Both rooks and pigeons will make flee,
Whilst every cashless company
Shall, laugh'd at, "cut and run."
Thus telling painted folly's sect,
What they're to look to, what expect,
My farewell words I now direct
To thee, migrating Spy;
That done, deliver'd all commands,
I man a cloud-ship with brave hands,
And sail to (quitting mortal lands),
My parlour in the sky.
Bernard, farewell; may rosy health
Companion'd by that cherub wealth,
Be constant to you, like myself,
Your own departing spirit.
Not that you're going to die; no, no,
You'll only take a nap or so;
But yet I wish you, 'fore you go,
These blessings to inherit.
Bernard, farewell; pray think of me,
When you ride earth, or cross the sea;
On both, you know, I've been with thee,
And sung some pretty things;
Great Spy, farewell; when next you rise
To make of fools a sacrifice,
You'll hear, down-cleaving from the skies,
The rustle of my wings.
January, 1826.
~343~~
Bernard Blackmantle and Bob Transit,
[Illustration: page343]
THE END.