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REBELLION is my theme all day;
(As who knows but perhaps it may ?)
Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
When lawless mobs insult the court,
But O! for him my fancy culls
Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears.
Such civil broils are my delight,
Though some folks can't endure them, Who say the mob are mad outright, And that a rope must cure them.
A rope! I wish we patriots had
ON OBSERVING SOME
NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE
THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.
OH, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot! In vain, recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future age: Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand; Lethæan gulfs receive them as they fall, And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. 3 So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fireThere goes my lady, and there goes the squire, There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk!
OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learn
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind.. IV.
Then holding the spectacles up to the court— Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,
Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),
So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,
ON THE BURNING
LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY,
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS.,
By the mob, in the month of June, 1780.
So then the Vandals of our isle,
Than ever Roman saw!
And MURRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift,
And many a treasure more,
Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,
But ages yet to come shall mourn
The burning of his own.