flashes of lightning, or, as the vulgar say, 'glasses of gin,' gleamed about. Good old Mr. Bags stuck, however, to his blue ruin, and Attie to the bottle of bingo: some, among whom were Clifford, and the wise Augustus, called for wine; and Clifford, who exerted himself to the utmost in supporting the gay duties of his station, took care that the song should vary the pleasures of the bowl. Of the songs chosen we have only been enabled to preserve two. The first is by Long Ned, and though we confess we can see but little in it, yet (perhaps from some familiar allusion or another, with which we are necessarily unacquainted,) it produced a prodigious sensation,—it ran thus:—
The Rogue's Recipe.
Your honest fool a rogue to make,
As great as can be seen, Sir,—
Two hacknied rogues you first must take,
Then place your fool between, Sir.
Virtue's a dunghill cock, ashamed
Of self when pair'd with game ones,
And wildest elephants are tamed
If stuck betwixt two tame ones.
The other effusion with which we have the
