_ Madame, on scait quelque chose de celui de Mon.
Maran, qui d'abord qu'il a vu les voleurs s'est enfin venu a
grand galoppe a Londres, and after dat a waggoner take up the
body and put it in his cart.
_Queen._ [_to_ PRINCESS EMILY.] Are you not ashamed,
Amalie, to laugh?
_Princess Emily._ I only laughed at the cart, mamma.
_Queen._ Oh! that is a very fade plaisanterie.
_Princess Emily._ But if I may say it, mamma, I am not very
sorry.
_Queen._ Oh! fie donc! Eh bien! my Lord Lifford! My God! where is
this chocolate, Purcel?
As Mr. Croker remarks, Queen Caroline's breakfast-table, and her
parentheses, reminds one of the card-table conversation of Swift:--
'The Dean's dead: (pray what are trumps?)
Then Lord have mercy on his soul!
(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.)
Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall;
(I wish I knew what king to call.)'
Fragile as was Lord Hervey's constitution, it was his lot to witness the
death-bed of the queen, for whose amusement he had penned the jeu
d'esprit just quoted, in which there was, perhaps, as much truth as wit.
The wretched Queen Caroline had, during fourteen years, concealed from
every one, except Lady Sundon, an incurable disorder, that of hernia.
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