No; she must be perfect snow

The Stage Coach.
In effect, as well as show;
Warming but as snow-balls do,

Resolv'd to visit a far-distant friend,
Not like fire by burning too ;

A porter to the Bull-and-Gate I send, But when she by change hath got

And bid the slave at all events engage To her heart a second lot,

Some place or other in the Chester stage. Then, if others share with me,

The slave returns—'tis done as soon as said Farewell her, whate'er she be!

Your honor's sure when once the money's paid ;
My brother whip, impatient of delay,
Puts to at three, and swears he cannot stay;

(Four dismal hours ere the break of day.) A Poem,

Rou'd from sound sleep, thrice called, ai length , I rise,

[eyes; Occasioned by the foregoing.

Yawning, stretch out my arms, half close my

By steps and lanthorn enter the machine, Paint, paint no more, no more with blots, And take my place, how cordially! between Or chequer so thy face with spots,

Two aged matrons of excessive bulk, That I must view thee, as men strive

To mend the matter too, of meaner folk ; To see eclipses, through a sieve;

While in like mode jamm'd in on th' other side Be thou but pleasing unto me,

A bullying captain and a fair one ride; What care I what else thou be?

Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy

Our plague eternal, but her only joy;, Be thou fatter than a hog,

At last, the glorious number to complete, A butcher's doublet, or his dog;

Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat : Be thy cheeks butter, thy nose grease ; When soon, by ev'ry hillock, rut, and stone, May we make brewis on thy face;

Into each other's face by turns we're thrown; Yet if thou do not melt to me,

This grannam scolds, that coughs, and captain What care I how fat thou be?

swears, Be thy nose like fiery coals,

The fair one screams, and has a thousand fears; Or a grater, full of holes,

While our plump landlord, traind in other lore, Let it turn up, or else hook in,

Slumbers at ease, nor yet asham'd to snore; And so be clasp'd unto thy chin;

And master Dicky, on his mother's lap, Yet, if it turn not unto me,

Squalling brings up at once three meals of pap. What care I how crook'd it be?

Sweet company! next time, I do protest, Sir,

I'll walk to Dublin, ere I ride to Chester. Though reading, thou must look so close, As thou wert reading with thy nose; From thine eyes let filth run more Than broken boil, or plaguy sore;

Mr. Garrick being asked by a Nobleman if he Yet if they do not look on me,

did not intend to sit in Parliament, gave him What care I how foul they be?

an Answer in the following Lines : Canst thou outscold a butter wench, Or a fresh lawyer at the bench;

More than content with what my talents Canst thou the noise of thunder drown,

gain, Sour all the beer about the town?

Of public favor though a little vain, Yet, if thou wilt not speak to me,

Yet not so vain my mind, so madly bent, What care I how loud thou be?

To wish to play the fool in Parliament;

In each dramatic unity to err, Be thy mouth like jaws of death,

Mistaking time, and place, and character. That they who kiss, must kiss thy teeth; Were it my fate to quit the mimic art, And hold by th' handle of thy chin,

I'd “ strut and fret" no more in any part; Lest their foot slip, and they fall in ;

No more in public scenes would I engage, Yet, if thou wilt not gape on me,

Or wear the cap and mask on any stage. What care I how broad it be?

Smells thy breath like nurse's clout, Or a candle just burnt out;

The Thought; or, a Song of Similes. Or so, that men mistake the place, And untruss, coming near thy face!

I've thought, the fair Narcissa cries,

What is it like, Sir?--“ Like your eyesYet, if it smell not so to me, What care I how strong it be?

"Tis like a chair-'tis like a key

”T'is like a purge—'tis like a fleaWomen, like paper, whilst they're while, 'Tis like a beggar-like the sunAre fit for every man to write;

'Tis like the Dutch-'tis like the moon I'd have a mistress such a one,

"Tis like a kilderkin of ale I might be sure she was my own;

'Tis like a doctor-like a whale" Be thou then but such to me,

Why are my eyes, Sir, like a SWORD? What care I what else thou be?

For that's the 'Thought, upon my word.

“Ah! witness every pang I feel,

Such faces there might fancy trace, The deaths they give the likeness tell.

As never yet knew time or place; A sword is like a chair, you'll find,

And he who studies maps or plans, Because 'tis most on end behind.

Has all the work done to his hands; 'Tis like a key, for 'twill undo one:

In short, the room, the goods and author, 'Tis like a purge, for 'twill run through one ; Appear'á to be one made for t'other. 'Tis like a fea, and reason good, 'Tis often drawing human blood.” Why like a beggar ? -"You shall hear; Epitaph by a Gentleman to the Memory of a ”Tis often carried 'fore the May'r.

Lady. 'Tis like the sun, because 'tis gilt, Besides it travels in a belt.

Farewell, my best-belov’d, whose heavenly 'Tis like the Dutch we plainly see,

mind,

Genius and virtue, strength with softness joind; Because that state, whenever we

Devotion undebas'd by pride or art,
A push for our own int'rest make,
Does instantly our sides forsake.”

With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;
The moon ?-_Why, when all's said and done. Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sin-
The moon?—" Why, when all's said and done, And only of thyself a judge severe ;

[cere; A sword is very like the moon; For if his Majesty (God bless him),

Unblam'd, unequall'd in each sphere of life,

The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife. When Country Sheriff comes t' address him, Is pleas'd his favors to bestow

In thee their patroness the afflicted lost, On him, before him kneeling low,

Thy friends, their pattern, ornamental boast; This o'er his shoulders glitters bright,

And I—but ah! can words loss declare,

my And gives the glory to the Knight (night).

Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair? 'Tis like a kilderkin, no doubt,

O thou beyond what verse or speech can tell, For 'tis not long in drawing out.

My guide, my friend, my best-belov'd, farewell! 'Tis like a doctor, for who will Dispute a doctor's power to kill?” But why a Sword is like a whale

On seeing a great Commander effeminately

dressed at a Ball. Is no such easy thing to tell. “But since all Swords are Swords, d'ye see,

'Tis said that our soldiers so lazy are grown, Why, let it then a backsword be;

With pleasure and plenty undone, Which, if well usd, will seldom fail

That they more for their carriage than courage To raise up somewhat like a whale."

are known,

And scarce know the use of a gun. [galls, The Astronomer's Room.

Let them say what they will, since it nobody

And exclaim out still louder and louder ; One day I call’d, and Philo out,

But there ne'er was more money expended in I op'd the door, and look d about; When, all his goods being full in view,

Or a greater consumption of powder. I took this inventory true :

Item. A bed without a curtain ; A broken jar to empty dirt in;

An original Epitaph. . A candlestick, a greasy night-cap,

Here lies fast asleep, awake me who can, A spitting-pot to catch what might hap; That medley of passions and follies, a Man, Two stockings darn'd with numerous stitches, Who sometimes lov'd licence, and sometimes A piece of shirt, a pair of breeches ;

restraint, A three-legg'd stool, a four-legg'd table, Too much of the sinner, too little of saint; Were filld with books unfit for rabble ; From quarter to quarter I shifted my tack; Sines, tangents, secants, radius, co-sines, 'Gainst the evils of life a most notable quack; Subtangents, segments, and all those signs ; But, alas! I soon found the defects of my skill, Enough to show the man that made 'em And my nostrums in practice prov'd treacherous Was full as mad as he who read 'em : An almanack of six years standing,

From life's certain ills’twas in vain to seek ease, A cup with ink, and one with sand in; The remedy oft prov'd another disease; One corner held his books and chest,

What in rapture began often ended in sorrow, And round the Aoor were strew'd the rest; And the pleasure to-day brought reflection toThat all things might be like himself,

morrow; He'd neither closet, drawer, or shelf,

When each action was o’er, and its errors were Here piss-pot, sauce-pot, broken platter,

seen, Appear'd like het'rogeneous matter.

Then I view'd with surprise the strange thing In ancient days the walls were white,

I had been ; But who'gainst dainps and snails can fight? My body and mind were so oddly contriv'd, They're now in wreathy ringlets bound, That at each other's failing both parties conniv'd; Some square, some oval, and some round; Imprudence of mind brought on sickness and The antiquarian there may find

pain, Each hieroglyphic to his mind;

The body diseas'd paid the debt back again :

balls,

still;

last;

Thus coupled together life's journey they pass'd, | An Inscription over a Gentleman's ChimneyTill they wrangled and jangled, and parted at

Piece near Barnsley. Thus tir'd and weary, I've finished my course, Free with that, and free with me;

To my best my friends are free; And glad it is bed-time, and things are no worse.

Free to pass the harmless joke,

And the tube sedately smoke;
Epitaph on an honest Sailor.

Free to drink just what they please,

As at home, and at their ease;
WHETHER sailor or not, for a moment avast! Free to speak, and free to think-
Poor Tom's mizen top-sail is laid to the past; No informers with me drink;
He'll never turn out, or more heave the lead

Free to stay a night, or so;
He's now all aback, nor will sails shoot ahead; When uneasy, free to go.
He ever was brisk, and, and though now gone
to wreck,

(upon deck. When he hears the last whistle he'll jump

The Character.
The Consultation.

An easy mien, engaging in address, (press, Three Doctors, met in consultation, Looks which at once each winning grace exProceed with great deliberation;

A life where love and truth are ever join'd, The case was desperate, all agreed,

A nature ever great and ever kind, But what of that? they must be fee'd ; A wisdom solid, and a judgement clear, They write then, as 'twas fit they should, The smile indulgent, and a soul sincere; But for their own, not patient's good; Meek without meanness, gentle and humane , Consulting wisely, don't mistake, Sir, Fond of improving, but yet never vain; Not what to give, but what to take, Sir. So justly good, so faithful to his friend,

Ever obliging, cautious to offend;

A mind where gen'rous pity stands confessid, On a Landlord drunk.

Ready to ease and succour ihe distress’d: LANDLORD, with thee now even is the If these respect and admiration raise, wine;

[thine. They surely must demand our greatest praise ; For thou hast pierc'd his hogs-head, and he lnone bright view th'accomplish'd youth we see,

These virtues all are thine--and thou art he.
A Rhapsody
As I walk'd by myself, I said to myself,
And myself said again to me;

Poverty and Poetry.
Look to thyself, take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee.

'Twas sung of old, how one Amphion Then I said to myself, and thus answer'd myself, Could by his verses tame a lion, With the self-same repartee ;

And by his strange enchanting tunes Look to thyself, or look not to thy thyself,

Make bears and wolves dance rigadoons; 'Tis the self-same thing to me.

His songs could call the timber down,
And form it into house or town.

But it is plain, now in these times,
To-day and To-morrow.

No house is rais'd by poets' rhymes ; TO-DAY man's dress'd in gold and silver They for themselves can only rear bright,

A few old castles in the air.
Wrapp'd in a shroud before to-morrow night; Poor are the Brethren of the Bays,
To-day he's feeding on delicious food, Down from high strains to ekes and ages :
To-morrow dead, unable to do good;

The muses too are virgins yet,
To-day he's nice, and scorns to feed on crumbs, | And may be uill they portions get.
To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms; Yet still the doating rhymer dreams,
To-day he's honor'd, and in vast esteem, And sings of Helicon's bright streams :
To-morrow not a beggar values him;

But Helicon, for all his clatter,
To-day he rises from the velvet bed,

Yields nothing but insipid water! To-morrow lies in one that's made of lead ; Yet, even athirst, he sweetly sings To-day his house, though large, he thinks but Of Nectar and Elysian springs. small,

The grave physician, who by physic,
To-morrow, no command, no house at all; Like death, dispatches him that is sick,
To-day has forty servants at his gate,

Pursues a sure and thriving trade;
To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait; Though patients die, the doctor's paid:
To-day perfum'd as sweet as any rose, Licens'd to kill, he gains a palace
To-morrow stinks in every body's nose; For what another mounts a gallows.
To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight, In shady groves the muses play,
Ghastful and pale before tomorrow night : And love in Aow'ry meads to stray ;
True,as the Scripture says, “man's life's a span," Pleas'd with a bleaky barren ground,
The present moment is the life of man. Where rip'ning fruits are never found,

But then, some say, you purchase fame, Dialogue between Ilarry, who had a large Li. And gain a never-dying name ;

brary, and Dick, who had more UnderstandGreat recompense for real trouble,

ing than Books. To be rewarded with a bubble !

Quoth Harry to his friend one day, Thus solliers, who in many battles

“ Would, Richard, I'd thy head!" Get bangs and blows, and God knows what “ What wilt thou giie for'ı” Dick replied. Are paid with fame and wooden leg, [else,

The bargain's quickly made.” And gain a pass, with leave to beg.

“ My head and all my books I'd give,

With readiness and freedom.”
On Bribery.

“I'd take thy books, but with thy head,

Gadzooks! I ne'er could read thein."
A POOR man once a judge besought
To judge aright his cause;

Epitaph on a Colller.
And with a pot of oil salutes

Death at a cobbler's door oft made a stand, The judges of the laws.

And always found him on the mending hand; My friend, quoth he, thy cause is good; At last came Death, in very dirty weather, He glad away did trudge:

And ripp'd the sole from off the upper-leather. Anon his wealihy foe did come

Death put a trick upon him, and what was't? Before this partial judge.

The cobbler call'd for's awl, Death brought his

last. A hog well-fed this churl presents,

And crares a strain of law;
The hog receiv'd, the poor man's right

True Benevolence.
Was judg'd not worth a straw.

The other day, says Ned to Joe, Therewith he cried, O partial judge,

Near Bedlam's confines groping, Thy doom bas me undone ;

" Whene'er I hear the cries of woe, When oil I gave, my cause was good,

My hand is always open." But now to ruin run.

“ I own,” says Joe, “that to the poor,

(You prove it ev'ry minute) Poor man, quoth he, I thee forgot,

Your hand is open, to be sure,
And see thy cause of soil;

But then there's nothing in it."
A hog came since into my house,
And broke thy pot of oil.

Written under a Lady's Name in a IVindow.

Three brilliants fair Celinda grac'd Queen Elizabeth leing asked her Opinion con- (There love's artillery lies :)

cerning the real Presence in the Sucrument, One from her snowy finger blaz’d, gave the following urtful and solid Answer:

Two sparkled in her eyes. Christ was the word that spake it;

The first, which shone with fainter rays, He took the bread and brake it',

Could here her name impart; And what the word did make it,

The others drew her charining face That I believe, and take it.

More deeply on my heart.

Epigran.

On the Death of Dean Swift. It blew a hard storm, and in utmost con

When Gay brea:h'd his last, we in silence fusion,

complain'd, The sailors all hurried to get absolution;

But yet we'd a Pope and a Swift who remain'd; Which done, and the weight of the sins they Pope falls! all Parnassus resounds with our confessid

cries, Transferr'd, as they thought, from themselves And pray'rs daily made to keep Swift from the to the priest,

skies: To lighten the ship, and conclude their devo- Vain wishes ! vain pray'rs! to the wind they tion,

(ocean.

are given, They toss'd the poor parson souse into the For death comes relentless, and takes him to

heaven.

At little misfortunes we're soberly sad,
Epigram.

But it's time, now we've lost all our wits, to

run mad. Kind Peggy kiss'd her husband with these words:

[thee !" “ Mine own sweet Will, how dearly I love Magni stat Nominis Umbra. Bishop. Iftrue, quoth Will, the world none such affords; Proud as a peer, poor as a bard,

And ihat 'tis true I dare her warrant be: A footsome Spaniard late one night
For ne'er was woman yet, or good or ill, Knock'd at a tavern-door so hard,
But loved always best her own sweet will. It rous'd the family in a fright.

pray forbear!

as you are?”

Up sprung the host from his bed-side, Like an old cook of Colbrook, march'd into Open the chamber-window flew :

the kitchen. “ Who's there? What boisterous hand," he The French cooks, when they saw him, talk'd

“ Makes at my gate this loud ado?" (cried, loud and talk'd long, “ Here is," the stately Spaniard said,

They were sure all was right, he could find no“ Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Alonzo,

thing wrong; Pedrillo, Gusman, Alvarade,

Till, just as the mixture was rais'd to the pot, Jago, Miguel, Alphonso,

“Hold your hands! hold your hands!” scream'd

astonish'd John Trot: Antonio, Diego”—“ Hold! hold! hold !”

“ Don't you see you want one thing, like fools Exclaim'd the landlord, “ For half the numbers you have told,

“ Vone ting, Sare! Vat ting, Sare?"

-"Apud I have not half a bed to spare.”

ding-cloth, Sare!" « Sir!" quoth the Don, “ 'tis your mistake,

If names for men of course you count: Though long th' illustrious list I make,

Quod petis hic est.
In me still centres all th' amount.

No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Worn down with tramping many a mile, Plain folk in humble plight;
Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Pedrillo,

One only tankard crown'd their board,
With all the et-ceteras of his style,

And that was fill'd each night: Will sleep upon a single pillow."

Along whose inner bottom, sketch'd

In pride of chubby grace,
Quod petis hic est.

Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd

A baby's angel-face. A THOUSAND objects of desire

John swallow'd first a moderate sup ; On foreign coasts you'll view;

But Joan was not like John; Mow art, now Nature's works admire,

For when her lips once touch'd the cop, Here splendor, there virtù.

She swillid till all was gone.
But blessings, which at home you see, John often urg'd her to drink fair,
Sublimer joy suggest :

But she ne'er chang’d a jot;
Old England gives you liberty,

She lov'd to see the angel there, And that gives—all the rest.

And therefore drain'd the pot.

When John found all remonstrance rain, Stat sua cuique Dies.

Another card he play'd;

And where the angel stood so plain, To Childermas day some object,

He got a devil portray'd. Some Friday deem a bad day;

Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, But Will, by no such notions check'd,

Yet Joan as stoutly quaffod; Lets no day be a sad day.

And ever as she seiz'd her ale, More cheerful still, as more in debt,

She clear'd it at a drought. He makes each day a May-day ;

John star'd, with wonder petrify'd, Nor would he ever fear or fret,

His hair stood on his pate; But for that queer day, pay-day.

And “Why dost guzzle now," he cried,

“ At this enormous rate?" French Cooking

“ Oh! John,” she said, “ am I to blame?

I can't, in conscience, stop: To make a plum-pudding a French count For sure 'twould be a burning shame once took

To leave the Devil a drop!" An authentic receipt from an English lord's cook ;

[spice, Mix suet, milk, eggs, sugar, mcal, fruit and

The Decanter. Of such numbers, such measure, and weight, and such price;

O thou, that high thy head dost bear, Drop a spoonful of brandy to quicken the mess, With round smooth neck, and simple ear, And boil it for so many hours, more or less. With well-turn'd narrow mouth, from whence These directions were tried, but when tried, Flow streains of noblest eloquence : had no good in,

"Tis thou that fir'st the bard divine, 'Twas all wash, and all squash, but 'twas not Sacred to Phæbus and the nine; English pudding;

That mirth and soft delight canst move And monsieur, in a pet, sent a second request Sacred to Venus and to Love; For the cook that prescrib'd, to assist when Yet, spite of all thy virtues rare, 'twas drest,

Thou’rt not a boon companion fair ; Who, of course, to comply with his honor's Thou’rt full of wine when thirsty I, beseaching,

And when I'm drunk, then thou art dry.