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"Perhaps you think you've made a Sonnet ;
To write-like Gerard-or myself!
"Oh! Charles !-who said you were a dunce?
And really I was so enchanted,
With all you said, and all you chaunted,,
And sat me down in haste to write
SONNET TO MR. BELLAMY.
"Oh! I am weary of thy minstrelsy;
Thou claw'st the chords with such a clumsy gripe And (straining still thy throat's discordant pipe) Fumblest, and fumblest on so dismally* ;
Evermore drawling a dull sleepy air,
Like that the old Cow died of. Cruel bard!
What have I done, that thou wouldst have me share
" I vow and declare that it's almost as clever
Schuvaat 27 kN. 1943
Chorus. Nesbit. Chorus.
"Bravo-Golightly's the poet to please;"
66 May I never drink beer if he's not!
"Libel and felony !"
"Zounds! Mr. Bellamy!
Bellamy. "How can I sit with this base charlatan?" Golightly. "Lord! I'm afraid that his sisters he'll tell o' me!" "Mr. Golightly shall find I'm a man!"
O'Connor. "Murder and turf! "2
"How I'll cut and assassinate ! Mr. Golightly shall smart for it soon!"
O'Connor. "Nate Mr. Bellamy, don't be so passionate!"
ARTICLES IN PREPARATION.
One On the Sense of Homer's Particles'-"
Golightly. "Two very neat and clever Articles!"
And Stanzas on Caernarvon Castle;'
By Bellamy, our departed friend;
'The Power of Steam;' 'A Tale of Bradgelah!'
Lastly some Greek and Roman stories.
I've burnt' Sir Francis on the Tories,'
As also Martial's Ode to Paint:
It has much humour, dry and quaint,
How can the merry Etonian fail,
"And blest with this ale?"
Oakley." While the Club's in such good humour, I'm very sorry to
But I've receiv'd an insult, which I really can't possibly pocket:
To prefer against him a charge, amounting to
Mr. Gerard, you've got a smile on your face, as much as to tell
And, here's the river Simois, and here's Xanthus,' says he,
As if either of them ever ran with Mr.Weight's best tea;
And here's Achilles and his Myrmidons.' I think it's very harsh To clap Achilles and all his soldiers into a great boiling marsh;
And though I tell him to be quiet, as loud as I can bawl,
It seems that he thinks me à blockhead, (Hear! hear!) for he don't mind me at all.
Therefore, as I don't like to be in this manner defied,
I pray that the President will immediately decide,
Whether the rights of Members are to be protected, or whether
Mr. Swinburne is to go on upsetting propriety, tea-cups, and Trojans, all together."
Swinburne. "Larga quidem, Drance, semper tibi copia fandi—”
Oakley. "If you talk any more lingo, you'll be fin'd and that won't be so handy."
Swinburne." I scorn to talk English where Latin won't be heard, And if I mayn't answer him classically, I won't answer a single word."
Courtenay. Guilty, guilty, the case is clear."
Musgrave. "The Swinburne coach is upset, I fear."
Courtenay. "To give the Judges no defence
Argues or guilt, or insolence;
Be it the first, or be it the last,
Dread is the doom that must now be past."
"Guilty, guilty, the case is clear."
"Mr. Courtenay, and Gentlemen, I think you're decidedly
I differ from you in most matters, and I differ from you in this;
Chorus (testifying astonishment.)
"Oh! Lord! did you ever?
Oh Lord! no I never!
The culprit was caught, the indictment drawn!
Mr. Oakley grows mild,
Peregrine's mock'd, and the charge withdrawn!"
"Chairman and King,
I meant no such thing;
Whence is this shouting and tumult drawn?"
"You've gone in your track
Too far to go back,
Peregrine's mock'd, and the
"I don't wish or intend to transgress any proper rules,
(Exit in the sullens.-Members testify congratulation.)
"It's very late!"
“Let's have another cup!"
Montgomery. "And sing a song,"
"By way of Summing Up?""
Friendly Etonians-health, and good night!
The Members shouted carmen hoc,
As sweet as linnet or canary;
THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER.
FAREWELL to the Hero, whose chivalrous name
The Triumphs of Empire have fled with a breath,
Time was that the lightning, which erst used to play
Oh! Fiend of Ambition, look down on the shame
And shook not the world, and its kingdoms with dread?
As his breath ebb'd away o'er the millions of slain?
Now, joy to ye, Thebans, whose heart's blood bedew'd
The desolate soil, where thine altars had stood!
Thou, Genius of Persia! look down from thy throne,
And the Spirit of Valour, the bosom of Fire,