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A MEMBER of the modern great
Pass'd Sawney with his budget,
The tinker forced to trudge it.
His lordship would parade for;
And the' other's shoes are paid for.
To Wasteall,whose eyes were just closing in death,
Doll counted the chalks on the door; [breath, In peace (cried the wretch) let me give up my
And Fate will soon rub out my score.' Come, bailiffs (cries Doll), (how I'll hamper this
Let the law be no longer delay'd, [cheat!) I never once heard of that fellow call'd Fate,
And, by God, he shan't die till I'm paid.'
APOLLO—TO MR. C-F-, ON HIS BEING SATIRIZED BY AN IGNORANT PERSON, Whether he's worth your spleen or not,
You've ask'd me to determine:
Than that of trampling vermin.
Unless that we'd befriend him:
I'll pay what you may lend him.
ON MR. CHURCHILL'S DEATH. Says Tom to Richard, · Churchill's dead:
Says Richard, · Tom, you lie; Old Rancour the report hath spread,
But Genius cannot die.'
Postscript. WOULD honest Tom G -d
rid of a scold, The torture, the plague of his life! Pray tell him to take down his lion of gold,
And hang up his brazenfaced wife.
PLE 80 Ad
Could Kate for Dick compose the gordian string,
We For YOL
ON SEEING J. C. C-FT, ESQ.
ABUSED IN A NEWSPAPER.
WHEN a wretch to public notice,
Would a man of worth defame; Wit, as threadbare as his coat is,
Only shows his want of shame.
Vilest of the venal crews !
Hang yourself and paltry Muse.
Should for hunger hang or drown: F-X (he must not want a dinner),
Send the scribbler half a crown.
Shed roses in the sprightly juice,
Ourselves, with rosy chaplets bound, Shall sing, and set the goblet round.
Thee, ever gentle Rose, we greet,
The Cupids and the Graces fair
Bring us more sweets ere these expire, And reach me that har Gay Bacchus, Jove's convivial son, Shall lead us to his favourite ton : Among the sporting youths and maids, Beneath the vine's auspicious shades, For ever young-for ever gay, We'll dance the jovial hours away.
· Tell me (said I), my beauteous dove (If an ambassadress from love), Tell me, on what soft errand sent, Thy gentle flight is this way bent ?
Ambrosial sweets thy pinions shed As in the quivering breeze they spread!
• A message (says the bird) I bear
Me, for a hymn or amorous ode,
Through the soft air he bade me glide (See, to my wing his billet's tied), And told me 'twas his kind decree, When I return’d, to set me free.
• 'Twould prove me but a simple bird, To take Anacreon at his word: Why should I hide me in the wood, Or search for my precarious food, When I've my master's leave to stand Cooing upon his friendly hand; When I can be profusely fed With crumbs of his ambrosial bread, And, welcomed to his nectar bowl, Sip the rich drops that fire the soul; Till in fantastic rounds I spread My fluttering pinions o'er his head:
Or if he strike the trembling wire,
• Go, stranger--to your business-go, I've told
wish'd to know : Go, stranger,-and I think you'll say, This prattling Dove's an arrant Jay.'
True it is, the wandering child
Now I'm in my armour clasp'd,
Wounded through the woods I run,
urchin pours; Till exhausting all his store (When the quiver yields no more),