I feel little interest in their publication.
They are simply--_Advertisement Verses_.
It is not for me, nor you, to allude in public to the kindness of our honored Friend, under whose auspices you are become a Publisher.

May that fine-minded Veteran in Verse enjoy life long enough to see his patronage justified?
I venture to predict that your habits of industry, and your cheerful spirit, will carry you through the world.
I am, Dear Moxon, Your Friend and sincere Well-Wisher, CHARLES LAMB.
ENFIELD, _1st June_, 1839.
ALBUM VERSES WITH A FEW OTHERS.
* * * * * IN THE AUTOGRAPH BOOK OF MRS.

SERGEANT W----.
* * * * * Had I a power, Lady, to my will, You should not want Hand Writings.

I would fill Your leaves with Autographs--resplendent names Of Knights and Squires of old, and courtly Dames, Kings, Emperors, Popes.

Next under these should stand The hands of famous Lawyers--a grave band-- Who in their Courts of Law or Equity Have best upheld Freedom and Property.
These should moot cases in your book, and vie To show their reading and their Sergeantry.
But I have none of these; nor can I send The notes by Bullen to her Tyrant penn'd In her authentic hand; nor in soft hours Lines writ by Rosamund in Clifford's bowers.
The lack of curious Signatures I moan, And want the courage to subscribe my own.
* * * * * TO DORA W----.
ON BEING ASKED BY HER FATHER TO WRITE IN HER ALBUM.
An Album is a Banquet: from the store, In his intelligential Orchard growing, Your Sire might heap your board to overflowing: One shaking of the Tree--'twould ask no more To set a Salad forth, more rich than that Which Evelyn[1] in his princely cookery fancied: Or that more rare, by Eve's neat hands enhanced, Where, a pleased guest, the Angelic Virtue sat.
But like the all-grasping Founder of the Feast, Whom Nathan to the sinning king did tax, From his less wealthy neighbors he exacts; Spares his own flocks, and takes the poor man's beast.
Obedient to his bidding, lo, I am, A zealous, meek, _contributory_ LAMB.
[Footnote 1: Acetaria, a Discourse of Sallets, by J.E.1706.] * * * * * IN THE ALBUM OF A CLERGYMAN'S LADY.
An Album is a Garden, not for show Planted, but use; where wholesome herbs should grow.
A Cabinet of curious porcelain, where No fancy enters, but what's rich or rare.
A Chapel, where mere ornamental things Are pure as crowns of saints, or angels' wings.
A List of living friends; a holier Room For names of some since mouldering in the tomb, Whose blooming memories life's cold laws survive; And, dead elsewhere, they here yet speak and live.
Such, and so tender, should an Album be; And, Lady, such I wish this book to thee.
* * * * * IN THE ALBUM OF EDITH S----.
In Christian world MARY the garland wears! REBECCA sweetens on a Hebrew's ear; Quakers for pure PRISCILLA are more clear; And the light Gaul by amorous NINON swears.
Among the lesser lights how LUCY shines! What air of fragrance ROSAMOND throws round! How like a hymn doth sweet CECILIA sound! Of MARTHAS, and of ABIGAILS, few lines Have bragg'd in verse.