Fined L5 in
each case."--_Observer_
[ILLUSTRATION: Best British Brandy not Permitted]
INVOCATION.
Assist, ye jocal nine[1], inspire my soul!
(Waiter! a go of Brett's best alcohol,
A light, and one of Killpack's mild Havannahs).
Fire me! again I say, while loud hosannas
I sing of what we were--of what we _now_ are.
Wildly let me rave,
To imprecate the knave
Whose curious _information_ turned our porter sour,
Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!)
Brown,
Down
Knocking our snug, unlicensed club;
Changing, despite our _belle esprit_, at one fell _swop_,
Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!
ODE.
Then little Bob arose,
And doff'd his clothes,
Exclaiming, "Momus! Stuff!
I've played him long enough,"
And, as the public seems inclined to sack us,
Behold me ready _dressed_ to play young Bacchus.
He said[2] his legs the barrel span,
And thus the Covent Garden god began;--
"GENTLEMEN,--I am--ahem--!--I beg your pardon,
But, ahem! as first low com.
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