And dat gros pied de cochon—begar, me vil say
Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder way."
Mr. Phil. Fudge, in his dreams, thinks of a plan for changing heads.
Good Viscount S—dm—th, too, instead
Of his own grave, respected head,
Might wear (for aught I see that bars)
Old Lady Wilhelmina Frump's—
So while the hand sign'd Circulars,
The head might lisp out, "What is trumps?"
The R—g—t's brains could we transfer
To some robust man-milliner,
The shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon,
Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on;
And, vice versâ, take the pains
To give the P—ce the shopman's brains,
The only change from thence would flow,
Ribbons would not be wasted so!
Or here is another proposal for weighing the head of the State;
Suppose, my Lord,—and far from me
To treat such things with levity—
But just suppose the R—g—t's weight
Were made thus an affair of state;
And, ev'ry sessions, at the close,
'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is
Heavy and dull enough, God knows—
We were to try how heavy he is.
Much would it glad all hearts to hear
That, while the Nation's Revenue
Loses so many pounds a year.
The P——e, God bless him! gains a few.
With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices,
I see the Easterns weigh their Kings;—
