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Alas! how deeply painful is all payment! [purses.
Take lives, take wives, take aught except men's As Machiavel shows those in purple raiment,
Such is the shortest way to general curses. They hate a murderer much less than a claimant
On that sweet ore which every body nurses. Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket:
So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken
To your instructor. Juan now was borne, Just as the day began to wane and darken,
O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn Toward the great city.--Ye who have a spark in
Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn
The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from
A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space Which well beseem'd the “ Devil's drawing-room,"
As some have qualified that wondrous place:
(1) [“ Under his proud survey the city lies,
And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise,
But Juan felt, though not approaching home,
As one who, though he were not of the race, Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t’ other.(':
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ;
But Juan saw not this : each wreath of smoke
Appear'd to him but as the magic vapour
The wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and paper) The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke
Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper, Were nothing but the natural atmosphere, Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear.
He paused - and so will I; as doth a crew
Before they give their broadside. By and by, My gentle countrymen, we will renew
Our old acquaintance; and at least I'll try
(1) [India; America.]
will not take as true,
Oh Mrs. Fry! Why go to Newgate? Why
Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin With Carlton, or with other houses ? Try
Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin.
A jargon, a mere philanthropic din,
Teach them the decencies of good threescore;
Cure them of tours, hussar and highland dresses ; Tell them that youth once gone returns no more,
That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses ; Tell them Sir William Curtis (2) is a bore,
Too dull even for the dullest of excesses,
On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated,
'Tis not so to be good; and be it stated, (1) [The Quaker lady, whose benevolent exertions have effected so great a change in the condition of the female prisoners in Newgate.]
(2) [This worthy alderman died in 1829.)
The worthiest kings have ever loved least state ;
And tell them But you won't, and I have prated Just now enough ; but by and by I'll prattle Like Roland's horn (1) in Roncesvalles' battle.
[“ O for a blast of that dread horn,
That to King Charles did come,
On Roncesvalles died." - Marmion.]
END OF THE SIXTEENTH VOLUME.