1828.

Next week will be published (as "Lives" are the rage)

  The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange,

Of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage

  Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change.

Tho' the dog is a dog of the kind they call "sad,"

  'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends;

And few dogs have such opportunities had

  Of knowing how Lions behave—among friends;

How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks,

  Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;

And 'tis plain from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks

  That the Lion was no such great things after all.

Tho' he roared pretty well—this the puppy allows—

  It was all, he says, borrowed—all second-hand roar;

And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows

  To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour.

'Tis indeed as good fun as a Cynic could ask,

  To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits

Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task,

  And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits.

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case)

  With sops every day from the Lion's own pan,

He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass.

  And does all a dog so diminutive can.

However, the book's a good book, being rich in

  Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,

How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,

  Who'll feed on them living and foul them when dead.

Exeter 'Change,