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A lie direct to some hot youth,

For what? thou avaricious elf, T'ne giving which perhaps was truth,

But to destroy it all thyself ; The treading on a scoundrel's toe,

To lead a life of drink and feast, Or dealing impudence a blow,

T” oppress the poor, and cheat the priest, Disputes in politics and law,

Or triumph in a virgin lost, About a feather and a straw;

Is all the manhood thou canst boast.A thousand trifies not worth naming,

Pretty, in Nature's various plan, In whoring, jockeying, and gaming,

To see a weed that's like a man ; Shall cause a challenge's inditing,

But 'tis a grievous thing indeed,
And set two loggerheads a fighting,

To see a man so like a weed."
Meanwhile the father of despair,
The prince of vanity and air.
His querry, like an hawk discovering,

THE BROCADED GOWN AND LINEN O’er their devoted heads hangs hovering,

RAG.
Secure to get in his tuition,
These volunteers for black perdition.

FABLE VIII.
FROM

ROM a fine lady to her maid,
THE COUNTRY SQUIRE AND THE French !-Yes, from Paristhat's enough,

A gown descended of brocade.
MANDRAKE.

That wou'd give dignity to stuff.
FABLE VII.

By accident or by design,

Or from some cause, I can't divine; The Sun had rais'd above the mead

A linen rag, (sad source of wrangling!) His glorious horizontal head;

On a contiguous peg was dangling, Sad Philomela left her thorn;

Vilely besmear'd-for late his master, The lively linnets hymn'd the morn,

It sery'd in quality of plaister. And Nature, like a waking bride,

The gown, contemptuous beholder, Jler blushes spreads on every side ;

Gave a French shrug from either shoulder, 'The cock as usual crow'd up Tray,

And rustling with emotions furious, Who nightly with his master lay ;

Bespoke the rag in terms injurious. The faithful spaniel gave the word,

“ Unfit for tinder, Jint, or fodder, Trelooby at the signal stirr'd,

Thou thing of filth, (and what is odder) And with his gun, from wood to wood,

Discarded from thy owner's back, The man of prey his course pursu'd;

Darist thou proceed, and gold attack ? The dew and herbage all around,

Instant away—or in this place, Like pearls and emeralds on the groumd ;

Begar me give you coup de grace.” Th' uncultor'd flowers that rudely rise,

To this reply'd the honest rag, Where smiling freedom art defies;

Who lik'd a jest, and was a wag ; The lark, in transport, tow'ring high,

“ Though thy glib tongue without a halt run, The crimson curtains of the sky,

Thou shabby second-hand subaltern, Affected not Trolooby's mind

At once so ancient and so easy, For what is beauty to the blind ?

At once so gorgeous and so greasy; Th’amorous voice of sylvan lore,

I value not thy gasconading, Form'd charming concerts in the grove ;

Nor all thy alamode parading ; Sweet zephyr sigh'd on Flora's breast,

But to abstain from words imperious, And drew the blackbird from his nest;

And to be sober, grave, and serious. Whistling he leapt from leaf to leaf;

Though, says friend Horace, 'tis no treason, But what is music to the deaf?

At once to giggle, and to reason, At length wbile poring on the ground,

When me you lesson, friend, you dream, With monumental look profound,

For know I am not what I seem; A curious vegetable caught

Soon by the mill's refining motion, His something similar to thought:

The sweetest daughter of the ocean, Wond'ring, he ponder'd, stooping low,

Fair Medway, shall with snowy hue, (Trelooby always lov'd a show)

My virgin purity renew, And on the mandrake's vernal station,

And give me reinform’d existence, Star'd with prodigions obserration.

A good retention and subsistence. Th'affronted mandrake with a frown.

Then shall the sons of genius join, Address'd in rage the wealthy clown.

To make my second life divine. “ Prond member of the rambling race, O Murray, let me then dispense, That vegctate from place to place,

Some portion of thy eloquence; Pursue the leveret at large,

For Greek and Roman rhetoric shine, Nor near thy blunderbuss discharge.

United and improved in thine. Disdainful though thou look’st on me,

The spirit stirring sage'alarms, What art thou, or what can'st thou be?

And Ciceronian sweetness charms, Nature, that mark'd thee as a fool,

Th’ Athenian Akenside may deign
Gave no materials for the school.

To stamp me deathless with his pen,
In what consists thy work and frame?
The preservation of the game.--

" Demosthenes.

While flows approv'd by all the Nine

Pattern of love, and peace, and unity, Th' immortal soul oferery line.

Or how cou'd you expect impunity? Collins, perhaps, his aid may lend,

O Lord ! this nasty thing will bite, Melpomene's selected friend.

And scratch and clapper, claw and fight. Perhaps our great Augustan Gray

O monstrous wretch, thus to devise, May grace me with a Doric lay;

To tear out your poor Sylvia's eyes. With sweet, with manly words of woe,

You're a fine Popish plot pursuing, That nervously pathetic flow.

By presents to affect my ruin ; What, Mason, may I owe to you?

And thus for good are ill retorting Learning's first pride, and Nature's too ; To me, who brought you such a fortune; On thee she cast her sweetest smile,

To me, you low-liv'd clown, to me, And gave thee Art's correcting file;

Who came of such a family ; That file, which with assiduous pain,

Me, who for age to age possess'd The viper Envy bites in rain.

A lion rampant on my crest; Such glories my mean lot betide,

Me, who have fill'd your empty coffers, Hear, tawdry fool, and check thy pride.

Me, who'd so many better offers ; Thou, after scouring, dying, turning,

And is my merit thus regarded, (If haply thou escape a burning)

Cuckold, my virtue thus rewarded. From gown to petticoat descending,

O'tis past sufferance-Mary-Mary, And in a beggar's mantle ending,

I faint—the citron, or the clary," Shalt in a dunghill or a stye,

The poor man, who had bought the creature, 'Midst filth and vermin rot and die.

Out of pure conjugal good-nature,
Stood at this violent attack,
Like statues made by Roubilliac,

Though form'd beyond all skill antique,
MADAM AND THE MAGPIE.

They can't their marble silence break;
FABLE IX.

They only breathe, and think, and start,

Astonish'd at their maker's art. Ygthunders roll, ye oceans roar,

Quoth Mag,“ Fair Grizzle, I must grant, And wake the rough resounding shore ;

Your spouse a magpye cannot want : Ye guns in smoke and flames engage,

For troth (to give the Dev'l his due) And shake the ramparts with your rage;

He keeps a rookery in you. Boreas distend your chops and blow;

Don't fear I'll tarry long, sweet lady, Ring, ring, ye honny bells of Bow;

Where there is din enough already, Ye drums and rattles, rend the ears,

We never should agree together, Like twenty thousand Southwark fairs;

Although we're so much of a feather; Bellow, ye bulls, and bawl, ye bats,

You're fond of peace, no man can doubt it, Encore, encore, ye amorous cats;

Who make such wond'rous noise about it ;
In vain, poor things, ye squeak and squall, And your tongue of immortal mould
Soft Sylvia shall out-tongue you all :

Proclaims in thunder you're no scold.
But bere she comes—there's no relief,

Yes, yes, you're sovereign of the tongue, She comes, and blessed are the deaf.

And like the king can do no wrong ; "A magpie! why, you're mad, my dear, Justly your spouse restrains his voice, To bring a chattering magpie here.

Nor vainly answers words with noise ; A prating play thing, fit for boys

This storm, which no soul can endure, You know I can't endure a noise.

Requires a very different cure; You brought this precious present sure,

Por such sour verjuice dispositions,
My headach and my cough to cure.

Your crabsticks are the best physicians.”
Pray hand him in and let bim stain
Each curtain, and each counterpane;

THE BLOCKHEAD AND BEEHIVE.
Yes, he shall roost upon my toilet,
Or on my pillow-he can't spoil it :

FABLE X. He'll only make me catch my death.

The fragrance of the new-mown hay O Heavens ! for a little breath!

Paid incense to the god of dày; Thank God, I never knew reseptment,

Who issuing from his eastern gate, But am all patience and contentment,

Resplendent rode in all his state: Or else, you paltry knave, I shou'd

Rous'd by the light from soft repose, ( As any other woman wou'd)

Big with the Muse, a bard arose, Wring off his neck, and down your gullet

And the fresh garden's still retreat Cram it, by way of chick or pullet.

He measured with poetic feet. Well, I must lock up all my rings,

The cooling, high, o'er-arching shade, My jewels, and my curious things :

By the embracing branches made, My Chinese toys must go to pot ;

The smooth shorn sod, whose verdant gloss, My dear, my pinchbecks-and what not ?

Was check'd with intermingled moss, For all your magpies are, like lawyers,

Cowslips, like topazes that shine, At once thieves, brawlers, and destroyers.

Close by the silver serpentine, You for a wife have search'd the globe,

Rude rustics which assert the bow'rs, You've got a very female Job,

Amidst the educated How'rs.

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The lime tree and sweet-scented bay,

Which certain bee, if rightly known, (The sole reward of many a lay)

Wou'd prove no better than a drone; And all the poets of the wing,

There are (bot I shall vame no names, Who sweetly without salary sing,

I never love to kindle flames) Attract at once his observation,

A pack of rogues with crimes grown callous, Peopling thy wilds, Imagination!

Who greatly wou'd adorn the gallows; “ Sweet Nature, who this turf bedews,

That with the wasps, for paltry gold, Sweet Nature, who's the thrash's Muse!

A secret correspondence hold, How she each anxious thought beguiles,

Yet you'll be great your subjects free, And meets me with ten thousand smiles !

If the whole tbing he left to me." O infinite benignity!

Thus, like the waters of the ocean, She smiles, but not alone on me;

His tongue had run in ceaseless motion, On bill, on dale, on lake, on lawn,

Had not the queen ta'en up in wrath, Like Celia when her picture's drawn ;

This thing of folly and of froth. Assuming countless charms and airs,

“ Impertinent and witless meddler, 'Till Hayman's matchless art despairs,

Thou smattering, empty, noisy pedler ! Pausing like me he dreads to fall

By vanity, thou bladder blown, From the divine original."

To be the football of the town. More bad he said-but in there came

O happy England, land of freedom, A lout-Squire Booby was his name.

Replete with statesmen, if she need 'em, The bard, who at a distant view

Where war is wag'd by Sue or Nell, The busy prattling block head knew,

And Jobson is a Machiavel! Retir'd into a secret nook,

Tell Hardwick that his judgment fails, And thence bis observations took.

Show Justice how to hold her scales.Vex'd he cou'd find no man to tea”,

To fire the soul at once, and please, The squire 'gan chattering to the bees,

Teach Murray and Demosthenes ; And pertly with officious mien,

Say Vane is not by goodness grac'd, He thus address'd their humming queen :

And wants humanity and taste.“ Madam, be not in any terrours;

Thu' Pelham with Mæcenas vies, I only come t'amend your errours ;

Tell Fame she's false, and Truth she lies i My friendship briefly to display,

And then return, thou ser bal Hector, And pnt you in a better way.

And give the bees another lecture.” Cease, madam, (if I may advise)

This said, the portal she unbarrd, To carry honey on your thighs,

Calling the bees upon their guard, Employ ('tis better, I arer)

And set at once about his ears Old Grub, the fairies' coach-maker;

Ten thousand of her grenadiers.-For be who has sufficient art

Some on his lips and palate hung, To make a coach, may make a cart.

And the offending member stung. To these you'll yoke some sixteen bees,

“Just ” (says the bard from out the grot) Who will dispatch your work with ease ;

"Just, though severe, is your sad lot, And come and go, and go and come,

Who think, and talk, and live in vain,
To bring your honey harvest home.-

Of sweet society the bane.
Ma'am, architecture you're not skill'd in, Business misplac'd is a mere jest,
I don't approve your way of building;

And active idleness at best.”
In this there's nothing like design,
Prav learn the use of Gunter's line.
I'll serve your highness at a pinch,
I am a scholar every inch,

THE CITIZEN AND THE RED LION
And know eac h author Ilay fist on,

OF BRENTFORD,
From Archimedes down to Whiston.-
Though honey making be your trade,

FABLE XI.
In chemistry you want some aid.-
Pleas’d with your work, altho' you sing,

I Love my friend—but love my ease,
You're not quite right-'tis not the thing.

And claim a right myself to please ; Myself wou'd gladly be an actor,

To company howerer prone, To help the honey manufacture.

At times all men wou'd be alone. I hear for war you are preparing,

Free from each interruption rude, Which I should like to have a share in :

Or what is meant by solitude. Yet though the enemy be landing,

My villa lies within the bills, "Tis wrong to keep an army standing. --

So—like a theatre it fills :
If you'll ensure me from the laws,
T'i write a pamphlet in your cause.

To me my kind acquaintance stray,

And Sunday proves no sabbath day;
I vow, I am concern'd to see
Your want of state--economy.

Yet many a friend and near relation,

Make up a glorious congregation ;
Of nothing living I pronounce ill,
But I don't like your privy-council.

They crowd by dozens and by dozens,

And bring me all their commiry cousins
There is, I know, a ceriain bee,
(Wou'd he was from the ministry)

Though cringing landlords on the road,
Who find for man and horse abule ;

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Though gilded grapes to sign-post chain'd, The lion thank'd him for his proffer,
Invite them to be entertain'd,

And if a vacancy shou'd offer,
And straddling cross bis kilderkin,

Declar'd he had too just a notion, Though jolly Bacchus calls them in ;

To be averse to such promotion. Nay-though my landlady wou'd trust 'em, The citizen drove off with joy, Pilgarlic's sure of all the custom ;

“ For London-Ball--for London-hoy." And bis whole bouse is like a fair,

Content to bed be went his way,
Unless he only treais with air.

And is no bankrupt to this day.
What? shall each pert half witted wit,
That calls me Jack, or calls me Kit,
Prey on my time, or on my table?
No—but let's hasten to the fable.

THE HERALD AND HUSBAND-MAN.
The eve advanc'd, the Sun declin'd,
Ball to the booby-hutch was joind,

FABLE XII.
A wealthy cockney drove away,
To celebrate Saint Saturday ;

Nobilitas sula est atque unica virtus.,

JUVENAL. Wife, daughter, pug, all crouded in, To meet at country house their kin.

I

wrry friend Juvenal agree, Thro' Brentford, to fair Twickenham's bow'rs,

Virtue's the true nobility; The ungreas'd grumbling axle scow'rs,

Has of herself sufficient charms, To pass in rural sweets a day,

Altho' without a cuat of arms. But there's a lion in the way :

Honestus does not know the rules, This lion a most furious elf,

Concerning Or and Fez, and Gules, Hung up to represent himself,

Yet sets the wond’ring eye to gaze on, Redden'd with rage, and shook his mane, Such deeds no herald e'er could blaze on, And roard, and roar'd, and rvar'd again.

Tawdry achievements out of place, Wondrous, tho' painted on a board,

Do but augment a fol's disgrace; He roard, and roar'd, and roar'd, and roar'd. A coward is a double jest, “ Fool!” (says the majesty of beasts)

Who has a lion for his crest; “ At whose expense a legion feasts,

And things are come to such a pass, Fue to yourself, you those pursue,

Two horses may support an ass; Who're eating up your cakes and you;.

And on a gamester or buffoon, Walk in, walk in, (so prudence voles)

A moral motto'sa lampoon. And give poor Ball a feed of oats,

An honest rustic having dore Look to yourself, and as for ma'm,

His master's work 'wixt sun and sun, Coax her to take a little dram;

Retir'l to dress a little spot, Let Miss and Pug with cakes be fed,

Adjoining to his homely eat, Then, honest man, go back to bed ;

Where pleas'd, in miniature, he found You're better, and you're cheaper there,

His landlord's culniary ground, Where are no hangers on to fear.

Some herbs that feed, and some that heal, Go buy friend Newbury's new Panthcon,

The winter's medicine or meal. And con tbe tale of poor Acteon,

The sage, which in bis garden seen, Horn’d by Diana, and o'erpower 'd,

No man need ever die ' I ween; And by the dogs he fed devour'd.

The marjoram comely to behold, What be receiv'd from charity,

With thyme, and ruddiest marygold, Lewilness perhaps may give to thee;

And mint and pepnyroval sweet, And tho' your spouse my lecture scorns,

To deck the cottage windows meet, Bexare his fate, beware his horns."

And baum, that yields a finer juice “Sir,” says the Cit, (who made a stand, Than all that China can produce; And struk'd his forehend with his hand)

With carrots red, and turnips white, “ By your grim gravity and grace,

And leeks, Cadwallader's delight; Yon greatly wou'd become the mace.

And all the savory crop that vie This kind advice I gladly take,

To please the palate and the eye. Draw'r, bring the dram, and bring a cake, Thuis, as intent, he did survey With good brown bcer that's brisk and hunming." His plot, a Herald came that way, “ A coming, sir! a coming, coming !!!

A man of great escutcheon’d knowledge, The Cit then took a hearty draught,

And member of the motley cullege. And shook his jolly sides and laugh’d.

Heedless the peasant pass' he by, Then to the king of beasts he bow'd,

Indulging this soliloquy; And thus his gratitude avow'd.

“ Ye gods! wh an enormous space, "Sir, for your sapient oration,

'Twixt man and man does Nature place; I owe the greatest obligation.

While some hy deeds of honour rise, You stand expos’d to sun, and show'r,

To such a height, as far out-vies I know Jack Ellis of the Tow'r;

The visible diurnal sphere; By him you soon may gain renown,

While others, like this rustic here, He'll show your highness to the town;

Grope in the groveling ground content,
Or, if you chuse your station here,

Without or lineage or descent,
To call forth Britons to their beer,
As painter of distinguish'd note,

Cur moriatur homo, cui salvia crescit in He'll send his man to clean your coat."

horto? YOL. XVI.

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Hail, Heraldry! mysterious art,

Thou to thy doom, old boy, art fated, Bright patroness of all desert,

To morrow—and thou shalt be baited." Mankind would on a level lie,

The deed was done-curse on the wrong! And undistinguish'd live and die ;

Bloody description, hold thy tongue.Depriv'd of thy illustrious aid,

Victorious yet the bull return'd, Such! so momentous is our trade."

And with stern silence inly mourn'd. “Sir," says the clown, “wby sure you joke," A vet’ran, brave, majestic cock, (And kept on digging as he spoke)

Who serv'd for hour glass, griard, and clock, “ And prate not to extort conviction,

Who crow'd the mansion's first relief, But merrily by way of fiction.

Alike from goblin and from thief'; Say, do your manuscripts attest,

Whose youth escap'd the Christmas skillet, What was old father Adam's crest;

Whose vigour brav'd the Shrovetide billet, Did he a nobler coat receive

Had just return'd in wounds and pain, In right of marrying Mrs. Eve;

Triumphant from the barbarous train. Or had supporters when he kiss'd her,

By riv'let's brink, with trees o'ergrown, On dexter side, and side sinister;

He beard his fellow sufferer's moan; Or was his motto, prithee speak,

And greatly scorning wounds and smart, English, French, Latin, Welch, or Greek ; Gave him three cheers with all his heart. Or was he not, without a lye,

Rise, neighbour, from that pensive attitude, Just such a nobleman as I?

Brave witness of vile man's ingratitude; Virtue, which great defects can stifle,

And let us both with spur and born, May beam distinction on a trise;

The cruel reasoning monster scoin. And honour, with her native charms,

Methinks at every dawn of day, May beautify a coat of arms;

When first I chant my blithsome lay, Realities sumewhat will thrive,

Methinks I hear from out the sky,
E'en by appearance kept alive;

All will be better by and by;
But by themselves, Gules, Or, and Fez, When bloody, base, degenerate man,
Are cyphers neither more or less :

Who deviates from his Maker's plan ;
Keep both thy head and hands from crimes, Who Nature and her works abuses,
Be honest in the worst of times:

Aud thus his fellow servants uses, Health's on my countenance impress'd,

Shall greatly, and yet justly want, And sweet content's my daily guest,

The mercy he refus'd to grant; My fame alone I build on this,

And (while his heart his conscience purges) And Garter King at Arms may kiss.”

Shall wish to be the brute be scourges."

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A STORY OF A COCK AND A BULL. THE SNAKE, THE GOOSE, AND

NIGHTINGALE.
FABLE XIII.

HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO THE HISSERS AND CAT-
Yes we excell in arts and arms,

CALLERS ATTENDING BOTH HOUSES.
In learning's lore and beauty's charms.
The seas wide empire we engross,

FABLE XIV.
All nations hail the British cross;
The land of liberty we tread,

When rul'd by truth and nature's ways,
And woe to his devoted head,

When just to blame, yet fix'd to praise, Who dares the contrary advance,

As votary of the Delphic god,
One Englishmau's worth ten of France.

I reverence the critic's rod;
These these are truths, what man won't write for, But when inflam'd with spite alone,
Won't swear, won't bully, or won't fight for; I hold all critics but as one;
Yet (tho' perhaps I speak thro' vanity)

For though they class themselves with art,
Wou'd we'd a little inore humanity;

And each man takes a different part; Too far, I fear, I've drove the jest,

Yet whatsoe'er they praise and blame; So leave to cock and bull the rest.

They in their motives are the same, A bull, who'd listen'd to the vows

Forth as she waddled in the brake, Of above fifteen hundred cows;

A grey goose stumbled on a snake, And serv'd his master fresh and fresh,

And took th' occasion to abuse her, With hecatombs of special flesh,

And of rank plagiarism accuse her. Like to an hermit or a dervise,

“ 'Twas I,” quoth she, “ in every vale, (Grown old and feeble in the service)

First hiss'd the noisy nightingale ; Now left the meadow's green parade,

And boldly cavill'd at each note, And sought a solitary shade.

'That twitter'd in the woodlark's throat: The cows proclaim'd in mournful lowing, I, who sublime and more than mortal, The bull's deficiency in wooing,

Must stoop to enter at the portal, And to their disappointed master,

Have ever been the first to show All told the terrible disaster.

My hate to every thing that's luw; “ Is this the case" (quoth Hodge) “O rare! While thou, mean mimic of my manner, But hold, to morrow is the fair.

(Without inlisting to my banner)

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