Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill, and dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

NO. VIII.

"In Winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales

Of woeful Ages, long ago helid;

And, ere thou bid good-night, to quit their grief,

Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And send the bearers weeping to their beds."

The POTATOE, having no English name, should have been called RALEIGH, after the noble, the injured, the innocent SIR WALTER, who first introduced that most valuable of all vegetables (the SOLANUM tuberosum) from America, about the year 1597.-If to make two blades of grass grow where but one grew before, deserve the highest civic honours, assuredly Sir Walter may claim the first place of the first rank.-He was born in Devonshire, 1558; and after a life of intrepid, intellectual, and useful labour, was, for an alledged connexion with a plot, of which

he was absolutely guiltless, sacrificed to the prejudice of a foolish and infatuate king, who believed in Witchcraft, and wrote a folio on Devils and Spirits.-History is loud and liberal ou the Fate of Sir Walter; and his amiable and brilliant character has been finely touched by his christian and honourable namesake, in the Romance of "KENILWORTH." He has not inaptly been compared to Xenophon and Cæsar, being equally distinguished as a Philosopher and Leader. The following Poem is said to have been composed the night before his execution, which took place in his 66th. year, 29th, Oct. 1618; after he had broke fast in conversation with his friends, and smoaked a cheerful pipe of tobacco; an herb also, and custom, of his introduction. -The poem needs nor praise nor comment, as "Trueth shall be its warrant." MUSIPHILUS.

6th May, 1822.

THE LYE.

Goe, Soule, the bodie's gueste,
Upon a thankless arrant;
Feare not to touche the beste,
The Trueth shall be thy warrant ;
Goe, since I needes must dye,
And give the worlde the Lye.

Goe, tell the Courte, it glowes
And shines like rotten woode;
Goe tell the Churche, it showes
What's good, and doth no goode;
If Churche and Courte replie,
Then give them both the Lye.

Tell Potentates they live

Acting by others' actions;
Not lov'd, unless they give;

Not strong, but by their factions;
If Potentates replie,

Give Potentales the Lye.

Tell men of high condition

That rule affairs of state, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice but to cheate; And if they dare replie,

Then give them all the Lye.

Tell them that brave it moste
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest coste
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make replie,
Spare not to give the Lys.

Tell Zeal, it lackes devotion;

Tell Love, it is but lust;
Tell Time, it is but motion;
Tell Flesh, it is but dust:

And wish them not replie,
For thou must give the Lye.

Tell Ago, it dailie wasteth;
Tell Honour, how it alters;
Tell Beauty, how she blasteth,
Tell Favour how she faulters;
And as they shall replie,

Give each of them the Lye.

Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell Wisdom, she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness:
And if they do replie,

Straight give them both the Ly..

Tell Fortune of her blindness;
Tell Nature of Decayc;
Tell Friendship of unkindnesse ;

Tell Lawyers of delaye :

And if they dare replie,

Then give them all the Lye.

Tell Arts, they have no soundnesse,
But vary by csteeming ;

Tell Schooles, they want profoundnesse,
And stand too much on seeming :
If Arts and Sobooles replie,

Give Arts and Schooles the Lye.

Tell Faith, it's flod the Citie;
Tell how the Countrie erreth;
Tell, Manhoode shakes off pitie;
Tell, Vertue leaste preferreth:
And, if they doe replie,
Spare not to give the Lye.

Soe, when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the Lyé

Setts Knaves and Fooles a-stabbing:
Yet stabb at Truth who will

Her Soul they cannot kill.

NO. IX.

"Nunc frondent sylvæ, nunc formosissimus annus."

"Why, then comes in the sweet o'the year."

The Father of English Poetry is, or ought to be, in the hands and hearts of every admirer of the Muses. The specimen I select for this week will fully justify his claim to the best and brightest praise. A fond and faithful attention to the minutest beauties of Nature, a bold Truth of Conception, a keen and cunning Wit, a sweet Simplicity of Expression, a vernal Bloom of Fancy, and a clear Melody of Verse, all springing from a Soul fraught with the richest Delight, pure and fresh as the morning of Enjoyment, are the characteristics of SYR GEOFFREY CHAUCER, born