A Burning Shame!"

ACCUSATION.

On searching for precedents, much to their dread, They found that they could n't well cut off her head;

And the 'House of Incurables' raised a 'Report' She was not a fit person to live in his Court.

How like an OLD CHARLEY

they then made him stand,

In his lanthorn a leech,

the 'Report' in his hand.

'Good folks be so good as not go near that door 'For, though my own wife, she is--I could say more 'But it's all in this Bag, and there'll be a fine pother,

'I shall get rid of her, and I'll then get another!'

Yet he thought, to himself,--

'twas a thought most distressing,--

'If she should discover

I've been M--ch--ss--g,

'There's an end of the whole!

D----rs C-ns, of course,

'If my own hands are dirty,

won't grant a D------ce!'

He tried to look wise, but he only look'd wild; The women laugh'd out, and the grave even smiled: The old frown'd upon him--the children made sport, And his wife held her ridicule at his 'Report'!

Moral.

Be warn'd by his fate Married, single, and all;

Ye elderly Gentlemen,

Pity his fall!

PUBLICATION.

As yon bright orb, that vivifies our ball, Sees through our system, and illumines all;

So, sees and shines, our Moral Sun, The Press, Alike to vivify the mind, and bless;

Sees the rat Leech turn towards Milan's walls,

'Till the black slime betrays him as he crawls;' Sees, from that recreant, vile, and eunuch-land, Where felon-perjurers hold their market-stand, Cooke, with his 'cheek of parchment, eye of stone,' Get up the evidence, to go well down;

Sees who, with eager hands, the Green Bag cram, And warns the nation of the frightful flam;

Sees Him, for whom they work the treacherous task,

With face, scarce half conceal'd, behind their mask, Fat, fifty-eight, and frisky, still a beau,

Grasping a half-made match, by Leech-light go; Led by a passion, prurient, blind, and batter'd, Lame, bloated, pointless, flameless, age'd and shatter'd;

Creeping, like Guy Fawkes, to blow up his wife, Whom, spurn'd in youth, he dogs through after-life.

Scorn'd, exiled, baffled, goaded in distress,

She owes her safety to a fearless Press:

With all the freedom that it makes its own,

It guards, alike, the people and their throne;

While fools with darkling eye-balls shun its gaze, And soaring villains scorch beneath its blaze.

INDIGNATION.

The day will soon come, when 'the Judge and the Ponderer,'

Will judge between thee, and the charge-daring 'Wanderer

Will say--'Thou who cast the first stone at thy wife,

Art thou without sin, and is spotless thy life?'

Ah! what if thy faults should 'outrival the sloe,'

And thy wife's, beside thine, should look 'whiter than snow'!

Bethink thee! the old British Lion awoke,

Turns indignant, and treads out thy bag-full of smoke.

Spurn thy minions--the traitors, who counsel thee, banish;

And the soldiers will quickly forget all their Spanish!

CORONATION.

Shakspeare says, in King John, it's a curse most abhorrent,

That 'Slaves take the humours of Kings for a warrant.' A more useful truth never fell from his pen,

If Kings would apply it like sober-bred men.

The Slaves of your will,

will make your reign, in History,

A misrule of force, folly, taxing, and mystery: Indulging your wish for

what, with law,'s incompatible,

For the present, they've render'd your crown not come-at-able;

And the tongues of old women and infancy wag, With, 'He call'd for his crown--and

they gave him the Bag!'

DEGRADATION.

To this have they brought thee, at last!

Exposed thee, for all men to see! Ah, surely, their pandering

shall quickly be past:-- 'How wretched their portion shall be!

'Derision shall strike them forlorn,

'A mockery that never shall die:

'The curses of hate and the hisses of scorn, f Shall follow wherever they fly;

'And proud o'er their ruin

for ever be hurl'd,

'The laughter of triumph,

the jeers of the world!'