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Qualis ab Incepto.

| Falsehood finds numbers in her course, Corto, whose hat a nimble knave had snatch'd. 1. Who prompt assistance lend; Fat, clumsy, gouty, and asthmatic, old,

Ill-nature loves to aid her force, Panting against a post, his noddle scratch'd,

And Folly stands her friend. And his sad story to a stranger told : Guilt, Enry, Cunning, all make shift “ Follow the thief,” replied the stander-by; |

To help her on her way, “Ah, sir!" said he,' “ these legs will wag

| And Fortune gives her many a lift, no more."

No matter for foul play. “ Alarm the neighbourhood with a hue and Yet, after all her efforts tried, cry.

[roar." | And all her circuit run,
“ Alas, I've roard as long as lungs could When Time the vict'ry shall decide,
“ Then," quoth the stranger, “vain is all en-

She'll end where Truth begun!
Sans voice to call, sans vigor to pursue ;
And since your hat, of course, is gone for ever,

Virtue indigenous in England.
I'lle'en make bold to take your wig--adieu!"

Virtues and fashions jointly share

| All England's pride, all England's care ; How to make Fools scarce.

| From foreign fops, and coxcomb courts,

Fashions by wholesale she imports ; MANKIND, though satirists with jobations But let it to her praise be known, weary us,

Old England's virtues are her own!
Has only two weak parts, if fairly reckon'd;
The first of which is, trifling with things serious,
And seriousness in trifles is the second.

Fati valet Hora benigna.
Remove these little rubs, whoe'er knows how,
And fools will be as scarce as wise men now. Whén Tom call'd in, one day, on Ned,

His wife was plastering dearee's head,

Who sigh'd, but dar'd not shake it!
Mental Optics.

'Tis well Tom's pace is something slower, To a noted optician, a simple grave man For had he come an hour before, In these terms his address for assistance began : He'd seen the rixen break it. " If with me, like my neighbours, you think

'twould succeed, I would purchase a glass that would help me

Brevis esse laboro. to read." Namber this, number that, no effect could pro

On folly's lips eternal tattlings dwell; duce,

Wisdom speaks little, but that little well; Concave, and convex, are alike of no use;

So lengthening shades the sun's decline betray, The shop was all rummag'd for old ware and

But shorter shadows mark meridian day. new, Bat nothing came of it, for nothing would do. “'Tis strange," said the artist, “ you see none

On a Cobweb. the better;

By never-failing cunning taught, Cannot all these varieties show you a letter?"

Her arts the spider plies; “Show a letter?" quoth he, “yes, by hundreds

And ambush'd in the web she wrought,
they show 'em,
I can see fast enough : what I want is, to know

A fell assassin lies.
By never-ceasing rashness led,

The fly pursues his way;

Bolts on the snare his heedless hand,
On Howard's dying in Russia.

A self-devoted prey.
Though far from Britain, Britain's worthiest

[died, The world's great patriot, generous Howard

Nature and Instinct.
Let not our sorrow blame his wish to roam :
With such a heart, as such a life display'd;

Hatched from alien eggs, along the meads, A heart, which all mankind one family made;

The jocund hen a troop of ducklings leads :

"; But when the dangers of the pool they brave, To travel was but to enlarge his home!

And plunge intrepid in the dreadful wave,

High' beats her Autiering heart, she calls, she Magna est Veritas et prævalebit.


And restless, round and round the margin flies; FALSEHOOD and Truth, in rival race, Alike unalter'd nature's powers oceur, Eternal contrast prove;

Instinct in them, parental care in her: Falsehood speeds on with rapid pace,

The offspring's deed proclaims a râce unknown, Truth scarce appears to move.

A mother's feelings prove the brood her own.

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Latin Learning of little Use*.

The Progress of Wigs. Your venerable chaplain once,

When Charles the First the sceptre bore, (Though now with age he bend)

Each grave divine, I trow,
Train'd here the scholar, lash'd the dunce, A silken cap all sable wore,
A piaster and a friend.

With nine straight hairs below.
To profit by his well-known care,

The Restoration's jovial day His child a butcher brought;

Chang’d, with the men, the mode, And all the needful to prepare,

And orth'dox heads, in broad display, A dictionary bought.

The faxen buckle show'd. Before a week its course had run,

In Anna's reign, from general view The butcher came again;

Th' enormous flaxens fled: " Take back your book, give back my son," And lo! perukes of milk-white hue He cried with might and main.

Succeeded in their stead. “ Larning !" 'tis money thrown away, These too incurr’d, by lapse of years, Such larning to procure;

Disuse, though not disgrace; The book don't show, the boy can't say,

New clerical brows requir'd new gears,
What's Latin--for a skewer."

And grizzles took their place.
Yet still the wig's full form retain'd

The feather'd foretop's peak :

Yet still the solemn bush remain'd
More's meant than meets the Ear.

To Aank the rosy cheek.
When doctors, twenty years ago,

But now! forgive the conscious muse, Wore wigs of venerable flow,

That feels her verse too bold : A bodkin-sword's diminutive stump,

What fashions modern reverends use, Stuck right across each physic rump;

You need not here be told. Whose short dimensions seem'd to say,

Though new their taste, while they adopt « Our object is to save, not slay."

Their good forefathers' ways; An emblem apt enough, I trow:

The frizz d, the curl'd, the bald, the cropt, But wicked wits pretend to show,

Have all their claim to praise. For swords so small, an apter still, “ We've other ways than one to kill."

The Effect of Pulpit Eloquence.

A VETERAN gambler, in a tempest caught, Nothing new under the Sun.

Once in his life a church's shelter sought, There's nothing new beneath the sun, Where many a hint pathetically grave, So ancient wits' decisions run :

On life's precarious lot the preacher gave. But wit no match for facis is;

The sermon ended, and the storm all spent, For I know things, and so do you,

Home trudg'd old Cog-die, reasoning as he Though everlasting, ever new!


(declar'd, What think you, Siro, of taxes ?

“ Strict truth," quoth he, “ this rev'rend sage
I feel conviction, and will be prepar'd;
Nor e'er henceforth, since life thus steals away,

Give credit for a bet-beyond a day!"
Ancient and Modern Poets distinguished. I
"Twixt those poets of old, and our poets of

Case in the Constitutional Court. One perpetual distinction holds true : The new, in a twinkling, are all out of date,

A PARMER, as records report,
The old-will for ever be new !

Most hugely discontented,
His vicar at the Bishop's Court

For gross neglect presented.

“ Our former priest, my Lord," he said, The Power of Verse.

“Each Sunday the year round, Read! read! the thread-bare poet cries, Some Greek in his discourses read, New powers of verse I bring:

And charming was the sound ! At every line new beauties rise

Not such our present parson's phrase, Spontaneous while I sing!

No Greek does he apply; Poet! thy boast would seem more true, But says in English all he says, One fact if thou couldst quote;

As you might speak, or I. Had powers and beauties all so new

And yet for this so simple style, Procurd thee-a new coat !

He claims each tithe and due;

Pigs, pippins, poultry, all the while, * Spoken at Merchant Taylors' School | And Easter ofi'rings too !"


“ You're skill'd in languages, I guess,"

By Mr. P. Dodd. Th' amaz'd diocesan cry'd :

Joe hates a hypocrite. It shows “ I know'no language, more nor less,"

Self-love is not a fault of Joe's.
The surly clown reply'd:
“ But Greek, I've heard the learned say,
Surpasses all the rest;

To a living Author.
And since 'tis for the best we pay,

Your comedy I've read, my friend,
We ought to have the best.”

And like the half you pilfer'd best;
But sure the piece you yet may mend :

Take courage, man! and steal the rest.
All not Gold that glitters.
Why sleeps, benumb'd, the conscious mind,
When social good craves virtue's zeal :

Imitated from the French.
Whoe'er can benefit mankind,
Is Heav'n's trustee, for human weal.

By Mr. P. Dodd.
To hide true worth from public view,

His last great debt is paid-poor Tom's no Is burying diamonds in their mine:

more, All is not gold that shines, 'tis true;

Last debt? Tom never paid a debt before. But all that is gold-ought to shine !

On Hope. Anon.
Hope, heav'n-born cherub, still appears,

Howe'er misfortune seems to lower:
Her smile the threat'ning tempest clears, •

And is the rainbow of the shower.

A LONG way off Lucinda strikes the men;

As she draws near,

And one sees clear,
A long way off-one wishes her again.

By Theophilus Swift, Esq. The rooted aversion entertained by the late Judge Robinson, of the King's Bench, in Ireland, to the volunteers of that country, in the year 1780, is well known. The following epigram was occasioned by a circumstance that actually took place about that period in the court where he was then sitting. “That soldier so rude, he swaggers in

scarlet; Put him out of the court; I'll imprison the

varlet." “ A soldier I'm not," quoth the hero in red; “ No soldier, my Lord, but an officer I, A captain who carries his sword on his thigh." Stern Robinson then, with sarcastical sneer, Rollid his sharp-eagle eye on the vain volunteer, And, “ Tipstaff,” he cried, as the captain grew

bolder, I“ Out, out with that officer who is no soldier."

On a Person not celebrated for his Veracity.
On Tuesday next, says Tom to Ned,

I'll dine with you and take a bed.
You may believe him, Will replies,
Where'er Tom dines he always lies.

Bargains. On Two beautiful Sisters who were drowned Nen's thrifty spouse, her taste to.please, at Sea.

With rival dames at auctions vies; What to the faithless ocean now is due ? | Is charm'd with ev'ry thing she sees, It gave one Venus, and has taken two!

And ev'ry thing she sees she huys. | Ned feels at ev'ry sale enchanted,

Such costly wares ! so wisely sought!
On a natural Grotto, near a deep Stream. Bought because they may be wanted,
Health, rose-lipp'd cherub, haunts this spot,

Wanted because they may be bought.
She slumbers oft in yonder nook:
If in the shade you find her not,

A Question and an Answer. į Plungeand you 'll find her in the brook!

Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish cloth

ing, On a Lady who beat her Husband. But, prithee, where lies Jack's estate?Come hither. Sir George, my picture is here. | In Algebra, for there I found of late

What think you, my love? don't it strike you?! A quantity call d less than nothing.
I can't say it does, just at present, my dear,
But I think it soon will, it's so like you."

On a ready Writer.

Jem writes his verses with more speed
What is an Epigram.

Than the printer's boy can set 'em.
What is an epigram? a dwarfish whole: I Quite as fast as we can read,
Its body brevity, and wit its soul.

And only not so fast as we forget 'em,

The Thing

The Thief.
What! rise again with all one's bones ? I tell, with equal truth and grief,
Quoth Giles; I hope you fib:

That little Kitt's an arrant thief.
I trusted when I went to heaven,

| Before the urchin well could go, To go without my rib.

| She stole the whiteness of the snow;
And more that whiteness to adorn,

She stole the blushes of the morn;
On a bad Singer.

Stole all the softness Æther pours Swans sing before they die 'twere no bad On primrose buds, in vernal show'rs. thing

There's no repeating all her wiles : Should certain persons die before they sing.

'Twas quickly seen she robb'd the sky,

| To plant a star in either eye; On a modern Dramatist.

She pilfer'd orient pearl for teeth, Not for the stage his plays are fit,

And stole the cow's ambrosial breath; But suit the closet, said a wit.

| The cherry, steep'd in morning dew, The closet ? said his friend, I ween

Gave moisture to her lips and hue.
The water-closet 'tis you mean.

These were her infant spoils ; a store
To which, in time, she added more:

At twelve she stole from Cyprus' Queen
From the Greek.

Her air and love.commanding mien ;
Not twice three years I told, when fate

Stole Juno's dignity; and stole, Snatch'd me from my mother's breast;

From Pallas, sense to charm the soul; weep not, reader! for if short my date,

She sung-amaz'd the Syrens heard,
Short are my sorrows, long my rest.

And to assert their voice appear'd;
She play'd-the Muses from their hill

Wonder'd who thus had stole their skill;
From the Greek

Apollo's wit was next her prey,

And then rise beams that light the day; But five years old-sweet babe, adieu!

While Jove, her pilfering threats to crown, Beneath thy sod repose;

Pronounc'd these beauties all her own, Little of life poor Henry knew,

| Pardon'd her crimes, and prais'd her art; Yet 'scap'd from all its woes.

And t' other day she stole iny heart.

Cupid ! if lovers are thy care,
From the Greek.

Revenge thy votary on the fair;

Do justice on her stolen charms,
Busy, thoughtless, playful, I,

And let her prison be-my arms.
Little dreaming danger nigh,
Was plac'd, ere twice three years had gone,

Beauty's Value. SHAKSPEARE.
By cruel death, beneath this stone.
Yet weep not, weep not, parents dear, Beauty is but a vain, a fleeting good,
No pains nor cares shall enter here;

A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly;
If little of life's joys I knew,

A flow'r that dies when almost in the bud, So little of its sorrows too.

A brittle glass that breaketh presently.
A fleeting good, a gloss, a glass, a flow's,

Lost, faded, broken, dead, within an hour.
From the Greck.

As goods when lost we know are seldom found, To the happy and prosperous life's but a span, As fading gloss po rubbing can excite; So quickly the years pass away;

As flow'rs when dead are trampled on the To the wretched, forsaken, disease-tortur'd ground, An age is involv'd in a day. , [man, As broken glass no cement can unite;

| So beauty, blemish'd once, is ever lost,

In spite of physic, painting, pains, and cost. From the Greek. Blame not love, as fraught with care,

On the frequent Defeats of the French Army Cease, ye lovers, thus to moan ;

in the last War. An Epigram. 1760. Light and Joy Love's daughters are, 'The Woes from Folly spring alone.

Tue toast of each Briton in war's dread alarms,
O'er bottle or bowl, is success to our arms.

Attack'd, put to fight, and soon fore'd from Spoken extempore to a Lady, on being asked

each trench, what this World was like.

Success to our legs is the toast of the French. This world is a prison in ev'ry respect, Whose walls are the heavens in common;

Epitaph on a Scolding Wife. The gaoler is sin, and the prisoners men, Here lies my wife; poor Molly! let her lie:

And the fetters are nothing but-woman. She finds repose at last- and so do I.

A Suilor having been sentenced to the Cat | Epitaphon a beautiful and virtuous young Lady.

Nine Tails, when tied ready for Punishment, | Sleep soft in dust, wait the Almighty's will, spoke the following Lines to his Commander, | Then rise unchang’d, and be an angel still.

who had an aversion to a Cat. By your honor's command, an example I stand An Epitaph on a poor but honest Mum,

Of your justice to all the ship's crew; I am hamper'd and stript, and if I am whipt. | STOP, reader, here, and deign to look 'Tis no more than I own is my due.

On one without a name, In this scurvy condition, I humbly petition

| Ne'er enter'd in the ample book To offer some lines to your eye:

Of fortune or of fame.
Merry Tom by such trash once avoided the lash, Studious of peace, he hated strife;

And, if fate and you please, so may I. Meek virtues fill'd his breast; There is nothing you hate, I'm informd, like His coat of arms, “ a spotless life,” a cat;

“ An honest heart" his crest. Why, your honor's aversion is mine:

Quarter'd therewith was innocence, If puss then with one tail can make your heart

And thus his motto ran : fail,

« A conscience void of all offence, O save me from that which has nine!

Before both God and man."
N.B. He was pardoned.

In the great day of wrath, though pride

Now scorns his pedigree,

Thousands shall wish they'd been allied
On a certain Lady's Study.

To this great family.
To Chloe's study shall we go?
(For ladies have their studies now.)

An Epitaph on a very idle Fellou). O what a splendid sight is there! "Twould make the dullest hermit stare :

From Camden. There stand, all rang'd in proud array,

Here lieth one that once was born and cried, Each French romance, and modern play; 1 Liv'd several years, and then and then-he Love's magazine of Aames and darts,

died. Whole histories of eyes and hearts : But O! view well the outward scene,

The Picture of Slander. You'll never need to look within ;

What mortal but Slander, that serpent, What Chloe loves she plainly shows,

hath stung,

(tongue ? For, lo! her very books are beaus.

Whose teeth are sharp arrows, a razor her
The poison of asps her livid lip loads,

The rattle of snakes with the spittle of toads;
An Epigram.

Her throat is an open sepulchre ; her legs The lofty oak from a small acorn grows,

Set hatching of vipers, and cockatrice' eggs;

| Her sting is a scorpion's; like hyena she'll cry; And to the skies ascends with spreading boughs; / Win As years increase, it shades th’ extended plain, my

With the ear of an adder, a basílisk's eye;

h: The mouth of a monkey, the hug of a bear; Then big with death and vengeance ploughs

| The chat of a parrot, the head of a bare; the main :

The wing of a magpie, the snout of a hog, Hence rises fame, and safety to our shore;

The feet of a mole, and the tail of a dog;
And from an acorn springs Britannia's pow'r.

Her claw is a tiger's, her forehead is brass,
With the hiss of a goose, and the bray of an ass.

The Modern Courtier.

Epigram to a pretended Friend, and real Enemy. PRAY say what's that which smirking trips. Thy hesitating tongue and doubtful face this way.

Show all thy kindness to be mere grimace. That powder'd thing, so neat, so trim, so gay, Throw off the mask ; at once be foe or friend : Adornd with tambour'd vest, and spangled Tis base to soothe, when malice is the end; sword;

The rock that's seen gives the poor sailor dread, That supple servile thing? -0! that's a Lord! But double terror that which hides its head. You jest—that thing a Peer? an English Peer? Who ought (with head, estate, and conscience

On a Tombsone in Essex. clear) Either in grave debate, or hardy fight,

Here lies the man Richard, Firmly maintain a free-born people's right: And Mary his wife; Surely those lords were of another breed

Their surname was Pritchard ; Who met their monarch John at Runnemede; They liv'd without strife; And clad in steel, there in a glorious hour And the reason was plain : Made the curst tyrant feel the people's pow'r; They abounded in riches; Made him confess, beneath that awful rod, They no care had nor pain, Their voice united is the voice of God.


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