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No; she must be perfect snow
In effect, as well as show;
Warming but as snow-balls do,
Not like fire by burning too;
But when she by change hath got
To her heart a second lot,
Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be!

A Poem,

Occasioned by the foregoing.

The Stage Coach.

RESOLV'D to visit a far-distant friend,
A porter to the Bull-and-Gate I send,
And bid the slave at all events engage
Some place or other in the Chester stage.
The slave returns-'tis done as soon as said-
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.)
Rous'd from sound sleep, thrice call'd, at length
I rise,
[eyes;
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,

That I must view thee, as men strive
To see eclipses, through a sieve;

Be thou but pleasing unto me,
What care I what else thou be?

Be thou fatter than a hog,
A butcher's doublet, or his dog;
Be thy cheeks butter, thy nose grease;
May we make brewis on thy face;
Yet if thou do not melt to me,
What care I how fat thou be?

Be thy nose like fiery coals,
Or a grater, full of holes,
Let it turn up, or else hook in,
And so be clasp'd unto thy chin;
Yet, if it turn not unto me,
What care I how crook'd it be?

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;
Yet if they do not look on me,
What care I how foul they be?

Canst thou outscold a butter wench,
Or a fresh lawyer at the bench;
Canst thou the noise of thunder drown,
Sour all the beer about the town?
Yet, if thou wilt not speak to me,
What care I how loud thou be?

Be thy mouth like jaws of death,
That they who kiss, must kiss thy teeth;
And hold by th' handle of thy chin,
Lest their foot slip, and they fall in ;
Yet, if thou wilt not gape on me,
What care I how broad it be?

Smells thy breath like nurse's clout,
Or a candle just burnt out;
Or so, that men mistake the place,
And untruss, coming near thy face!
Yet, if it smell not so to me,
What care I how strong it be?

Women, like paper, whilst they're white,
Are fit for every man to write;
I'd have a mistress such a one,
I might be sure she was my own;
Be thou then but such to me,
What care I what else thou be?

Two aged matrons of excessive bulk,
To mend the matter too, of meaner folk;
While in like mode jamm'd in on th' other side
A bullying captain and a fair one ride;
Foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy-
Our plague eternal, but her only joy;
At last, the glorious number to complete,
Steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat:
When soon, by ev'ry hillock, rut, and stone,
Into each other's face by turns we're thrown;
This grannam scolds, that coughs, and captain

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Mr. Garrick being asked by a Nobleman if he did not intend to sit in Parliament, gave him an Answer in the following Lines:

MORE than content with what my talents
gain,

Of public favor though a little vain,
Yet not so vain my mind, so madly bent,
To wish to play the fool in Parliament;
In each dramatic unity to err,
Mistaking time, and place, and character.
Were it my fate to quit the mimic art,
I'd strut and fret" no more in any part;
No more in public scenes would I engage,
Or wear the cap and mask on any stage.

The Thought; or, a Song of Similes.
I'VE thought, the fair Narcissa cries,
What is it like, Sir?" Like your eyes—
'Tis like a chair-'tis like a key-
'Tis like a purge-'tis like a flea-
'Tis like a beggar-like the sun-

"Tis like the Dutch-'tis like the moon-
"Tis like a kilderkin of ale-
'Tis like a doctor-like a whale-"
Why are my eyes, Sir, like a SwORD?
For that's the Thought, upon my word.

"Ah! witness every pang I feel,
The deaths they give the likeness tell.
A sword is like a chair, you'll find,
Because 'tis most on end behind.
'Tis like a key, for 'twill undo one:
'Tis like a purge, for 'twill run through one;
'Tis like a flea, and reason good,
'Tis often drawing human blood."

Why like a beggar?" You shall hear;
'Tis often carried 'fore the May'r.
Tis like the sun, because 'tis gilt,
Besides it travels in a belt.
'Tis like the Dutch we plainly see,
Because that state, whenever we
A push for our own int'rest make,
Does instantly our sides forsake.""
The moon?

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Genius and virtue, strength with softness join'd;
Devotion undebas'd by pride or art,

With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;

Why, when all's said and done, Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sin

A sword is very like the moon;

For if his Majesty (God bless him),

When Country Sheriff comes t' address him,
Is pleas'd his favors to bestow

On him, before him kneeling low,
This o'er his shoulders glitters bright,
And gives the glory to the Knight (night).
'Tis like a kilderkin, no doubt,
For 'tis not long in drawing out.
'Tis like a doctor, for who will
Dispute a doctor's power to kill?"
But why a Sword is like a whale
Is no such easy thing to tell.

"But since all Swords are Swords, d'ye see,
Why, let it then a backsword be;
Which, if well us'd, will seldom fail
To raise up somewhat like a whale."

The Astronomer's Room.

ONE day I call'd, and Philo out,
I op'd the door, and look'd about;
When, all his goods being full in view,
I took this inventory true:-

Item. A bed without a curtain ;
A broken jar to empty dirt in;
A candlestick, a greasy night-cap,
A spitting-pot to catch what might hap;
Two stockings darn'd with numerous stitches,
A piece of shirt, a pair of breeches;
A three-legg'd stool, a four-legg'd table,
Were fill'd with books unfit for rabble;
Sines, tangents, secants, radius, co-sines,
Subtangents, segments, and all those signs;
Enough to show the man that made 'em
Was full as mad as he who read 'em :
An almanack of six years standing,
A cup with ink, and one with sand in;
One corner held his books and chest,
And round the floor were strew'd the rest;
That all things might be like himself,
He'd neither closet, drawer, or shelf,
Here piss-pot, sauce-pot, broken platter,
Appear'd like het'rogeneous matter.
In ancient days the walls were white,
But who 'gainst damps and snails can fight?
They're now in wreathy ringlets bound,
Some square, some oval, and some round;
The antiquarian there may find
Each hieroglyphic to his mind;

And

[cere; only of thyself a judge severe; Unblam'd, unequall'd in each sphere of life, The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife. In thee their patroness the afflicted lost, Thy friends, their pattern, ornamental boast; And I-but ah! can words my loss declare, Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair? O thou beyond what verse or speech can tell, My guide, my friend, my best-belov'd, farewell!

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HERE lies fast asleep, awake me who can, That medley of passions and follies, a Man, Who sometimes lov'd licence, and sometimes restraint,

Too much of the sinner, too little of saint;
From quarter to quarter I shifted my tack;
'Gainst the evils of life a most notable quack;
But, alas! I soon found the defects of my skill,
And my nostrums in practice prov'd treacherous
still;

From life's certain ills 'twas in vain to seek ease,
The remedy oft prov'd another disease;
What in rapture began often ended in sorrow,
And the pleasure to-day brought reflection to-

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Thus coupled together life's journey they pass'd, | An Inscription over a Gentleman's Chimney-
Till they wrangled and jangled, and parted at
Piece near Barnsley.

last;

Thus tir'd and weary, I've finished my course, And glad it is bed-time, and things are no worse.

Epitaph on an honest Sailor.

WHETHER Sailor or not, for a moment avast! Poor Tom's mizen top-sail is laid to the mast; He'll never turn out, or more heave the lead, He's now all aback, nor will sails shoot ahead; He ever was brisk, and, and though now gone to wreck, [upon deck. When he hears the last whistle he'll jump

The Consultation.

THREE Doctors, met in consultation, Proceed with great deliberation; The case was desperate, all agreed, But what of that? they must be fee'd; They write then, as 'twas fit they should, But for their own, not patient's good; Consulting wisely, don't mistake, Sir, Not what to give, but what to take, Sir.

On a Landlord drunk. LANDLORD, with thee now even is the wine; [thine. For thou hast pierc'd his hogs-head, and he

A Rhapsody.

As I walk'd by myself, I said to myself,
And myself said again to me;

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

Then I said to myself, and thus answer'd myself,
With the self-same repartee;
Look to thyself, or look not to thy thyself,
'Tis the self-same thing to me.

To-day and To-morrow.

TO-DAY man's dress'd in gold and silver
bright,

Wrapp'd in a shroud before to-morrow night;
To-day he's feeding on delicious food,
To-morrow dead, unable to do good;
To-day he's nice, and scorns to feed on crumbs,
To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms;
To-day he's honor'd, and in vast esteem,
To-morrow not a beggar values him;
To-day he rises from the velvet bed,
To-morrow lies in one that's made of lead;
To-day his house, though large, he thinks but
small,

To-morrow, no command, no house at all;
To-day has forty servants at his gate,
To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait;
To-day perfum'd as sweet as any rose,
To-morrow stinks in every body's nose;
To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight,
Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night:
True, as the Scripture says, "man's life's a span,"
The present moment is the life of man.

Free with that, and free with me;
To my best my friends are free;
Free to pass the harmless joke,
And the tube sedately smoke;
Free to drink just what they please,
As at home, and at their ease;
Free to speak, and free to think-
No informers with me drink;
Free to stay a night, or so;
When uneasy, free to go.

The Character.

An easy mien, engaging in address, [press, Looks which at once each winning grace exA life where love and truth are ever join'd, A nature ever great and ever kind, A wisdom solid, and a judgement clear, The smile indulgent, and a soul sincere ; Meek without meanness, gentle and humane; Fond of improving, but yet never vain; So justly good, so faithful to his friend, Ever obliging, cautious to offend; A mind where gen'rous pity stands confess'd, Ready to ease and succour the distress'd: If these respect and admiration raise, They surely must demand our greatest praise ; Inone bright view th' accomplish'd youth we see, These virtues all are thine-and thou art he.

Poverty and Poetry.

"Twas sung of old, how one Amphion Could by his verses tame a lion, And by his strange enchanting tunes Make bears and wolves dance rigadoons; His songs could call the timber down, And form it into house or town. But it is plain, now in these times, No house is rais'd by poets' rhymes; They for themselves can only rear A few old castles in the air.

Poor are the Brethren of the Bays, Down from high strains to ekes and ayes: The muses too are virgins yet, And may be till they portions get. Yet still the doating rhymer dreams, And sings of Helicon's bright streams: But Helicon, for all his clatter, Yields nothing but insipid water! Yet, even athirst, he sweetly sings Of Nectar and Elysian springs. The grave physician, who by physic, Like death, dispatches him that is sick, Pursues a sure and thriving trade; Though patients die, the doctor's paid: Licens'd to kill, he gains a palace For what another mounts a gallows.

In shady groves the muses play, And love in flow'ry meads to stray; Pleas'd with a bleaky barren ground, Where rip'ning fruits are never found.

But then, some say, you purchase fame,
And gain a never-dying name;
Great recompense for real trouble,
To be rewarded with a bubble!

Thus soldiers, who in many battles

Get bangs and blows, and God knows what
Are paid with fame and wooden leg,
And gain a pass, with leave to beg.

On Bribery.

A POOR man once a judge besought
To judge aright his cause;
And with a pot of oil salutes
The judger of the laws.

My friend, quoth he, thy cause is good;
He glad away did trudge:
Anon his wealthy foe did come
Before this partial judge.

A hoz well-fed this churl presents,
And craves a strain of law;
The hog receiv'd, the poor man's right
Was judg'd not worth a straw.
Therewith he cried, O partial judge,
Thy doom has me undone;
When oil I gave, my cause was good,
But now to ruin run.

Poor man, quoth he, I thee forgot,
And see thy cause of foil;
A hog came since into my house,
And broke thy pot of oil.

[else,

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Up sprung the host from his bed-side,

Open the chamber-window flew : "Who's there? What boisterous hand," he "Makes at my gate this loud ado?" [cried, "Here is," the stately Spaniard said, "Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Alonzo, Pedrillo, Gusman, Alvarade,

Jago, Miguel, Alphonso,

Antonio, Diego"-" Hold! hold! hold!"
Exclaim'd the landlord, "
pray forbear!
For half the numbers you have told,
I have not half a bed to spare."
"Sir!" quoth the Don, "'tis your mistake,
If names for men of course you count :
Though long th' illustrious list I make,

In me still centres all th' amount.
Worn down with tramping many a mile,
Don Lopez, Rodriguez, Pedrillo,
With all the et-ceteras of his style,
Will sleep upon a single pillow."

Quod petis hic est.

A THOUSAND Objects of desire

On foreign coasts you'll view; Now art, now Nature's works admire, Here splendor, there virtù.

But blessings, which at home you see,
Sublimer joy suggest:

Old England gives you liberty,
And that gives-all the rest.

Stat sua cuique Dies.

To Childermas day some object,
Some Friday deem a bad day;
But Will, by no such notions check'd,
Lets no day be a sad day.

More cheerful still, as more in debt,
He makes each day a May-day;
Nor would he ever fear or fret,
But for that queer day, pay-day.

French Cooking.

To make a plum-pudding a French count

once took

An authentic receipt from an English lord's cook; [spice, Mix suet, milk, eggs, sugar, meal, fruit and Of such numbers, such measure, and weight, and such price;

Drop a spoonful of brandy to quicken the mess, And boil it for so many hours, more or less. These directions were tried, but when tried, had no good in,

'Twas all wash, and all squash, but 'twas not English pudding;

And monsieur, in a pet, sent a second request For the cook that prescrib'd, to assist when 'twas drest,

Who, of course, to comply with his honor's beseeching,

Like an old cook of Colbrook, march'd into the kitchen.

The French cooks, when they saw him, talk'd loud and talk'd long,

They were sure all was right, he could find nothing wrong;

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Till, just as the mixture was rais'd to the pot, Hold your hands! hold your hands!" scream'd astonish'd John Trot:

"Don't you see you want one thing, like fools as you are?"

"Vone ting, Sare! Vat ting, Sare?"—“A pudding-cloth, Sare!"

Quod petis hic est.

No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folk in humble plight;
One only tankard crown'd their board,
And that was fill'd each night:
Along whose inner bottom, sketch'd
In pride of chubby grace,
Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd
A baby's angel-face.

John swallow'd first a moderate sup;

But Joan was not like John;

For when her lips once touch'd the cup,
She swill'd till all was gone.

John often urg'd her to drink fair,
But she ne'er chang'd a jot;
She lov'd to see the angel there,
And therefore drain'd the pot.
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play'd;

And where the angel stood so plain,

He got a devil portray'd.

Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,
Yet Joan as stoutly quaff'd ;
And ever as she seiz'd her ale,
She clear'd it at a drought.
John star'd, with wonder petrify'd,
His hair stood on his pate;

And "Why dost guzzle now," he cried,
"At this enormous rate?"

"Oh! John," she said, "am I to blame?
I can't, in conscience, stop:
For sure 'twould be a burning shame
To leave the Devil a drop!"

The Decanter.

O THOU, that high thy head dost bear, With round smooth neck, and simple ear, With well-turn'd narrow mouth, from whence Flow streams of noblest eloquence: 'Tis thou that fir'st the bard divine, Sacred to Phoebus and the nine; That mirth and soft delight canst move Sacred to Venus and to Love; Yet, spite of all thy virtues rare, Thou'rt not a boon companion fair; Thou'rt full of wine when thirsty I, And when I'm drunk, then thou art dry.

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