But to return-I from the chaise got out,
And in the hall am met by * Round about ;
Who, fat and foggy, puffs away,
On the pictures does display
Her knowledge, which to me, I own,
Was algebra-and† matick's grown;
The portraits then of Mr. Weld,
I with rapidity beheld;
And traverfed over in a trice
The rooms, that look'd fo clean and nice;
Fatty threw open every door,
Upon the ground and the first floor;
And after greazing, thought it meet,
To ask me if I chose to eat ;
Her offer I declin'd, and then
Into the carriage mount again;
Proceed to Wareham, where I find
Some fresher cattle to my mind;
Who waft me on o'er hill and dale
To Poole, where hunger did prevail ;
Into the Antelope I pop,
I eat my fowl, and mutton chop;
And as it is a feaport town,
Oh! how the fish goes glibly down!
The fatteft housekeeper ever seen.
Mathematicsthe Elifion is new and pleasing.
From Poole to Ringwood, barren foil,
Not worth man's labour, nor his toil;
And though the foil is bad, we travel faft,
Because it beats some stages that are past.
Here the White Hart presents itself, when lo!
The horses ready, we to Lyndhurst go;
And if I've luck, at Winchester to-night
I'll fleep, as much as caufes me delight.
Over the forest many a mile,
We thus our weary steps beguile.
Arrive at Lyndhurst, horses five,
No more at home, as I am alive;
And think how much the people stare,
To see me travel with a pair?
They call'd the lad, my Lord, indeed!
But Lord or not, did not fucceed
With me, for as he drove ill,
I paid him lefs than any still;
Onward we go, reach Rumfey about nine,
And fo to Winchester proceed in time
With greater hafte, when at the George defcend, And think with joy the first day's at an end.
Though difficulties did arife
At Winchester, I clos'd my eyes,
And though the country is replete
With many a fine and rural feat,
Yet, travelling long after dark,
I could not make the least remark;
And fo, whatever is the state,
Muft leave to others to relate.
When breakfast done, I start again,
And take the road to Popham Lane.
The Wheatsheaf there prefents its arms,
Provided with a thousand charms
For travellers who pass that way,
Whether by night, or in the day i
And where the King, on fleetest nag,
Often pursues the eager ftag.
1 From Winchester the horses were
More fit to draw the worthy Mayor,
Than travel on the road, as they
Won't neither whip, nor ípur obey';
And if they could but walk or foort,
They'd take his worship into court.
Whether it is fpite or not they mean,
From Popham Lane to Murrel Green,
They strive to carry you, unless
You boldly fhould yourself exprefs.
On fome fign poft at Basingstoke,
You'll find these words by way of joke :
"My worthy friends, as you pass by,
"Here's amber ale, if you are dry."
And farther on was fomething more,
Which I had not time to explore.
From Bagfhot to the Bush at Staines,
The man with ease his cash obtains.
The stage is fhort, the road is good,
And never injur❜d by a flood.
From hence it was that Sumner tried his head,
If it was proof 'gainst Hervey Afton's lead.
O'er Hounslow Heath, a barren foil,
No fhade, but one continued broil,
Affords the traveller no place,
Whether to wipe or not his face ;
But forces him into the town
E'er he can wash the gravel down.
From Bush at Staines, to Hounslow strait,
Four horfes galloped such a rate,
I waved my hands, lads went their way,
And all my mandates disobey.
The inn I use in Hounflow town
Is on the left, the Rofe and Crown;
From thence to London nought I tell,
Because the road is known fo well;
There I exprefsly stop to dine,
To eat my chop, and drink my wine.
At fix o'clock, I skim the field,
Where Tring's great skill made * Cobler yield;
For they, indeed, went out for fighting,
A frolick not the least inviting:
But Tring was conqueror; fo he
Was borne in triumph, all agree,
And as they travelled homeward faft,
Said Tring had nail'd him to the last.
Coaches and chaifes-carts and affes,
O'er Finchley Common how one passes,
And 'twas, indeed, by all allow'd,
They'd seldom feen fo great a crowd.
Much paper has been wasted in rehearsing
My trip I found the Marchionefs converfing,
And in good spirits, but she said,
She had not yet much strength display'd.
From Hatfield I took you, to Weymouth I went,
To please the dear creatures I wholly was bent;
Should I prove that I wish it may be in the end,
Not unentertaining, attention pray lend;
Devoted they'll find me, and trust 'twill appear,
That they in their friendship are not lefs fincere.
The following Scale of modern beauty and modern talent, is an excellent auxiliary to correct judgement.-It was the celebrated Akenfide that invented, on the fubject of poetry, this concife mode of comparative eftimates. To appreciate the diverfities of merit, and balance the proportions of competition, is no flight effay of critical powers.
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