Lancaster Gazette

POETRY.

From the London Literary Gazette.

TO BARTHOLOMEW THOMPKINSON,
Second Mate to the East India Ship "Peggy."
From Betsey

No! no! no joy will I be at!
No balls for me, without my Bat—
My heart I think will burst one!
And must you, Bat, submit to fate,
And be the Peggy's second mate,
Instead of Betsey's first one?

And you must leave your home again,
For seas that rage "with might and main,"
And gales all wild and windy;
You must give up your Margate trip,
And go in that tremendous ship,—
And all the way to Indy!

And this for money! dirty dross!
"A rolling stone collects no moss,"
As Sisyphus can tell you:
Well, well good bye! my little man,
Write me as often as you can
Of every thing befell you.

You must to Madeira go—
O! apropos; do let me know,
In case the compass varies,
And takes you to Canary Isles,
(The map don't make it many miles :)—
Are all the birds Canaries?

Be careful how you pass "the line"—
Though now it must be quite a twine;
So many vessels trouble it!—
And mind you clear "the Cape"—(what stuff!
As if the Cape weren't large enough,
That you must go—and double it!)

If you should stop there, where the wine,
You must be sure, is genuine,
Of course you'll buy a dozen;
Next parcel that you're sending home,
Please let one nice pint-bottle come
For Mrs. Smith—my cousin.

Dear Bat! take care, when you embark
At Indy, of that nasty shark
That steals so sly and stealthy;
For Dr. Shaw, the traveller, writes,
A full-grown shark's enormous bite's
Peculiarly unhealthy!

Do crocodiles there squeal and squall
And those great elephants—are all
Cut up for India-rubber?
And do the whales, big babies! cry
Fountains of tears from either eye
When you produce their blubber?

Alas! I fear when you arrive
At Indy (if you do alive.)—
Your love will soon grow duller
Ah! you yourself, I'm certain, you,
Chameleon-like, will change your hue,
And catch the copper-colour!

Oh! Bat! for your poor Betsey's sake,
Keep clear of tiger, jungle, snake,
Heat, cholera, and river!
"Live and let live"—is sage advice,
My dearest boy, you'll not live nice
When you've destroyed your liver.

Soon may you bring across the seas,
Peru's whole treasure in rupees,
And come back fresh and fat, love;
But should you die, (perhaps you will,)
Better lie quiet there, and still—
Don't be a Vampire, Bat, love.