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DEAR Chloe, well I know the swain,
Who gladly would embrace thy chain,
And who, alas ! can blame him?
Affect not, Chloe, a surprise:
Look but a moment on these eyes,
Thou 'It ask me not to name him.

On a new-made Lord. By the same.
THE carpenters of ancient Greece,

[piece, Although they bought of wood a stubborn Not fit to make a block-yet, very odd! No losers were the men of chipping trade, Because of this same stubborn stuff they made A damn'd good god !

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Then think not, tho' abridg'd by fate,
Too short this youth's allotted date.
With dignity he fill'd his span,
In conduct and in worth a man.
So spent a life-to heaven appears,
As full as Nestor's length of years.

On a whole Family cut off by the Small-pa
AT once depriv'd of life, lies here
A family, to virtue dear.
Tho' far remov'd from regal state,
Their virtues made them truly great.
Lest one should feel the other's fall,
Death has, in kindness, seiz'd them all.


DOCTOR there is of so humble a grace, That the case he durst never express: But little he says; and if that you will trace His knowledge you'll find to be less.

Then sure you will say he's deficient in br Or his head to a still you'll compare, That does little or nothing but simples cont And yields them by drops that are rate.

A Distich, written by Mr. Cowper, at the? quest of a Gentleman who importuned i write something in his Pocket Album. WERE indeed indifferent to fame, Grudging two lines t'immortalize my

An old Gentleman of the name of Page, j ing a Lady's Glove, sent it to the Ow with this Distich, and received the follow Answer,

Then Glove is love, and that I send to 135 that from Glove you take the letter G,


Ir that from Page you take the letter P, Then Page is age, and that won't do for

Sent to a Lady with a Present of a Po Scissors.

ABSCINDING form, divide the liquid ait,

On wings metallic By unto my fair; To her acute and faithful ever prove, But never cut th' increasing plumes of lowe

On his Excellency the late Lord Ge and his Cook.. SAYS my Lord to his cook, “You son ́ "punk, "How comes it I see you, thus, ev'ry "drunk?

Physicians, they say, once a month, doa "A man, for his health,to get drunk-ask st "That is right." quoth the cook, "but the "they don't say;

"So, for fear 1 should miss it, I'm drunk

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An economical Reflection.
ALL mortal things are frail-and go to pot; [
What wonder then if mortal trowsers rot?
My velvet torn, I shone in mimic shag:
Those soon grew rusty and-began to frag.
Buck-skin was greasy; serge de nym was queer;
Camblet was airy; but how apt to te:!
Quoth I,

Sir Pricklouse, shall we try a rug?"
Yes, Sir," says he, "that sure will hold a tug."
Ah! no; the rug decay'd, like all the past,
Ev'n everlasting would not ever last.
At length; guess how I fix'd it.-Why, in troth
With projects tir'd-Istuck to common cloth.
On a Bee.

PRETTY, little, buzzing thing!

Arm'd by nature with a sting;
Lazy man's oblig'd to thee,
Pattern thou of industry!
When the fields rich scents exhale,
And new beauty decks each vale,
Busy all the shining day
Ev'ry flow'r thou mak'st thy prey,
And sweet honey home dost bring,
Rifler of the bloomy spring!
Love does never thee molest,
Love, that tyrant of our breast:
Than the birds more happy thou;
They the spring to love allow,
Who no tribute has from thee,
Emblem thou of liberty!
fail! chaste, frugal animal,
Happiest, wisest, best of all!

To an unfortunate Beauty.
AY, lovely maid, with downcast eye,
And check with silent sorrow pale,
That gives thy heart the lengthen'd sigh,
That heaving tells a mournful tale?
hy tears, which thus each other chase,
Bespeak a breast o'erwhelm'd with woe;
by sighs, a storm which wrecks my peace,
Which souls like thine should never know.
Oh! tell me, doth some favour'd youth,
Too often blest, thy beanies slight;
and leave those thrones of love and truth;
That lip, and bosom of delight?
What though to other nymphs he flies.
And feigns the fond, impassion'd tear,
reathes all the eloquence of sighs
That 'treach'rous won thy artless ear:
et not those nymphs thy anguish move,
For whom his heart may seem to pine;
hat heart shall ne'er be blest by love,
'Whose guilt can force a pang from thine.


Pak Chartreux wants the warning of a bell
To call him to the duties of his cell;
here needs no noise at all t' awaken sin.
Wherer and thief his larum has within.

Lines sent to Mr. Cosway, while Lady C, Paw let was sitting to him.

COSWAY, my Cathrine sits to you:

And, that the col'ring may be true,
This nosegay on your palate place,
Replete with all the tints that grace
The various beauties of her face.
Her skin the snow-drop's whiteness shows,
Her blushing cheek the op'ning rose;
Her eyes the modest violet speak,
Whose silken fringes kiss her cheek.
The spicy pink, in morning dew,
Presents her fragrant lips to view;
The glossy curls that crown her head,
Paint from the gilt cup of the mead.
Long may her image fill my eye,
When these fair emblems fade and die;
Plac'd on my faithful breast, and prove
'Tis Cosway paints the Queen of Love,

Shakspeare's Walk.

BY von hills with mossing spread,
Lifting up the tufted head,
By those golden waves of corn
Which the laughing fields adorn;
By the fragrant breath of flowers
Stealing from the woodbine bowers;
By this thought-inspiring shade;
By the gleamings of the glade;
By the babbling of the brook,
Winding slow in many a crook;
By the rustling of the trees;
By the humming of the bees.

On seeing a Dog asleep near kis Master.
THRICE happy dog! thou feel'st no woe,
No anguish to molest

Thy peaceful hours that sweetly flow,
Alternate sport and rest.

Man's call'd thy lord-affliction's heir!
Whilst he's a slave to every care,
And sorrow's only son!

And thou art slave to none.
Blest, near thy master thus to lie,
And blest with him to rove!
Unstain'd by guilt thy moments fly
On wings of grateful love.

Oh! that my heart, like thine, could taste
The sweets of guiltless life!
Beyond the reach of passion plac'd,
Its anguish and its strife.

On a Waiter, once at Arthur's, and a Fellow-
servant of his there, both since Members of
Parliament, and the last a Nabot.
[HEN Bob M-ck-th, with upper servant's

Here, sirrah, clean my shoes," to Rumb-

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He humbly answer'd, "Yea, Bob:" But since return'd from India's glunder'd land, The purse-proud Rumb-d now, on such command,

Would stoutly answer, "Nay, Bob."

To rob the nation two Contractors come,
One cheats in corn, the other cheats in rum;
The greater rogue 'tis hard to ascertain,
The rogue in spirits, or the rogue in grain.

Verses written by a Gentleman on finding an



RIPLING mortal, tell me why Thou hast disturb'd my urn; Want'st thou to find out what am I?

Vain man! attend, and learn: To know what letters spelt my name Is useless quite to thee; An heap of dust is all I am,

And all that thou shalt be. Go now, that heap of dust explore, Measure its grains, or weigh; Canst thou the title which I bore Distinguish in the clay? What glitt'ring honours, or high trust Once dignified me here, Were characters imprest on dust, Which quickly disappear.

Nor will the sparkling atoms show

A Claudius or a Guelph:

What from envy can be free, If ill-fate could envy thee?

The Negro's Complaint. WIDE over the tremulous sea

The moon spread her mantle of light,
And the gale, gently dying away,
Breath'd soft on the bosom of night.
On the forecastle Maratan stood,

His tears fell unseen in the flood,
And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale;

His sighs pass'd unheard on the gale.
Ah, wretch! in wild anguish he cry`d,
From country and liberty torn;
Ah! Maratan, wouldst thou had died,

Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne! Thro' the groves of Angola I stray'd,

Love and hope made my bosom their hom There I talk'd with my favourite maid,

Nor dream'd of the sorrow to come. From the thicket the man-hunter sprung My cries echo'd loud thro' the air: There was fury and wrath on his tone He was deaf to the shrieks of despair. Accurs'd be the merciless band,

Who his love could trem Maratan ter And blasted this impotent hand, That was sever'd from all I held dear.

Vain search! if here the source thou'dst know Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks ever flow,

Of nobles, or thyself.

The mould will yield no evidence,

By which thou mayst divine

If lords or beggars issued thence,

And form'd the ancient line.
Learn then the vanity of birth,

Condition, honours, name,
All are but modes of common earth,
The substance just the same.
Bid av'rice and ambition view

Th' extent of all their gains;
Themselves, and their possessions too,
A gallon vase contains.

Haste, lift thy thoughts from earthly things
To more substantial bliss;

And leave that grov'ling pride to kings,
Which ends in dirt like this.
Let virtue be thy radiant guide,
Twill dignify thy clay,
And raise thy ashes glorified,
When suns shall fade away.

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Still let sleep from my eye-lids depart, And still may the arrows of woe

Drink deep of the stream of my heart! But hark! on the silence of night My Adila's accents I hear, And mournful beneath the wan light I see her lov'd image appear! Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides, As the mist that hangs light on the wa And fondly her lover she chides,

That lingers so long from the grave. "O, Maratan, haste thee!" she cries, "Here the reign of oppression is o'er, "The tyrant is rebb'd of his prize,

“ And Adila'sorrows no more.” Now, sinking amidst the dim ray, Her form seems to fade on my view; "O stay thee, my Adila, stayShe beckons, and I must pursue. To-morrow, the white man in vain Shall proudly account me his slave; My shackles I plunge in the main,

And rush to the realms of the brave.

Elegy to the Memory of Miss Louisa Hervé THOU, to whom fair Genius homage Whom Science courted, and the -lov'd;

Whose mind the hand of Innocence array'd. Pareas that form which Envy's staf approv=

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Led by the pallid noon's uncertain light,
Sad tributes to thy peerless worth to pay,
And to thy tomb soft Sympathy invite.
Lamenting Memory, too, shall linger there,
And cull sweet flow'rs to deck thy holy


For thee indulge the deep-drawn sigh sincere,
And o'er thy ashes shall with pity pine.

fet check'd should be those tears thy friends
may shed,

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His pension paid, tho' late-and paid to thee.

So shall thy father Homer smile to see

Under the Print of Tom Britton, the Musical
Small-coal Man. HUGHES.

That grief, which thy fond parents' peace de-Tian thy rank, yet in thy humble cell


or thou art only rank'd amongst the dead,
To find a passage to eternal joys.
hat Power which seal'd th'apparent harsh de-

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On an unfortunate Beauty.
100k wand'rer! how shall that weak form,
So loosely clad in vesture light,
adure the malice of the storm),
The rudeness of the winter's night?
ad does a smile thy cheek illume?
Alas! that faint and feeble glow
like the flow'r's untimely bloom,
Drooping amidst a waste of snow.
or wretch!-you sigh, you would unfold
The course of sorrow you have run:
simple story, quickly told,-
You lov'd, believ'd, and were undone.
hy weep you as my hand ou press?
Why on my features gaze and sigh?
'ould no one pity your distress?
None listen to your tale, but 1?
as! a pittance scant, I fear,
Is all the joy I can bestow;
can but wipe away one tear,
One moment from a life of woe.

te'en for this your grateful eye
To heaven is rais'd-Poor girl, adicu!
9 scenes of senseless mirth Ifly,
To poverty and sicknes› you.

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Did gentle peace and arts, unpurchas'd


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Where Hogarth, pitying nature, kindly made
Such lips, such eyes, as Chloe never had;
Ye Gods! she cries in ecstacy of heart,
How near can nature be express'd by art!
Well! it is wondrous like! nay, let ine die,
The very pouting lip, the killing eve!
Blunt and severe as Manly in the play,
Downright replies-Like, Madam! do you say?
The picture bears this likeness, it is true:
The canvass painted is, and so are you.

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By fav'ring wit Mæcenas purchas'd fame,

Virgil's own works immortaliz'd his name:

A double share of fame is Dorset's due,
At once the patron and the poet too.

On an eminent modern Preacher.

POLLIO inust needs to penitence excite;
For, see, his scarf is rich, and gloves


Behold his notes display'd, his body rail;
With what a zeal he labours to be praist
No stubborn sinner able to withstand

The force and reasoning of his wig and han
Much better pleas'd, so pious his intent,
With five that laugh than fifty who repent:
On moral duties when his tongue refines,
Tully and Plato are his best divines; [sm
What Matthew says, or Mark, the proof
What Locke or Clarke asserts, good scripts

Touch'd with cach weakness which he d

With vanity he talks against the vain;
With ostentation does to meekness guide,
Proud of his periods levell'd against price.
Ambitiously the love of glory slights, [w:
And damns the love of fame-for what

THE Latin word for cold, one ask'd his i
It is, said he 'tis at my finger's end.

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UNHAPPY, Dido, was thy fate,

In first and second wedded state!

One husband can'd the fight by dying,
Thy death the other caus'd by flying.

HUM ROUS fellow in a tavern late, [pate: Being drunk and valiant, gets a broken The surgeon, with his instruments and skill, Searches his skull deeper and deeper still, To feel his brains, and try if they were sound: And, as he keeps ado about the wound, pains, WHAT 'rous lights this wreck's The fellow cries--Good surgeon, spare your

On the Funeral of Fulture Hopline


When I began this brawl I had no brains. Who, in his lifetime, sav'd a can" `¤

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