III.

By the critical third he was fix'd in the snare;
By Fanny---gay, young, unaffected, and fair;

When she found he had merit, and Love took his part,
She dally'd no longer---but yielded her heart.

With joy they submitted to Hymen's decree,
And now are as happy---as happy can be.

IV.

As the rosebud of beauty soon sickens and fades,
The prude and coquette are two slighted old maids;
Now their sweets are all wasted---too late they repent
For transports untasted, for moments mispent!
Ye Virgins! take Warning; improve by my plan,
And fix the fond youth when you prudently can.

FANCY:

A SONG IN A PANTOMIME ENTERTAINMENT.

I.

FANCY leads the fetter'd senses
Captives to her fond controul;
Merit may have rich pretences,
But 'tis Fancy fires the soul.

II.

Far beyond the bonds of meaning
Fancy flies, a Fairy queen!

Fancy, wit, and worth disdaining,

Gives the prize to Harlequin.

111,

If the virgin's false, forgive her;
Fancy was your only foe:
Cupid claims the dart and quiver,
But 'tis Fancy twangs the bow.

NEWCASTLE BEER.

I.

WHEN Fame brought the news of Great-Britain's · And told at Olympus each Gallic defeat, [success, Glad Mars sent by Mercury orders express

To summon the deities all to a treat:

Blithe Comus was plac'd

To guide the gay feast,

And freely declar'd there was a choice of good cheer;

Yet vow'd, to his thinking,

For exquisite drinking,

Their nectar was nothing to Newcastle Beer.

The great God of War, to encourage the fun,
And humour the taste of his whimsical guest,
Sent a message that moment to Moor's* for a tun
Of stingo, the stoutest, the brightest, and best,
No gods---they all swore,

Regal'd so before,

*Moor's, at the sign of the Sun, Newcastle.

With liquor so lively, so potent, and clear,

And each deify'd fellow

Got jovially mellow,

In honour, brave Boys! of our Newcastle Beer.

III.

Apollo perceiving his talents refine,

Repents he drank Helicon water so long; He bow'd, being ask'd by the musical Nine, And gave the gay board an extempore song; But ere he began

He toss'd off his cann;

There's nought like good liquor the fancy to clear; Then sung with great merit,

The flavour and spirit

His Godship had found in our Newcastle Beer.

IV.

'Twas stingo like this made Alcides so bold;

It brac'd up his nerves and enliven'd his pow'rs; And his mystical club, that did wonders of old, Was nothing, my Lads! but such liquor as our's. The horrible crew

That Hercules slew,

Were Poverty---Calumny---Trouble---and Fear i Such a club would you borrow

To drive away sorrow,

Apply for a jorum of Newcastle Beer.

V.

Ye Youngsters! so diffident, languid, and pale,
Whom love, like the cholic, so rudely infests,
Take a cordial of this, 'twill probatum prevail,
And drive the cur Cupid away from your breasts:
Dull whining despise,

Grow rosy and wise,

No longer the jest of good fellows appear;

Bid adieu to your folly,

Get drunk and be jolly,

And smoke o'er a tankard of Newcastle Beer.

VI.

Ye fanciful Folk! for whom Physic prescribes,
Whom bolus and potion have harass'd to death;
Ye Wretches! whom Law and her ill-looking tribes
Have hunted about till you're quite out of breath;
Here's shelter and ease,

No craving for fees,

No danger---no doctor---no bailiff---is near;
Your spirits this raises,

It cures your diseases;

There's freedom and health in our Newcastle Beer.

HOLYDAY GOWN.

I.

IN Holyday Gown, and my new-fangled hat,

Last Monday I tripp'd to the fair;

I held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,
Brisk Roger, I guess'd, wou'd be there:

He wooes me to marry, whenever we meet ;
There's honey sure dwells on his tongue!
He hugs me so close, and he kisses so sweet,
I'd wed---if I were not too young.

II.

Fond Sue, I'll assure you, laid hold on the boy,
(The vixen would fain be his bride)
Some token she claim'd, either riband or toy,
And swore that she'd not be den'd.

A top-knot he bought her, and garters of green,
Pert Susan was cruelly stung:

I hate her so much, that to kill her with spleen
I'd wed---if I were not too young.

III.

Hehisper'd such soft pretty things in mine ear,
He flatter'd, he promis'd, and swore;

Such trinkets he gave me, such laces and geer,
That, trust me, my pockets run o'er.

Some ballads he bought me, the best he could find, And sweetly their burthen he sung:

Good faith, he's so handsome, so witty, and kind, I'd wed---if I were not too young,

IV.

The sun was just setting, 'twas time to retire; (Our cottage was distant a mile)

I rose to be gone---Roger bow'd like a squire,
And handed me over the stile.