~261~~
There's Ogle, and Westley, and Black,
With Mawman, and Kirby, and Cole,
And Souter, and Wilson--alack!
I cannot distinguish the whole.
For Robins, and Hunter, and Poole,
And Evans, and Scholey, and Co.
Would fill out my verse beyond rule,
And my Pegasus halts in the Bow.
The radicals all are done up;
Sedition is gone to the dogs;
And Benbow and Cobbett may sup
With their worthy relations the Hogs.
So here I will wind up my list
With Underwood, Callow, and Highley;
Who bring to the medicals grist,
By books on diseases wrote dryly.
Just one word at parting I crave--
If Italian, French, German, or Dutch,
To bother your noddle you'd have,
Send to Berthoud, or Treuttel and Wurtz,
Or Zotti, or Dulau, or Bohn,
But they're all very good in their way;
Bossange, Bothe, Boosey and Son,
All expect _Monsieur Jean_ Bull to pay.
"A right merrie conceit it is," said Blackstrap, "and an excellent
memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "Ay, sir,"
continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being
useful, as well as amusing.
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