eavour to please,
And exert ev'ry nerve, for rewards such as these?

It was early in Spring--but no matter what year, [p 6]
That the PEACOCK, delighting in noise, and good cheer,
Determin'd, for dear notoriety's sake,
A dash in the whirlpool of Fashion to make.
A Concert and Ball, their attractions united,
To which the _Beau-Monde_ were politely invited.
Away they all flew, it was heavenly weather,
And soon at the PEACOCK'S arriv'd, in full feather.
The scene was enchanting! for taste so refin'd
Had never appear'd with such splendor combin'd.
The Dance was all gaiety, frolic, and glee;
The Music transporting! the Supper _exquis_!
The Beaux were all _prime_, and the flow'r of the nation,
The Belles were all style, beauty, grace, fascination:
Good humour presided, where pleasure was law,
And the guests, more or less, all came off with _eclat_.

But, alas! Time has wings; and tho' still vastly clever,
We cannot make Balls last for ever and ever,
When day was seen breaking, the company parted; [p 7]
And none, I am told, ever went lighter hearted.

"I knew," cried SIR ARGUS, "_my_ Gala would shine:
Oh! charming distinction, Oh! pleasure divine.
Yes! _I_ too shall see myself figure away
In the records of fashion, the buz of the day;
And the world shall admire, in ages to come,
The brilliant display of the PEACOCK at Home."

Two months had now pass'd, and SIR ARGUS, one morning,
Was ruffling his plumes, and his person adorning,
When lo! from the regions of air, quick descending,
A PIGEON appear'd, and his neck gently bending,
Presented a Billet; then silently bow'd,
And, spreading his wings, was soon lost in a cloud.

SIR ARGUS, astonish'd, in haste now uncloses
The paper, perfum'd with fresh Otto of Roses.
"In fortune's dear name," he exclaims, "what is this [p 8]
'_The Peacock at Home!_' Oh! superlative bliss!
My feelings, prophetic, the honor foretold;
Yes! _The Peacock at Home_ shall be printed in gold:
How just the description! what grace, and what spirit!
Aye--this is indeed a production of merit."

Be it known, that the great _Biped Lords of Creation_,
Of _every_ class, and in _every_ station,
All secretly cherish, what all yet disclaim,
_That_ feeling, which we _curiosity_ name.
Now our PEACOCK imperial, tho' too proud to own,
That the fav'rite of Juno had e