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To show his ancient spleen to Mars,
Fierce Vulcan caught him by the a—;
Stuck to his skirts, insatiate varlet!
And fed with pleasure on the scarlet.
Hard by, and in the corner, sate
A bencher grave, with looks sedate,
Smoking his pipe, warm as a toast,
And reading over last week's Post ;
He saw the foe the fort invade,

And soon smelt out the breach he made;
But not a word—a little sly

He look'd, 'tis true, and from each eye
A sidelong glance sometimes he sent,

To bring him news, and watch th' event.
At length, upon that tender part
Where honor lodges (as of old
Authentic Hudibras has told)
The blust'ring colonel felt a smart ;
Sore griev'd for his affronted bum,
Frisk'd, skipp'd, and bounc'd about the room:
Then turning short-" Zounds, sir," he cries;
"Pox on him! had the fool no eyes?
What! let a man be burnt alive?"

"I am not, Sir, inquisitive,"
Replied Sir Gravity, i to know
Whate'er your Honor's pleas'd to do:
If you will burn your tail to tinder,
Pray what have I to do to hinder?
Other men's business let alone,

Why should not coxcombs mind their own?"
Then, knocking out his pipe with care,
Laid down his penny at the bar;
And wrapping round his frieze surtout,
Took up his crabtree and walk'd out.

The Frog's Choice. SOMERVILLE. Ω πόποι, οἷον δή νυ Θεοὺς βροτοὶ ἀπιόωνται. Εξ ἡμεων γάρ φασι κάκ' ἔμμεναι· οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ Εφῆσιν ἀτασθαλίησιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγι ̓ ἔχουσιν. In a wild state of nature, long The frogs at random liv'd, The weak a prey unto the strong, With anarchy oppress'd and griev'd. At length the lawless rout, Taught by their suff'rings, grew devout; An embassy to Jove they sent,

And begg'd his highness would bestow Some settled form of government,

A king to rule the fens below. Jove, smiling, grants their odd request: A king, th' indulgent pow'r bestow'd, Such as might suit their genius best: A beam of a prodigious size,

With all its cumbrous load,
Came tumbling from the skies.
The waters dash against the shore,
The hollow caverns roar :

The rocks return the dreadful sound,
Convulsions shake the ground.
The multitude with horror fled,
And in his oozy bed
Each skulking coward hid his head.
When all is now grown calm again,
And smoothly glides the liquid plain,
A frog more resolute and bold,
Peeping with caution from his hold,

Recover'd from his first surprise,
As o'er the wave his head he popp'd,
He saw, but scarce believ'd his eyes.
On the same bank where first he dropp'd,
Th' imperial lubber lies,

Stretch'd at his case, careless, content.
"Is this the monarch Jove has sent,"
Said he,
،، our warlike troops to lead ?

Ah, 'tis a glorions prince indeed !
By such an active general led,

The routed mice our arms shall dread,
Subdued shall quit their claim:
Old Homer shall recant his lays,
For us new trophies raise,

Sing our victorious arms, and justify our fame!"
Then laughing impudently loud,
He soon alarm'd the dastard crowd.
The croaking nations with contempt
Behold the worthless indolent.

On wings of winds swift scandal flies,

Libels, lampoons, and lies,

Hoarse treasons, tuneless blasphemies.
With active leap at last upon his back they stride,
And on the royal loggerhead in triumph ride.

Once more to Jove they prayers address'd,
And once more Jove grants their request;
A stork he sends, of monstrous size,
Red lightning flashes in his eyes.
Rul'd by no block, as heretofore,
The gazing crowds press'd to his court;
Admire his stately mien, his haughty port,
And only not adore.
Addresses of congratulation,

Sent from each loyal corporation,

Full fraught with truth and sense, Exhausted all their eloquence.

But now, alas! 'twas night; kings must have

meat:

The Grand Vizier first goes to pot;

Three Bassas next, happy their lot!
Gain'd Paradise by being eat.

"And this," said he, " and this is mine,
And this by right divine :"
In short, 'twas all for public weal,
He swallow'd half a nation at a meal.

Again they beg Almighty Jove
This cruel tyrant to remove.
With fierce resentment in his eyes,
The frowning Thunderer replies:
،، Those evils which yourselves create,
Rash fools! ye now repent too late;
Made wretched by the public voice,
Not through necessity, but choice !
Begone! nor wrest from Heaven some heavier

curse:

Better bear this, this Stork, than worse."

MORAL.

Oppress'd with happiness, and sick with ease, Not Heaven itself our fickle minds can please. Fondly we wish, cloy'd with celestial store, The leeks and onions which we loath'd before: Still roving, still desiring, never pleas'd, With plentystarv'd,and e'enwith health diseas'd,

With partial eyes each present good we view,
Nor covet what is best, but what is new.
Ye pow'rs above, who make mankind your care,
To bless the supplicant, reject his pray'r!

The Oyster.

-In jus

SOMERVILLE.

Acres procurrunt, magnum spectaculum uterque.

Two comrades, as grave authors say
(But in what chapter, page, or line,
Ye critics, if ye please, define),
Had found an oyster in their way.
Contest and foul debate arose :

Both view'd at once with greedy eyes,
Both challeng'd the delicious prize,
And high words soon improv'd to blows.
Actions on actions hence succeed,

Each hero's obstinately stout,

Green bags and parchments fly about,
Pleadings are drawn, and counsel fee'd.
The parson of the place, good man!

Whose kind and charitable heart
In human ills still bore a part,
Thrice shook his head, and thus began:
"Neighbours and friends, refer to me
This doughty matter in dispute,
I'll soon decide th' important suit,
And finish all without a fee.
Give me the oyster then-'tis well"-
He opens it, and at one sup
Gulps the contested trifle up,
And smiling, gives to each a shell.
"Henceforth let foolish discord cease,

Your oyster's good as e'er was eat;
I thank you for my dainty treat;
God bless you both, and live in peace."

MORAL.

Ye men of Norfolk and of Wales,

From this learn common sense; Nor thrust your neighbours into jails For ev'ry slight offence.

Banish those vermin of debate

That on your substance feed; The knaves who now are serv'd in plate Would starve, if fools agreed.

HOR.

Epitaph on Miss Basnet, in St. Pancras Church-yard,

Ode.

Go, spotless Honor, and unsullied Truth; Go, smiling Innocence and blooming Youth; Go, female Sweetness, join'd with manly Sense; Go, winning Wit, that never gave offence; Go, soft Humanity, that bless'd the poor; Go, saint-eyed Patience, from Affliction's door; Go, Modesty, that never wore a frown; Go, Virtue, and receive thy heavenly crown. Not from a stranger came this heart-felt verse; The friend inscribes thy tomb whose tears bedew'd thy hearse.

THOMSON.

TELL me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me whither art thou fled?
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
Or dost thou free at pleasure roam,

And sometimes share the lover's woe;
Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
O! if thou hov rest round my walk,
While, under every well-known tree,
I to thy fancied shadow talk,

And every tear is full of thee: Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief,

O visit thou my soothing dream!

On Time. ANON.

E'EN while the careless, disencumber'd soul Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream, E'en then to Time's tremendous verge we roll With headlong haste along life's surgy stream. Can gaiety the vanish'd years restore,

Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, Or soothe the sad, inevitable hour,

Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead? Ah! beauty's bloom avails not in the grave, Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace; Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave, Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race!

The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust,

The arch with proud memorials array'd, The long-liv'd pyramid, shall sink in dust, To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.

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feast.

eyes, My Mother.

The Butterfly's Ball. Roscoe. COME take up your hats, and away let us haste To the Butterfly's ball, and the Grasshopper's [crew, The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon'd the And the revels are now only waiting for you. So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions came forth in a throng. And on the smooth grass, by the side of a wood,

Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood, Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air,

For an evening's amusement together repair. And there caine the Beetle, so blind and so black, [back. Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,

[blue. With all their relations, green, orange, and And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down, brown; And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and

hole,

Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring, [sting. But they promis'd that evening to lay by their And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his Mole. And brought to the feast his blind brother, the And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell, [an ell. Came from a great distance, the length of A mushroom their table, and on it was laid A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made. The viands were various, to each of their taste, And the Bee brought her honey to crown the repast.

to see,

Then close on his haunches, so solemn`and
wise,
[skies.
The Frog from a corner look'd up to the
And the Squirrel, well pleas'd such diversions
[from a tree.
Mounted high over head, and look'd down
Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,
To shew his dexterity on the tight line.
From one branch to another, his cobwebs he
slung,

Then quick as an arrow he darted along.
But just in the middle,-Oh! shocking to

tell,

[fell. From his rope, in an instant, poor harlequin Yet he touch'd not the ground, but with talons Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. outspread, Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring, [his wing; Very long was his leg, though but short was He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight, the night. Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of With step so majestic the Snail did advance, And promis'd the gazers a minuet to dance. But they all laugh'd so loud that he pull'd in his head,

And went in his own little chamber to bed. Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night, with a light. Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out Then home let us hasten, while yet we can [me. For no Watchman is waiting for you and for So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry companions return'd in a throng.

see,

SONGS, BALLADS, &c. &c.

§1. Song. LORD LYTTELTON. SAY, Mira, why is gentle Love A stranger to that mind, Which pity and esteem can move, Which can be just and kind?

Is it because you fear to share
The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt, the tender care,
That rack the am'rous breast?

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If in that breast, so good, so pure,
Compassion ever lov'd to dwell,
Pity the sorrows I endure,

The cause I must not, dare not tell.

That grief that on my quiet preys,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea, With a fa, &c.

Then, if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchmen or by wind;
Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring thein twice a day,
With a fa, &c.

The king, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tide will higher rise,
Then e'er it did of old:

But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of tears to Whitehall stairs,
With a fa, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story;

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree :
For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind?
With a fa, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst;

Be you to us but kind,

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:

'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe,
With a fa, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,
We throw a merry main;
Or else at serious ombre play;

But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you,
With a fa, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow, And cast our hopes away;

That rends my heart, that checks my tongue, Whilst you, regardless of our woe,

I fear will last me all my days,
But feel it will not last me long.

§4. Song. EARL of DORSET*.

To all you ladies now at land

We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write;

The Muses now, and Neptune too,
We must implore, to write to you,
With a fa la, la, la, la, la.

For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind
To wave the azure main,

Sit careless at a play:

Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan,
With a fa, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in ev'ry note;

As if it sigh'd with each man's care
For being so remote:

Think then how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were play'd,
With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse
To think of our distress,

When we for hopes of honor lose
Our certain happiness;

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love,
With a fa, &c.

• Written at sea, the first Dutch war, 1665, the night before an engagement.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears;
Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea,
With a fa, &c.

$5. Song. LORD LANSDOWne.
WHY, cruel creature, why so bent
To vex a tender heart?
To gold and title you relent;

Love throws in vain his dart.

Let glittering fops in court be great,
For pay let armies move:
Beauty should have no other bait
But gentle vows and love.

If on those endless charms you lay
The value that's their due;
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
A thousand worlds too few.
But if a passion without vice,
Without disguise or art,
Ah, Celia! if true love's your price,
Behold it in my heart.

§6. Song. SIR CAR SCROOPE. ONE night, when all the village slept, Myrtillo's sad despair

The wretched shepherd waking kept,
To tell the woods his care:
"Begone," said he, "fond thoughts, begone!
Eyes, give your sorrows o'er!

Why should you waste your tears for one
Who thinks on you no more?

"Yet, O ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs
That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many tender hours
We here have pass'd in love!
Yon stars above (my cruel foes)
Have heard how she has sworn,
A thousand times, that, like to those,
Her flame should ever burn!

"But since she's lost, O let me have
My wish, and quickly die!
In this cold bank I'll make a grave,
And there for ever lie:

Sad nightingales the watch shall keep,
And kindly here complain."
Then down the shepherd lay to sleep,
But never rose again.

§7. A Pastoral Elegy.
AH, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu !
By love and first nature allied,
Together in fondness we grew ;
Ah, would we together had died!

For thy faith, which resembled my own,

For thy soul, which was spotless and true,
For the joys we together have known,
Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu!
What bliss can hereafter be mine?
Whomever engaging I see,

To his friendship I ne'er can incline,

For fear I should mourn him like thee.
Though the muses should crown me with art,
Though honor and fortune should join ;
Since thou art denied to my heart,

What bliss can hereafter be mine?
Ah Damon, dear shepherd, farewell!
Thy grave with sad osiers I'll bind;
Though no more in one cottage we dwell,
I can keep thee for ever in mind.
Each morning I'll visit alone

His ashes who lov'd me so well,
And murmur each eve o'er his stone,
"Ah Damon, dear shepherd, farewell !"

«

$8. Song. MOORE.

HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb!
Come, Lucy, it cries, come away!
The grave of my Colin has room
To rest thee beside his cold clay.
I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu !
I haste to my Colin's dark home,
To die on his bosom so true.

All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, sad Lucy, arose;
And forth to the green turf she sprung,
Where Colin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground;
While stormy winds over her blew,

And night-ravens croak'd all around.
How long, my lov'd Colin, she cried,
How long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide?
How long ere it join us again?
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd,

With thee o'er the world would she fly;
For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,
For thee would she lie down and die.

Alas! what avails it how dear

Thy Lucy was once to her swain !
Her face like the lily so fair,

And eyes that gave light to the plain!
The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,

That face and those eyes charm no more;
And Lucy, forgot and alone,

To death shall her Colin deplore.

While thus she lay sunk in despair,

And mourn'd to the echoes around,
Inflam'd all at once grew the air,
And thunder shook dreadful the ground!
I hear the kind call, and obey,
O Colin, receive me, she cried:

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