ANTICIPATION.

“Oh yes! he is in Parliament; He’s been returning thanks; You can’t conceive the time he’s spent Already on his franks. He’ll think of nothing, night and day, But place, and the Gazette:”— No matter what the people say,— You won’t believe them yet. “He filled an album, long ago, With such delicious rhymes; Now we shall only see, you know, His speeches in the Times: And liquid tone and beaming brow, Bright eyes and locks of jet, He’ll care for no such nonsense now:” Oh! don’t believe them yet! “I vow he’s turned a Goth, a Hun, By that disgusting Bill; He’ll never make another pun; He’s danced his last quadrille. We shall not see him flirt again With any fair coquette; He’ll never laugh at Drury Lane.”— Psha!—don’t believe them yet. “Last week I heard his uncle boast He’s sure to have the seals; I read it in the Morning Post, That he has dined at Peel’s; You’ll never see him any more, He’s in a different set: He cannot eat at half-past four:”— No?—don’t believe them yet. “In short, he’ll soon be false and cold, And infinitely wise; He’ll grow next year extremely old, He’ll tell enormous lies; He’ll learn to flatter and forsake, To feign and to forget:”— O whisper—or my heart will break— You won’t believe them yet!