CORONATION SOLILOQUY OF GEORGE To the tune of THE FOURTH. (July 19, 1821.) Amo, amas, I love a lass As cedar tall and slender; Sweet cowslip's grace, Is her nominative case, And she's of the feminine gender. Horum quorum, Sunt divorum, Harum, scarum, diro; Tag rag, merry derry, periwig and hatband, Rego, regis, Ilic, hoc, horum, genitivo. I. Good God, what's this? What, only half my Peeries! Regas, regat, Good God, what's that? The voice is like my deary's! Oh, no more there; Shut the door there; Harum, scarum, strife, O! O'KEEFE. Bags, Bags, Sherry Derry, periwigs, and fat lads, Save us from our wife, O! Rursus ego a man sum. Glory, glory! How will story Tell how I was gazed at! Perfect from my pumps, to the plumes above my hatband, All are me amazed at! Yes, my hat, Sirs, III. Think, of that, Sirs, Vast, and plumed, and Spain-like: See my big, Grand robes, my wig Young, yet lion-mane-like. Glory! glory! I'm not hoary; Age it can't come o'er me: Mad caps, grave caps, gazing on the grand man, All alike adore me. With wink of eye, But fear the newsman noting. Hah! the Toying, Never cloying, Cometh to console me: Crowns and sceptres, jewellery, state swords, Who now shall control me! Must I walk now! What a baulk now! V. Non est regis talis. O, for youth now! For in truth now, Non sum eram qualis. Well, well, roar us, On before us, Harum, flarum, stout O, Stately, greatly, periwig and trumpets Oh, could I leave but my gout O! What a dies! How it fri-es! VI. Handkerchiefs for sixty. Approbatio! How I feel betwixt ye! Curlies, burlies, Dukes and earlies, Bangs and clangs of band O! Shouty, flouty, heavy rig, and gouty, When shall I come to a stand O! Bliss at last! VII. The street is passed; The aisle-I've dragged me through it: Oh the rare Old crowning chair! I fear I flopped into it. Balmy, balmy, Comes the psalmy; Bland the organ blows me : Crown down coming on a periwig that fits me, All right royal shows me! Oh how bona My corona! VIII. Sitting so how dulcis! My oculus grim, And my spectrum slim, And proud, as I hold it, my pulse is! Shout us, chorus; Organs, roar us; Realms, let a secret start ye: Dragon-killing George on the coin is myself, And yet alas! Must e'en I pass IX. Through hisses again on foot, Sirs! Oh pang profound! And I now walk crowned, And with sceptre in hand to boot, Sirs! I go, I go, With a fire in my toe, I'm bowing, blasting, baking! Hall, O Hall, ope your doors, and let your guest in; Every inch I'm à-king. But now we dine! Oh word divine, X. Beyond what e'en has crowned it! Envy may call Great monarchs small, But feast, and you dumb-found it. To steady me handy For playing my knife and fork O! Green fat, and devilry, shall warrant me ere bed-time, In drawing my twentieth cork O. Hah, my Champy! Plumy, trampy! XI. Astley's best can't beat him! See his frown! His glove thrown down! Should a foe appear, he'd eat him! Glory, glory, Glut and glory I mean poury, Glut and poury— Poury, morey, Splash and floory, Crown us, drown us, vivo! Cram dram, never end, plethora be d-ned, man Vivat Rex dead-alive O! TO A SPIDER RUNNING ACROSS A ROOM. (The Liberal, No. 3, 1823.) THOU poisonous rascal, running at this rate. Thou thief-thou scamp-thou hideous much in little Caitiff of corners, doer of dark deeds, Mere lump of poison lifted on starved threads, I have thee now, I have thee here, full blown, Dost fear? Dost shrink, with all thine eyes to view MAHMOUD. (The Liberal, No. 4, 1823.) THERE came a man, making his hasty moan |