SONNET TO VAUXHALL.

THE cold transparent ham is on my fork— It hardly rains—and hark the bell!—ding-dingle— Away! Three thousand feet at gravel work, Mocking a Vauxhall shower!—Married and Single Crush—rush;—Soak’d Silks with wet white Satin mingle. Hengler! Madame! round whom all bright sparks lurk, Calls audibly on Mr. and Mrs. Pringle To study the Sublime, &c.—(vide Burke) All Noses are upturned!—Whish—ish!—On high The rocket rushes—trails—just steals in sight— Then droops and melts in bubbles of blue light— And Darkness reigns—Then balls flare up and die— Wheels whiz—smack crackers—serpents twist—and then Back to the cold transparent ham again!