Sidor som bilder

This difference only, as the god
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod,
With his goose-quill the scribbling elf
Instead of others damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Mercury had a failing;
Well! what of that! out with it-stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he :
But e'en his deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they, but senseless stones and blocks?



WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ;
Where Calvert's butt and Parsons'black champagne.
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 bis lamp-black

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 tea-cups graced the chimney-

board; A night-cap deck'd his brows jpstead of bay, A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

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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."




Good people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.

Io Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad,

When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends ;

But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog bad 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.

But soon a wonder came to light,

That show'd the rogues they lied; The man recover'd of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

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