WHAT is London's last new lion? Pray, inform me if you can; Is't a woman of Kamschatka or an Otaheite man? For my @3conversazione@1 you must send me something new, Don't forget me! Oh I sigh for the @3éclat@1 of a @3debut!@1 I am sick of all the "minstrels," all the "brothers" this and that, Who sing sweetly at the parties, while the ladies laugh and chat; And the man who play'd upon his chin is @3passé,@1 I suppose So try and find a gentleman who plays upon his nose. Send half-a-dozen authors, for they help to fill a rout, I fear I've worn the literary lionesses out! Send something biographical, I think that fashion spreads, But do not send a poet, till you find one with two heads. The town has grown fastidious, we do not care a straw For the whiskers of a bandit, or the tail of a bashaw! And travellers are out of date, I mean to cut them soon, Unless you send me some one who has travell'd to the moon. Oh, if you send a singer, he must sing without a throat! Oh, if you send a player, he must harp upon one note! I must have something marvellous, the marvel makes the man; What is London's last new lion? Pray, inform me if you can. |