Fatigued with her folly, his suit he gave o'er, And vow'd that no female should fetter him more.

He strove with all caution to scape from the net, But Chloe soon caught him,-a finish'd coquette! She glanced to his glances, she sigh'd to his sighs, And flatter'd his hopes-in the language of eyes. Alas for poor Colin! when put to the test, Himself and his passion proved both but her jest.

By the critical third he was fix'd in the snare; By Fanny-gay, young, unaffected, and fair; When she found he had merit, and love took his part, She dallied no longer-but yielded her heart. With joy they submitted to Hymen's decree, And now are as happy-as happy can be.

As the rosebud of beauty soon sickens and fades, The prude and coquette are two slighted old maids; Now their sweets are all wasted,—too late they

repent,

For transports untasted, for moments mispent! Ye virgins, take warning, improve by my plan, And fix the fond youth when you prudently can.

SONG IN A PANTOMIME.

FANCY leads the fetter'd senses
Captives to her fond control;
Merit may have rich pretences,
But 'tis Fancy fires the soul.

Far beyond the bounds of meaning,
Fancy flies, a fairy queen!
Fancy, wit and worth disdaining,

Gives the prize to harlequin.

If the virgin's false, forgive her;
Fancy was your only foe:
Cupid claims the dart and quiver,
But 'tis Fancy twangs the bow.

NEWCASTLE BEER.

WHEN Fame brought the news of Great Britain's

success,

And told at Olympus each Gallic defeat; Glad Mars sent by Mercury orders express, To summon the deities all to a treat: Blithe Comus was placed

To guide the

gay feast,

And freely declared there was choice of good Yet vow'd to his thinking,

For exquisite drinking,

[cheer;

Their nectar was nothing to Newcastle beer.

The great god of war, to encourage the fun,
And humour the taste of his whimsical guest,
Sent a message that moment to Moor's for a tun
Of stingo, the stoutest, the brightest, and best:
No gods-they all swore,
Regaled so before,

With liquor so lively, so potent and clear:
And each deified fellow

Got jovially mellow,

In honour, brave boys! of our Newcastle beer. Apollo, perceiving his talents refine,

Repents he drank Helicon water so long: He bow'd, being ask'd by the musical Nine, And gave the gay board an extempore song:

! Moor's, at the sign of the Sun, Newcastle.

But ere he began

He toss'd off his can:

There's nought like good liquor the fancy to clear: Then sang, with great merit,

The flavour and spirit

His godship had found in our Newcastle beer.

'Twas stingo like this made Alcides so bold,

It braced up his nerves and enliven'd his powers; And his mystical club, that did wonders of old, Was nothing, my lads, but such liquor as ours. The horrible crew

That Hercules slew,

Were Poverty-Calumny-Trouble-and Fear:
Such a club would you borrow,
To drive away sorrow,
Apply for a jorum of Newcastle beer.

Ye youngsters, so diffident, languid, and pale,
Whom love, like the colic, so rudely infests;
Take a cordial of this, 'twill probatum prevail,
And drive the cur Cupid away from your breasts:
Dull whining despise,

Grow rosy and wise,

Nor longer the jest of good fellows appear;
Bid adieu to your folly,

Get drunk and be jolly,

And smoke o'er a tankard of Newcastle beer.

Ye fanciful folk, for whom Physic prescribes,
Whom bolus and potion have harass'd to death!
Ye wretches, whom Law and her ill looking tribes
Have hunted about till you're quite out of breath!
Here's shelter and ease,
No craving for fees,

No danger,-no doctor,-no bailiff is near!
Your spirits this raises,

It cures your diseases,

There's freedom and health in our Newcastle beer.

HOLIDAY GOWN.

IN holiday gown, and my newfangled hat,
Last Monday I tripp'd to the fair;

I held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,
Brisk Roger I guess'd would be there :
He woos me to marry whenever we meet,
There's honey sure dwells on his tongue!
He hugs me so close, and he kisses so sweet,—
I'd wed-if I were not too young.

Fond Sue, I'll assure you, laid hold on the boy (The vixen would fain be his bride),

Some token she claim'd, either riband or toy,
And swore that she'd not be denied:

A topknot he bought her, and garters of green,
Pert Susan was cruelly stung;

I hate her so much that, to kill her with spleen, I'd wed-if I were not too young.

He whisper'd such soft pretty things in mine ear! He flatter'd, he promised, and swore!

Such trinkets he gave me, such laces and geer,

That trust me, my pockets ran o'er :

Some ballads he bought me,the best he could find,
And sweetly their burden he
sung;
Good faith, he's so handsome, so witty, and kind,
I'd wed-if I were not too young.

The sun was just setting, 'twas time to retire (Our cottage was distant a mile),

I rose to be gone-Roger bow'd like a squire, And handed me over the stile :

His arms he threw round me- -love laugh'd in
He led me the meadows among, [his eye,
There press'd me so close, I agreed, with a sigh,
To wed-
-for I was not too young.

AN ELECTION BALLAD.

NOT a hundred years since, when elections went round,

Old Honour and Truth were in Burgundy drown'd;
The sons of Great Britain, both thirsty and wise,
Wide open'd their stomachs, but closed up their
Derry down, &c.
[eyes.

They were blind to true merit, let Party prevail,
And Judgment no longer right balanced her scale;
In wine was fair freedom remember'd no more,
And Cash kick'd old Liberty out of the door.
Derry down, &c.

When the candidate offer'd, they snatch'd at the coin,

Nor spared the brown bumper nor venal sirloin; Ate and drank when they could: 'twas concluded, friends!

my

They might fast when the candidate compass'd his Derry down, &c.

[ends.

Let the case now be alter'd; let talents be tried, Let national virtue alone be your guide;

M