In vain recorded in historic page, REPORT Of an adjudged Cafe not to be found in any of the Books. I. BETWEEN Nofe and Eyes a ftrange conteft arose, The fpectacles fet them unhappily wrong; The point in difpute was, as all the world knows, To which the faid fpectacles ought to belong. 2. So the Tongue was the lawyer and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, While chief baron Ear fat to balance the laws, So fam'd for his talent in nicely difcerning. 3. In behalf of the Nofe, it will quickly appear, 4. Then holding the fpectacles up to the courtYour lordship obferves they are made with a ftraddle, As wide as the ridge of the Nofe is, in short, Design'd to fit close to it, just like a faddle. 5. Again would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a cafe that has happen'd and may be again) That the vifage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who wou'd or who cou'd wear fpectacles then? 6. On the whole it appears, and my argument fhows With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nofe was as plainly intended for them. 7. Then shifting his fide as a lawyer knows how, 8. So his lordship decreed with a grave folemn tone, That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on fhut. On On the Burning of LORD MANSFIELD's Library, together with his MSS. by the Mob, in the { Month of June, 1780. I. SO then the Vandals of our ifle, Sworn foes to fenfe and law, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman faw! 2. And MURRAY fighs o'er Pope and Swift, And many a treasure more, The well-judg'd purchase and the gift That grac'd his letter'd store. 3. Their pages mangl'd, burnt and torn, The lofs was his alone, But ages yet to come fhall mourn The burning of his own. On ON THE SAME. I. O WHEN wit and genius meet their doom In all devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the fame. I 2. O'er MURRAY's lofs the mufes wept, They felt the rude alarm, Yet blefs'd the guardian care that kept His facred head from harm. 3. There mem'ry, like the bee that's fed From Flora's balmy store, The quinteffence of all he read The lawless herd with fury blind Have done him cruel wrong, The flow'rs are gone-but still we find The honey on his tongue. |