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But if a slumber haply does invade
My weary limbs, my fancy 's still awake,
Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
In vain—awake, 1 find the settled thirst
Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.

Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr’d,
Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays
Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach,
Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure,
Nor medlar fruit delicious in decay.
Afflictions great! yet greater still remain:
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdu'd, (what will not time subdue!)
An horrid chasm disclose, with orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds,
Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,
Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
Long sail'd secure, or thro'th' Ægean deep,
Or the lonian, till cruising near
The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush
On Scylla, or Charybdis, (dang’rous rocks)
She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak,
So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
Admits the sea : in at the gaping side
The crouding waves gush with impetuous rage,
Resistless, overwhelming! Horrors seize
The mariners; death in their eyes appears; [pray
They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear,

thet (Vain efforts!) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable; till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss.

Miss Molly, a fam'd toast, was fair and young,
Had wealth and charms—but then she had a tongue!
From morn to night, th' eternal larum rung,
Which often lost those hearts her eyes had won.

Sir John was smitten and confess'd his flame,
Sigh'd out the usual time, then wed the dame;
Possess'd, he thought of every joy of life;
But his dear Molly prov'd a very wife.
Excess of fondness did in time decline;
Madam lov'd money, and the knight lov'd wine.
From whence some petty discords would arise,
As "You're a fool!"-and," You are mighty wise!"

Tho'he and all the world allow'd her wit, Her voice was shrill, and rather loud than sweet; When she began,--for hat and sword he'd call; Then, after a faint kiss,-cry, “B'y', dear Moll: " Supper and friends expect me at the Rose." “ And, what, Sir John, you'll get your usual dose ? " Go, stink of smoke, and guzzle nasty wine; « Sure, never virtuous love was us'd like mine!"

Oft', as the watchful bellman march'd his round, At a fresh bottle gay Sir John he found. By four the knight would get his business done, And only then reel'd off, because alone. Full well he knew the dreadful storm to come; But, arm'd with Bourdeaux, he dust venture home.

My lady with her tongue was still prepar’d, She rattled loud, and he impatient heard : os 'Tis a fine hour! In a sweet pickle made! " And this, Sir John, is every day the trade. “ Here I sit moping all the live-long night, " Devour'd with spleen, and stranger to delight;

"'Till morn sends stagg'ring home a drunken beast, “ Resolv'd to break my heart, as well as rest."[spouse!

“ Hey! Hoop! d'ye hear, my dam'd obstrep'rous “ What, can't you find one bed about the house? “ Will that perpetual clack lie never still? " That rival to the softness of a mill!” Some couch and distant room must be my

choice, Where I may sleep uncurs'd with wife and noise.

Long this uncomfortable life they led, With snarling meals, and each a separate bed. To an old uncle oft' she would complain, Beg his advice, and scarce from tears refrain. oid Wisewood smok'd the matter as it was, “ Cheer up!" cry'd he, “and I'll remove the cause."

" A wond'rous spring within my garden flows, “ Of sov'reign virtue, chiefly to compose “ Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife, “ The best elixir t'appease man and wife; ( Strange are th' effects, the qualities divine, " 'Tis water call'd; but worth its weight in wine. * If, in his sullen airs, Sir John should come, [mums "6. Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth-then “ Smile, and look pleas'd, when he shall rage & scold, 6. Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold; 6. One month this sympathetic medicine try'd, " He'll grow a lover, you a happy bride. 6 But, dearest niece, keep this grand secret close, " Or ev'ry pratt’ling hussey 'll beg a dose.”

A water-bottle's brought for her relief;
Not Nants could sooner case the lady's grief:
Her busy thoughts are on the trial bént,
And, feinale-like, impatient for th' event.

• The bonny knight reels home, exceeding clear, Prepard for clamour, and domestic war. Entering, he cries--" Hey! where 's our thunder “ No hurricane ? Betty 's your lady dead ?” [fled? Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes, Curt'sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks.

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Wond'ring, he star'd, scarcely his eyes believ'd,
But found his ears agreeably, deceiv'd.
“Why, how now, Molly, what's the crotchet nowp's
She smiles, and answers only with a bow.
Then clasping her about Why, let me die!
“ These night clothes, Moll, become you mightily!"
With that, he sigh’d,, her hand began to press,
And Betty calls, her lady to undress.
Thus the fond pair to bed enamour'd went,
The lady pleas'd and the good knight content.

For many days these fond endearments pass’d. ·
The reconciling bottle fails at last;
'Twas us'd and gone,-then midnight storms arość,
And looks and words the union discompose.
Her coach is order'd, and post-haste she flies
To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies;
Transported does the strange effects relate,
Her knight's conversion and her happy state!

" Why, niece,” says he, -—- I prithee apprehend, 1" The water 's water;—be thyself thy friend; " Such beauty would the coldest husband warm, " But your provoking tongue undoes the charm; “ Be silent and complying;-you'll soon find, • Sir John, without a med'cine, will be kind."

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S ADVICE TO

LADY FANNY SHIRELY.

Asses milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before;
Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more.
At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone,
There's no pleasureinbed.--Mary, bring me my gown:
Slip it on ere you rise; let your caution be such;
Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too
Your pinners set right, your twitcher ty'd on, [much
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done;
Retire to some author, improving and gay, [day.
And with sense like your own, set your mind for the
At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' the year,
The
sun,

like your wit, is as mild as 'tis clear:
But mark in the meadows the ruin of time; -
Take the hint, and let life be improv'd in its prime.
Return not in haste nor of dressing take heed;
For beauty like yours, no assistance can need.
With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you sit,
Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your

wit: Let this be indulg'd, and let laughter go round; As it pleases your mind, to your health 't will redound. After dinner two glasses at least, I approve; Name the first to the king, and the last to your love: Thus cheerful, with wisdom, with innocence gay, And calm with your joys, gently glide thro' the day. The dews of the evening most carefully shun, They are tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. Then in chat, or at play, with a dance or a song, Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along. All care, but of Love, banish far from your mind, And those you may end, when you please to be kind.

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