Genius loved and wooed

By that self-same river;

They had Common Good;

And all three lived for ever.

While I touch the string,

Wreathe my brows with laurel; For the tale I sing,

Has a further moral.

A HATE SONG.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE POET AND A LADY.

P. Let lovers whine of darts and pains

That run 'em through and through;
And curse their lot in such old strains,
As make us curse it too.

For my part, Ma'am, my happier fate
At present is to be in hate.

L. In hate! Good God, Sir, what a phrase!
And what a dreadful thing!

Come, come, you're in your joking ways:
What! lofty as a king!

Well, well, I hope its not with me!
You'll not convince me easily.

P. I trust I may, for those sweet eyes
So gentle are and winceable,
They hold the sum of all that's wise,
Convincing and convinceable.

So there!-and there! They call it, Ma'am,
The argument ad fœminam.

L. Well, Sir, I vow-Nay, nay, I'll hide

The book you kiss so for one;

But still I am not satisfied,

Now you, Sir, could abhor one.

Why, it must be a shocking state!

What does one do, when one's in hate!

P. Why nothing, Madam. There's the bliss :— "Tis all a fine negation;

No anxious thoughts of that or this,

Nor any inclination;

Except indeed, when one is present,

To go away, or be unpleasant.

L. Nay, this would be indifference,

Except for that last word:

I, sometimes, God knows, could dispense
With a whole tattling herd;

But as to being wilfully

Unpleasant, why-P. You cannot be.

Now I, Ma'am (here some critic cries,

* Ay, ay,

there is no need

For telling us that eyes are eyes:

You'd say that you succeed"-)

Now I, Ma'am, may; though seldom sure

Except with some poor fierce Reviewer.

But one can't be in hate with men ;
It must be with a person
Of t'other sex; and only then
When she's a very curse on
The sex itself, and only known
For woman by her libellous gown.

A

A vain and jealous lump, to wit,
Who sins and thinks all sinners;
Or one who "cannot eat a bit,"

Because she's had two dinners;
Or one who holds her kindred small,
And yet demands first love from all.
Or one, who with a mighty air
Makes flourishes of trumpets
In asking you to eat a pear,

Or pressing you to crumpets;
Then chucks a farthing to a beggar,
Because he looks "so monstrous eager."

Or one, who with a tongue as meek
As if it could not stir,

Will flatter you till you are sick,
In hopes you'll flatter her;
And if you don't, or won't, or can't,
Will go and say you keep your aunt.
Or one who cannot find a pound
To cheer her parents' faces,
And then to all her gossips round
Goes flaring in new laces;

Wearing in her adder's ears

Pearls that seem compos'd of tears.

L. My wonder's gone:-but still-this fuss-
Ah, Madam, pray. reflect;

P.

If Ladies fall in hate with us,
They cannot bear neglect.

Disdain so kills them with vexation,
"Tis kindness to return the passion.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

A Correspondent asks after the words, which suggested to us the song in a number or two back. We found them in an old set of airs by Millico, who we believe, was a popular composer. They are as follow, and are set in a very sprightly and characteristic manner.

Se moneca ti fai,

Io frate mi farò;
In che convento vai,
Io pur ti seguirò.
Quando batte la luna,
Fatto la mia fortuna,

Che regolar non so:
Vorresti farti moneca,

Ma non lo credo, no.

We are much obliged to our friend T. R., and should like to see the work he speaks of.

Printed and published by JOSEPH Appleyard, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand. Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistockstreet, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Book sellers and Newsmen.

1

THE INDICATOR.

There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eye:
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.

SPENSER.

No. LXVIII.-WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 24th, 1821.

APOLOGIES AND PRIMROSES.

WE omitted to mention, that the verses in our last number were repeated from the Examiner. It is neither the importance nor the unimportance of the things themselves, which makes us thus scrupulous; but as we go upon a ground of truth in all we write, and do not even wear a mask in this our "Indicative mood," we like the reader to know when he is purchasing patterns that have not been sold before, and when he is consenting, for our accommodation, to let those that have, be copied for him as a make-up. It is fair play towards him; and assists whatever value our writings may have, when new.

As people cannot get well, somehow, as fast as they could wish, still less by the same means which helped to make them ill, (which is very inconvenient), we must again draw upon former productions for a whole number. There are twenty subjects pressing upon us for notice, to all which, like friends whom we long to visit, we are obliged to make the most unwilling and self-denying excuses: but it is only with the hope of securing our health for their service. At present, we are obliged to go on nursing our megrims, diaphragms, patiences, and "other gentilities," as Metastasio says. But spring, as well as hope, is now before us; and we omit no active, as well as passive means, to restore the equilibrium between our preaching and our practice, and prove ourselves worthy pioneers into the woods and green lanes. Saturday morning, which happened to be so fine, we heard, for the first time this year, the cry of Primroses; which besides its being a very pretty cry and tuneable, is to the new year what the Cuckoo is to the summer; only it is a still pleasanter song, because it is still more wanted, and is human. Fortunately, the crier was a woman, and did it justice. What a world of thoughts must not a passing voice, on such an occasion, cast into each house as it goes! To how many people must it not speak of youth, and childhood, and the green fields, and all that has past since they used to stroll in them, and all the VOL. II.

On

hours they would willingly pass there again! For our parts, in spite
of our ill health, it opened upon us at once such an agreeable sphere
of creation, made up of health, and morning, and youth, and fresh air,
and the flowers, that we could not help imagining the crier to be both
young and handsome. The woman with doves on her head in one of
Raphael's pictures could not have touched us more.
It is true, had
she turned out old and withered, she might not have touched us less:
but we did not get up to see.redu brum

FALSTAFF'S LETTERS.*

[Agreeably to our plan of noticing such works as either demand a particular kind of introduction to the public, or do not appear to be appreciated as they deserve, we repeat a criticism written by a friend on the following Letters. Not long after it appeared in the Examiner, the author, who was its subject, died. His name was James White; and many who knew nothing of him as a writer, will recollect being familiar with his name in the unromantic title of an Agent for Newspapers. Not the least indeed of his Shakspearian qualities, was an indifference to fame. He was also, like his great inspirer, a gentleman. He was one among the many living writers, who passed their boyhood in Christ Hospital, where he held an office, sometime after quitting it. We remember, as he passed through the cloisters, how we used to admire his handsome appearance, and unimprovable man` ner of wearing his new clothes.]

"Original Letters, &c. of Sir John Falstaff and his Friends; now first made public by a Gentleman, a descendant of Dame Quickly, from genuine MSS. which have been in the possession of the Quickly Family near four hundred years."

Pen

A copy of this work sold at the Roxburgh sale for five guineas. We have both before and since that time picked it up at stalls for eighteenReader, if you shall ever light upon a copy in the same way, we counsel you to buy it. We are deceived if there be not in it much of the true Shakspearian stuff. We present you with a few of the Letters, which may speak for themselves:

FALSTAFF TO THE PRINCE.

"I pr'ythee, Hal, lend me thy 'kerchief. An thy unkindness have not started more salt gouts down my poor old cheek, than my good rapier hath of blood from foemen's gashes in five and thirty years' service, then am I very senseless mommy. I squander away in drinkings monies belonging to the soldiery! I do deny it they have had part-the surplus is gone in charity- -accuse the parish-officers— make them restore-the whoreson wardens do now put on the cloak of supplication at the church doors, intercepting gentlemen for charity, forsooth!-Tis a robbery, á villainous robbery! to come upon a gentleman reeking with piety, God's book in his hand, brimfull of the sacrament! Thou knowest, Hal, as I am but man, I dare in some sort leer at the plate and pass, but as I have the body and blood of Christ within me, could I do it? An I did not make an oblation of a matter of ten pound

after the battle of Shrewsbury, in humble gratitude for thy safety, Hal, then am I the verjest transgressor denounced in God's code. But I'll see them damned ere I'll be charitable again. Let 'em coin the platelet them coin the holy chalice."

THE SAME TO THE SAME.
E SAME TO TI

*

"Ha! ha ha! And dost thou think I would not offer up ten pound for thee? yea, a hundred-more-but take heed of displeasing in thy sacrifice. Cain did bring a kid, yea, a firstling upon the altar, and the blaze ascended not. Abel did gather simple herbs, penny-royal, Hal, and mustard, a fourpenny matter, and the odour was grateful. I had ten pound for the holy offertory-mine ancient Pistol doth know it but the angel did arrest my hand. Could I go beyond the word?the angel which did stretch forth his finger, lest the good patriarch should slay his 800.- That Ned Poins hath more colours than a jay, more abuse than a taught pie, and for wit-the cuckow's dam may be Fool of the Court to him. I lie down at Shrewsbury out of base fear! I melt into roods, and acres, and poles! I tell thee what, Hal, there's not a subject in the land hath half my temperance of valour.Did I not see thee combatting the man-queller, Hotspur; yea, in peril of subduement? Was it for me to lose my sweet Hal without a thrust, having my rapier, my habergion, my good self about me? I did lie down in the hope of sherking him in the rib four drummers and a fifer did help me to the ground:-didst thou not mark how I did leer upon thee from beneath my buckler? That Poins hath more scurrility than is in a whole flock of disquieted geese.

"For the rebels I did conceal, thou should'st give me laud. I did think thou wert already encompassed with more enemies than the resources of mau could prevent overwhelming thee; yea, that thou wert the dove on the waters of Ararat, and didst lack a resting-place. Was it for me to heap to thy manifold disquiets? Was it for me to fret thee with the advice of more enemies than thou didst already know of? I could not take their lives, and therefore did I take their monies. I did fine them, lest they should escape, Hal, thou dost understand me, without chastisement; yea, I fined them for a punishment. They did make oath on the point of my sword to be true men:-an the rogues foreswore themselves, and joined the Welchman, let them look to it-'tis no 'peachment of my virtue."

AGAIN.

*

“Oh! I am sitting on a nest of the most unfledged cuckows that ever brooded under the wing of hawk. Thou must know, Hal, I had note of a good hale recruit or two in this neighbourhood. In other shape came I not; look to it, Master Shallow, that in other shape I depart not. But I know thou art ever all desire to be, admitted a Fellow Commoner in a jest. Robert Shallow, Esq. judgeth the hamlet of Cotswold. Doth not the name of judge horribly chill thee? With Aaron's rod in his hand, he hath the white beard of Moses on his chin. In goodsooth his perpetual countenance is not unlike what thou wouldst conceit of the momentary one of the lunatic Jew, when he tumbled God's tables from the mount. He hath a quick busy gait-more of this upright Judge (perpendicular as a pikeman's weapon, Hal), anon. I would dispatch with these Bardolph; but the knave's hands-(I cry thee mercy) his mouth is full in preventing desertion among my recruits. An every liver among them haven't stood me in three and forty shilling, then am I a naughty escheator. I tell thee what, Hal, I'd fight against my conscience for never a Prince in Christendom but thee.-Oh! this is a most damnable cause, and the rogues know it-they'll drink nothing but sack of three and twopence a gallon; and I enlist me none but tall puissant fellows that would quaff me up Fleet-ditch, were it filled with sack-picked men, Hal-such as will shake my Lord of York's mitre. I pray thee, sweet lad, make speed-thou shalt see glorious deeds."

How say you, reader, do not these inventions smack of Eastcheap? Are they not nimble, forgetive, evasive? Is not the humour of them elaborate, cogitabund, fanciful? Carry they not the true image and superscription of the father which begat them? Are they not steeped all over in character-subtle, profound, unctuous ? Is not here the very effigies of the Knight? Could a counterfeit Jack Falstaff come by these conceits? Or are you, reader, one who delights to drench