. Whims and oddities : in prose and verse. ded in a canter,And made me a Levanter, In foreign lands to sigh for the Favourite! IV. Then next Miss M. A. TreeI adored, so sweetly she Could warble like a nightingale and quaver it ;-But she left that course of lifeTo be Mr. Bradshaws wife, And all the world lost on the Favourite ! v. But out of sorrows surfSoon I leapd upon the turf, Where fortune loves to wanton it and waver it;—But standing on the pet, Oh my bonny, bonny Bet! Black and yellow pulld short up with the Favourite! * The late favourite of the Kings Theatre, who left the pas seul ofli
. Whims and oddities : in prose and verse. ded in a canter,And made me a Levanter, In foreign lands to sigh for the Favourite! IV. Then next Miss M. A. TreeI adored, so sweetly she Could warble like a nightingale and quaver it ;-But she left that course of lifeTo be Mr. Bradshaws wife, And all the world lost on the Favourite ! v. But out of sorrows surfSoon I leapd upon the turf, Where fortune loves to wanton it and waver it;—But standing on the pet, Oh my bonny, bonny Bet! Black and yellow pulld short up with the Favourite! * The late favourite of the Kings Theatre, who left the pas seul oflife, for a perpetual Ball. Is not that her effigy now commonly borneabout by the Italian image venders—an ethereal form holding a wreathwith both hands above her head—and her husband, in emblem, beneathher foot. E 50 BACKING THE FAVOURITE. Thus flung by all the crack,I resolvd to cut the pack,— The second-raters seemd then a safer hit!So I laid my little oddsAgainst Memnon ! Oh, ye Gods! Am I always to be floored by the Favourite I. O, MY BONNIE, BONNIE, BET ! 51 A COMPLAINT AGAINST GREATNESS. I am an unfortunate creature, the most wretched of allthat groan under the burden of the flesh. I am fainting,as they say of kings, under my oppressive greatness. Amiserable Atlas, I sink under the world of—myself. But the curious will here ask me for my name. I amthen, or they say I am, The Reverend Mr. Farmer, afour-years old Durham Ox, fed by himself, upon oil cakeand mangel-wurzel: but I resemble that worthy agricul-tural Vicar only in my fat living. In plain truth, I am anunhappy candidate for the show at Sadlers, not theWells, but the Repository. They tell me I am to bearthe bell, (as if I had not enough to bear already!) by mysurpassing tonnage—and, doubtless, the prize-emblem willbe proportioned to my uneasy merits. With a great Tomof Lincoln about my neck—alas! what will it comfort meto have been commended by the judges. Wearisome and painful was my Pilgrim-like prog
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