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Fraught with invective they ne'er go
A NEW SIMILE.
IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.
LONG had I sought in vain to find
Till reading, I forget what day on,
Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
In the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air : And here my simile unites; For, in a modern poet's flights, I'm sure it may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head.
Lastly, vouchsafe to observe bis hand, Filld with a snake-encircled wand; By classic authors term'd caduceus, And highly famed for several uses: To wit-most wondrously endued, No poppy water half so good; For let folks only get a touch, Its soporific virtue's such,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
Now to apply, begin we then:
And here my simile almost tripp’d,
DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED
CHAMBER. Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay; Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black cham
pagne, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane;
There in a lonely room,
from bailiffs snug, The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug; A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; The royal game of goose was there in view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; The seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black
face; The morn was cold, he views with keen desire The rusty grate unconscious of a fire: With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored, And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney
board; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night—a stocking all the day!
THE CLOWN'S REPLY. John TROTT was desired by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears ? • An't please you (quoth John), I'm not given to
letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your
graces, As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.' AN ELEGY
THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.
Give ear unto my song ;
It cannot hold you long.
Of whom the world might say,
Whene'er he went to pray.
To comfort friends and foes;
When he put on his clothes.
As many dogs there be,
And curs of low degree.
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man. The wound it seem'd both sore and sad,
To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.