a weight of blood upon me to this hour. Toads you know are made to fly,
and tumble down and crush all to pieces. Cockchafers are old sport; then
again to a worm, with an apostrophe to anglers, those patient tyrants,
meek inflictors of pangs intolerable, cool devils; to an owl; to all
snakes, with an apology for their poison; to a cat in boots or bladders.
Your own fancy, if it takes a fancy to these hints, will suggest many
more. A series of such poems, suppose them accompanied with plates
descriptive of animal torments, cooks roasting lobsters, fishmongers
crimping skates, &c., &c., would take excessively. I will willingly
enter into a partnership in the plan with you: I think my heart and soul
would go with it too--at least, give it a thought. My plan is but this
minute come into my head; but it strikes me instantaneously as something
new, good and useful, full of pleasure and full of moral. If old Quarles
and Wither could live again, we would invite them into our firm. Burns
hath done his part. I the other day threw off an extempore epitaph on
Ensign Peacock of the 3rd Regt. of the Royal East India Volunteers, who
like other boys in this scarlet tainted age was ambitious of playing at
soldiers, but dying in the first flash of his valour was at the
particular instance of his relations buried with military honours! like
any veteran scarr'd or chopt from Blenheim or Ramilies. (He was buried
in sash and gorget.)

MARMOR LOQUITUR

He lies a Volunteer so fine,
Who died of a decline,
As you or I, may do one day;
Reader, think of this, I pray;
And I numbly hope you'll drop a tear
For my poor Royal Volunteer.