories of verse; and, at the same and fit to fill a gallon. You will ba

time, take the opportunity, too often nish, I believe, the publication of se#let slip by pusillanimous dedicators, parate treatises from the land. By ps of praising you point-blank to your the authority of your dictatorship, put

face. Man of monthly appearance in in force against the stiff-necked, or print, you have so changed the frame where that is uncalled for, through of the features of the universal literary the fascination of your example with countenance, and have put so much the milder-natured, there is an end

more meaning and expression into it, put at last to the infliction of all long* that the world of letters is not at all winded tractates upon us. All disa

what it was indeed it is no longer a cussions henceforth are, I foresee, to republic, it is become an absolute mo- come within the compass of a few narchy, and you are the Despot of it. hours' reading; and, indeed, most of You have established a standard mea- the viri clariss. are now convinced that sure for the bulk of works; and au- a Magazine (or, more correctly, The thors are everywhere bringing in their MAGAZINE) is your only commodious Winchester bushels, to have them vehicle for delivering and ensuring the gauged and conformed to your decree; perusal of their lucubrations de quovis but, zooks, you will allow few or none omnium scibilium--from Cookery up to of them to put forth a bushel of their the Law of Contingent Remainders, stuff at a time-condensation is the. Isoperimetrical Problems,or the worldVOL. X.


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wide difference between Objectivity That you are qualified for the high and Subjectivity, or, indeed, any other office which you assume, is on all like pleasant topic for fifteen minutes' hands agreed, and particularly by pick-tooth chit-chat.

your skill in languages. Here, inBy the bye, touching the one I deed, you are great you have a whole have put at the foot of the scale, jangling bunch of these keys of knowMr Murray having now established ledge. It is not necessary to advert his claim to the best Cookery-book particularly to those in which you going, (not going, however, while excel an exception proves the rule Mrs Rundell's injunction lasted,) and let me object then, that you do the said Mr Murray having here- not speak the Timbucton tongue with tofore, foolishly, as I think, knead- urbane elegance. I presume your ined it up into one solid substance, a structor was not familiarly admitted regular-made fat 12mo. with title- to Court, while he lived under the page, and tail-piece, and index, if not sway of King Woollo, and there alone actually the puff-paste of Mr Murray the conversational tone of good breedhimself, yet at least the dresser and ing is readily acquired. However, rolling-pin were put in requisition with this exception, and the fault lies under his specific direction for com- at the door of your instructor, (indeed pounding it; having, as I said, unad- it is difficult to get a good master of visedly sent it forth with too many that tongue), you are highly accomgood things, and too much of them, plished in all-perhaps we may say in one huge platter, he will, under you are most au fait in the Chaldee your presiding auspices, find it his and Amharic, and certainly Mr Belinterest, I trow, to carve down the zoni is greatly obliged by your readmaterials of his feast, and send them ing to him at sight the copies of the up to the snow-white monthly spread hieroglyphics he brought home. Of table-cloth of Maga, in the form of politics I say nothing, the Radicals entremêts, not over-much at once, but are eradicated, and the Whigs at a prettily dished and garnished by some nonplus,- let him who would assign of the tasteful traiteurs, who have de- the degree of merit due to you in this monstrated their excellence in your business, reckon how far the sun's employ. This is the only way, in- rays penetrate into infinite space. deed, to make

other things go

In matters of wit and humour, all down, as well as the ingredients of are taking the tone from you-one cookery. Metaphysics, which used good and clear example is as well as a to lumber into the world in all the thousand. Hear, then, how contagisolidity (not to say stolidity) of a 4to ous you are, facetious Christopher, and phenomenon of four or five hundred marvel. You are followed by your senipages assigned to every mooted point, ors. All the world knows that you have have had their day of triumphant indelibly fixed the name of The Cockhumbug. Dissertations in that line, ney School upon a certain captious breed (according to the tenor of your condi- of sentimentalists in the Strand, and tional Veto), can no more shew their ruralists in the Rotten Row ; and have noses, unless they be content to shrink moreover sported the same sort of wit into the dimensions of a five or six in classing others as belonging to the page essay; and so the misty matter Leg of Mutton School, and others not is settled without any more prosing contemplated by Bell or Lancaster. about it and about it. But in other Now, in good sooth, this thy jocundisubjects, a good deal of the gift of ty hath so bewitched Sylvanus Urban, long-windedness is contracted, parti- that, in last month's Gentleman's, cularly in the belles lettres or æsthetics, that “awfully ancientold square-toes," (if Mr C. will have it so), and here leaving his ordinary talk • of graves, your voice is equally potent. Why, and worms, and epitaphs," hath tried the Bowles and Byron controversy his hand in the same way, and hath would have gone on for ever and a conferred the appellation of the Jessaday, if you had not caught that inter- my School on a sect, in which Mr Haloper, Jeremy Bentham, and, after milton, with his Garden of Florence, having slashed and carbonaded him, is the chief aspirant. Did you think offered him up as an expiatory victim the old boy had it in him at his time to the Goddess of Critical Discord. of day ? For remember, he began his

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course of editorship on 1st of Janu- that exposed and parentless bantling

ary, 1731, O.S.; and, from this, we had been nursed up by public apJu may give a good guess at his state of plause, to a good measure of health

senility. He was, there is no doubt of and chubbiness, because it set the sale u it, constitutionally staid and saturnine, a-going again—but did Sir Walter s and therefore better adapted to much write it? I doubt it; for he, honest * of the mechanical, and eke the discre- man, is busy enough at Abbotsford,

tionary business of an Editor at 25, and little likely to trouble his brains

than you are, Christopher, (be it said with book-vending maneuvres; and 1 without offence,) even at this present I question if it has ever reached his 3 writing ; seeing as how he never got ears, that this pretty imitation of him

into a scrape, or roused any heart- is now actually exposed to sale as goods

burnings, in near a century's supervi- of his genuine manufacture, It is conk sion ; while you, at your sober time of fessed, that the Nithsdale and Gal.

life, when you ought to be more pru- loway Songs are not all old ; there are 1. dent, can hardly repress the flashes many modern ballads, surpassing the

and fiery out-breaks of your volcanic ancient perhaps, in that admirable di genius. Let him, then, have begun at Garland--Now, who wrote them ?

25, this brings him out to be at least Does somebody say Allan Cunning115 years old. Now, really, to make a ham? Pooh, he has enough to do chip

convert of such an antediluvian, and ping marble at Chantrey's, without mai to inspirit him with such near ap- king rhymes to the clink of his hammer.

proaches to rejuvenescence, merely by Who wrote the Poetic Mirror? Who the force of your bouncing animal spi- wrote Ellen Fitzarthur? Who wrote rits, is indeed somewhat to boast of. Henry Schultze, and others, divers

But poetry, sweet poetry, is your and sundry, of various sorts and sizes ? forte. I have little to mention about I do not pretend, Christopher, that that which you have written yourself, you are positively the progenitor of all although it be greatly more than the and every of these, but I confess my world wots of. Let the Reading Pub- suspicions, that you are the writer of lic, when they are struck with won- most of them, for I know it is not your der at the beauty of any anonymous way to be jealous of your own fame, bijou, or when they have puzzled their provided that what you launch into braiņs, and teazed one another, all to the world has answered its end, in no purpose, in inquiring after the bo- amusing or instructing your contempodily owner of some likely, but imagi- raries, either by setting afloat the sanary name, affixed to a successful tale cred fount of sympathetic tears, or by in verse, romance, idyll, ballad, or dra- suppling those muscles about the jaws,

-which seeming author is not to be which experience dilatation during found under that deceptive appella- mirth. I say then, that, provided tion, from the Lizard Point, to John whichever of these ends you may have o' Ģroat's--Let them, I say, in defect intended, be answered, you let the of claimant for the laurel wreath, gossips father the brat on whomsoever which the brows of the inditer there- they please ; and ascribe it to someboof are entitled pay the tribute of dy other they certainly will. Well, their admiration to Christopher North well, however sublime, picturesque, -they will not often be in the wrong. harmonious, spirited, humorous, or Who wrote the Pursuits of Literac witty a poet you may be yourself, the ture? A fig for Mr Mathias-he has gist of my present panegyric does not never owned it, from A. D. 1792, lie in that it is, that you are the fose down to this present 1821, being the terer of the art in others. Like Falfirst year after bissextile. Who wrote staff, you are not only witty yourself, the Loves of the Triangles ? Some but the cause of wit in others; and, whippersnapper replies, “ Undoubted- what he was not, you are poetical also, ly Canning, or Frere, or it was a joint and the cause of poetry in others. concern of that witty set;" and if the Which genius of the present day is not. hearer is contented—be it so-but, I indebted to you for encouragement, say, it is a secret still. Who wrote the when he has done well—for direction, Rejected Addresses? Who wrote Whis, when he is sliding unawares into a tlecraft? It was very cunning in the wrong course and for reproof, when booksellers to put Sir Walter Scott's he has quite deviated from good taste ? zname to the Bridal of Triermain, after Even your sharpnesses have been


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