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Qualis ab Incepto.

Falsehood finds numbers in her course, Corio, whose hat a nimble knave had snatch'd,

Who prompt assistance lend; Pat, 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, Envy, Cunning, all make shift “ Follow the thief,” replied the stander-by;

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

And Fortune gives her many a list, wag

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

[roar.” And all her circuit run,
“ Alas, I've roar'd 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'll e'en inake bold to take your wig-adieu!”

Virtues and fashions jointly share

All England's pride, all England's care ;
How to make Fools sce

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 firstof which is, triding with things serious,
And seriousness in trifes 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 vixen break it. “ If'with me, like my neighbours, you think

't would succeed, I would purchase a glass that would help me

Brevis esse laboro. to read." Number this, number that, no effect could pro- Wisdom speaks little, but that little well;

On folly's lips eternal tattlings dwell; duce, 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, But 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?". “Show a letter?" quoth he, “yes, by hundreds And ambush'd in the web she wrought,

Her arts the spider plies; they show 'em,

A fell assassin lies. I can see fast enough: what I want is, to know 'em."

By never-ceasing rashness led,

The fly pursues his way;

Bolts on the snare his heedless head,
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 :

Hatched froin alien eggs, along the meads, With such a heart, as such a life display'd; A heart, which all mankind one family made; But when the dangers of the pool they brave,

The jocund hen a troop of ducklings leads : To travel was but to enlarge his home!

And plunge intrepid in the dreadful wave, ·

High" beats her fluttering 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 occur, Eternal contrast prove;

Instinct in them, parental care in her: Falsehood speeds on with rapid pace, The offspring's deed proclaims a ráce unknown, Truth scarce appears to move.

A mother's feelings prove the brood her own.

thrown away,

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 master 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, gire back my son,” And lo! perukes of milk-white hue He cried with might and main.

Succeeded in their stead. Larning !" 'tis money

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 fow,

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. W'hose 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, For swords so small, an apter still,

Have all their claim to praise. “ 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 facts 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!

(declard, 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.
"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 1
Had powers and beauties all so new

And yet for this so simple style,
Procur'd thee-a new coat !

He elaims each tithe and due;

Pigs, pippins, poultry, all the while, • Spoken at Merchant Taylors' School. And Easter of 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:
All not Gold that glitters.

Take courage, man! and steal the rest.
Why sleeps, benumb'd, the conscious mind,
When social good craves virtue’s zeal :

Imitated from the French.
Whoe'er can benefit maukind,
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 !

By TheophiLUS SWIFT, Esq.
On llope. ANON.

The rooted aversion entertained by the late Judge Hope, heav'n-born cherub, still appears,

Robinson, of the King's Bench, in Ireland, to the Howe'er misfortune seeins to lower:

volunteers of that country, in the year 1780, is well Her smile the threat'ning tempest clears,

known. The following epigram was occasioned by

a circumstance that actually took place ahout that And is the rainbow of the shower.

period in the court where he was then sitting.
“That soldier so rude, he swaggers in

scarlet; A LONG way off Lucinda strikes the men;

Put him out of the court; I'll imprison the As she draws near,

varlet." And one sees clear,

A soldier I'm not," quoth the hero in red; A long way off-one wishes her again.

“ No soldier, my Lord, but an officer I,
A captain who carries his sword on his thigh."

Stern Robinson then, with sarcastical sneer, On a Person not celebrated for his Veracity. Rolld his sharp-eagle eye on the vain volunteer, On Tuesday next, says Tom to Ned, And, “ Tipstaff,” he cried, as the captain grew I'll dine with you and take a bed.

bolder, You may believe him, Will replies,

“Out, out with that officer who is no soldier." 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 ihey may be bought.
She slumbers oft in yonder nook :
If in the shade you find her not,

A Question and an Answer.
Plungemand 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: Quite as fast as we can read,
Its body brevity, and wit its soul.

And only not so fast as we forget 'em,


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

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. She stole the Graces' winning smiles ;

'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 waler-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; Oweep 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 appeard;
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

Cupid ! if lovers are thy care,

Revenge thy votary on the fair;
From the Greek.

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


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 kuew,

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

A brittle glass that breaketh presently. A feeting 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.


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. 1700. Light and Joy Love's daughters are,

.The toast of each Briton in war's dread alarms, The Woes from Folly spring alone.

O'er bottle or bowl, is success to our arms.

Attack'd, put to fight, and soon forc'd from Spoken extempore to a Lady, on being asked Success to our legs is the toast of the French.

each trench, what this World was like. 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-womap. She finds repose at last- and so do I.

A Suilor having been sentenced to the Cat o' Epitaphon a beautiful andvirtuous young Lody. 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 Mur, 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

On one without a name,
'Tis no more than I own is my due.
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 inform'd, 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 Fellous.
O what a splendid sight is there!

Twould make the dullest hermit stare :
There stand, all rang’d in proud array,

Here lieth one that once was born and cried, Each French romance, and modern play ;

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,

[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

Set hatching of vipers, and cockatrice' eggs ; The lofty oak from a small acorn grows, And to the skies ascends with spreading boughs; With the ear of an adder, a basilisk's eye;

Her sting is a scorpion's; like hyena she'll cry; As years increase, it shades th' extended plain, 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 hare;

the main : Hence rises fame, and safety to our shore ;

The wing of a magpie, the snout of a hog,

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.

hath stung,

this way

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

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; Adorn'd 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 Tomlsone in Essex.
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.

And the wife worE THE BREECHES.


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