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The fex, then, in bumpers I'll toast,

While wine I can purchase or borrow;
For comfort without them were loft,

And life would be nothing but forrow.
They fhall ever be prais'd by my pen;
To their health I devote my full glasses;
For who cares a ftraw for the men,

So long as he 's lov'd by the laffes ?

T. SC-PE, ESQ.'S APOLOGY TO HIS FRIENDS,
WHEN ABOUT TO MARRY MISS CLAY.

READY with lighted torch when Hymen stands,
Should Plutus, haughty pow'r! forbid the banns?
Illumin'd with a beam from beauty's eye,

Aufpicious fhines the torch, and I comply.
What's blood what titles? what a large estate ?
Lives there a man that can refilt his fate?
Who knows not beauty's universal sway?
Were I a monarch-I'must turn to Clay.

IMPROMPTU,

ON SEEING A LIMB OF THE LAW ON CRUTCHES.

OLD Latitat, though searce can hobble,
Crutch-arm'd purfues his bellifh tricks,

And ftill a Knave at Law will cobble,

The very

"Devil on two flicks."

THE MAIDEN'S RESOLVE.

ON MODERN GALLANTRY.

myfelf I figh often," cries Phillis the fair,
Yet know not for whom-or for what-I declare;

Still morn, noon, and night, I feel it the fame,
And fometimes I burn quite into a flame.
Then tell me, ye lovers of women so fine,
Can nothing but you cure thefe feelings of mine?
If fo, I would fooner my torments endure,
Than take from most moderns fo feeble a cure!"

V.
TH

THE SAGACIOUS CALCULATOR.

[From the Morning Herald.]

A GENTLEMAN, (he liv'd, no matter where,)
With wit and eloquence beyond compare,

But of a form not likely to delight,

In fhort, to tell the truth, a perfect, fright,
Refolv'd to marry-oh! could one fo plain
E'er hope a girl's affection to obtain ?
'I've often heard there is a certain guide
To overcome a dainty woman's pride,
And, let her fuitor be deform'd, and old,
The charm ne'er fails, the potent charm of gold.
Our fpark, a tender paffion to create,
Poffefs'd a fplendid House and large eftate,
Advantages, though ne'er by fages priz❜d,
In my opinion not to be defpis'd.
Upon a lovely maid he fix'd his mind;

He leer'd, and courted, and he found her kind.
Though strong her power, and paltry his defence,
She had one fmall defect-the want of fenfe.
However, that no blame he might attract,

He thought he 'd afk his friends how he should act.
Their prudent votes against the match were carried,
For which he thank'd them—and next day was married;
Concluding, for his comfort, that his race

Would have their father's mind, and mother's face :
But ab the wifeft man is fometimes blind-
They had their father's face, and mother's mind.

THE PICTURE OF MY QUEEN.

FROM CHATELAR TO MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
Tranflated from a Parifian Manufcript in the Scots College.

[From the fame.]

H! wouldst thou see the azure sky,

AH

And feaft upon the blooming rofe,
Ethereal blue as Mary's eye,

The damask tinge her cheeks disclose

Wouldft

Wouldst thou behold the lily drefs'd,
And view each graceful wavé difplay'd,
Gaze on her gently heaving breaft,
And fee her locks in gold array'd-

Or wouldst thou hear the bird of night,
Whofe notes melodious fill the grove,
'Tis Mary's fong that yields delight,
So peerless is the Queen of Love.

ON SEEING A STRIKING LIKENESS OF THE LATE MRS. DUTTON,

PAINTED BY MR. HUTCHINSON, FROM HER

REMAINS,

AT THE PARTICULAR DESIRE OF THE FAMILY.

HONORIA's fled! (alas! that lovely face,

Which once could lovers fire, and Stoics warm,)

And left the artist not one charm to trace,

Of all that beautified that lifeless form!

Ah! hapless change! where now are thofe bright eyes
Which beam'd intelligence where'er they fhone?
Thofe lips and cheeks which wore the rofe's dyes?
And where is now the mufic of her tongue?

All rifled, ravag'd, by death's ruthlefs dart;
His icy hand has pluck'd the fairest flower,
And planted thorns in ev'ry feeling heart,

That mourns departed worth, and owns its power.
Yet ftill those friends, of fo much good bereft,
Find in the artift's hand a bleft resource,

Since on his canvas now her fmiles are left-
O'er death he triumphs in his pencil's force!

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Yet, prefuming on his fenfes,

On he goes, moft wondrous wife!
Doubts of truth, believes pretences,
Loft in error lives and dies.

TABLES TURNED UPON TIME,

OLD Time kills us all,

Rich, poor, great, and small,

And therefore we rack our invention,
Throughout at our days

In finding out ways

To kill time by way of prevention.

WILLIAM, PHOEBE, AND THE PIG:-A TALE.

WH

[From the European Magazine.]

HEN daifies fpring, and the fresh violet blue
Peeps in the meadow wet with glittering dew,

Tir'd of the town full many a rural fair

Sighs for her native vale and cheerful air;
And longs in woods to hear the concert fwell :
So Phoebe with'd, and bade her friend farewell.
Alas, poor William! he beheld with pain
The vifit clos'd, and pleasure's fhort-liv'd reign;
The chaife drew up, he view'd the trunks" high pile,
Her fair wav'd hand, and caught her parting fmile;
Dear were the moments of the joyous paft
Too much enhanc'd, for, ah! they could not last !
Farewell the walk, the party, and the play,
Scenes which her prefence ever render'd gay;,
No mazy riddles could he now divine,.
No more at crambo tug th' eccentric line;
A wight forlorn where'er he chanc'd to go;;
In fhort, a fmart, young, melancholy beau,
Whom Love's fly deity, in downward flight,-
Saw pining by a taper's untrimm'd light,

And vow'd that ere three moons their courfe had run,
He'd ftrive to bring the courtship fairly on.
Blithe Phoebe's mansion was a neat abode,
You pafs it as you trudge the Aylesb'ry road,

And

And the high garden wall you walk befide
Where flourish'd many a fow'r in bloomy pride;
There plants innumerous gave their kindly juice,
Pot-herbs, and roots, I ween of various ufe;
And near this garden ftood/a piggery,
'T was thought by all a very comely ftye;
In ev'ry space was feen a little jowl

With fnout protruded through the vacant hole,
While parent Slouch, the fatteft of her kind,
Roll'd in the filthiest plash that she could find.
Among the reft a gamefome chap was feen,
So droll, 't would cure a hermit of his fpleen;
And he, as fav'rite chosen from the rest,
Was in the kitchen welcom'd as a guest;
With Pufs and Tray he basks before the fire,
Fed with that eafe which epicures admire;
In politics, whatever quidnuncs fay,

He'd nod, and wink, and grunt, as well as they.
Phoebe obferv'd his pert, familiar air,

And fancy'd William, from his manners, there;
Judging, that, if by invitation come,

He'd make the houfe a fort of welcome home,
And riot lawless in the fair domain,

So nam'd the Pig like her unfavour'd swain.
As when the ruler of a neighb'ring state,
Seeking occafion quarrel to create,

Some door finds open for his forceful guile,
In march his foldiers, and then comes the spoil
So did the Pig, his ardent with to bless,
Now find the garden of too free access:
He roam'd at large, and in his fport o'erthrew
All that might please the taste, or charm the view:
Some weighty hints convinc'd him he was wrong,
And in his ftye he foft repentance fung.
This news, important, reaching William's ears,
A ray of hope difpeli'd his potent fears:
He feiz'd the pen, and fitting down to rhyme,
Addrefs'd the Pig in this delightful chime:

"O lovely youth! whatever name you bear,
Pig, Porker, William, namefake ever dear!
Whether you fret at home in hungry mood,
Or take from fnow-white hands delicious food,

Or

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