At the head of the hounds on either side;
Mind the old dogs, they know their cue,
And check those running at hare-view.
"Hold hard." Rate back the leading
youth,

Behind the vet'rans speak the truth.
"Ware coney"-how they skip about,
Ma'am H- will make a mortal rout;
And to increase our Lady's ire,

Not half will escape the poacher's wire.
"Hark Jovial, Trueman, uxom call!"
They're right, they're right, by the gar-
den-wall;

Straight o'er the Park-pales, down the broad-way!

Now, ye bold riders, 'tis your day;
Those, who go by the gate around,
Will never overtake a hound.
Direct to Stanmore-earths he goes,
Alas! the rogue will foil his foes.
Ride on, ride on, mob him, and cross
His path, or else the rascal's lost;

Smack, smack your whips, he's got the

start,

'Tis pitiful, we thus shou'd part! Close at his brush--too late- tis hard To miss the rogue within a yard!

"Ha! ha! who halloes? What Robin here?"

"Yes, Sir, the farmer lent his mare. "We thought the villain knew Stanmore-Wood,

"So I rode straight on, as fast as I cou'd:

"I've had three falls-don't mind 'em a rush,

"For I've stopt the earths, and you'll win his brush.

"Get on, Sir, Reynard has ta'en a turn, "And is gone full gallop up the

bourne."

No more; no pause-the young hounds rush,

And closely rally at his brush.
The veterans of the chase in a trice,

'C

B

-

GC

H

P

VW-

Get on, who bravely rode and lept hard.*
The hinder sportsmen too came in ;
And we all dash, thro' thick and thin.

"I'd

ready.

Nor Reynard flags-with a gallant pace
He leaves afar the utmost chase.
Observe those rooks with their cawing
song!

'Tis likely they mob the rogue along.
Keep a good look out, he's on his way,
Now seems to pass by the ricks of hay;
Avoids the farm, skirts down the hedge,
Still pushing onwards like a wedge,
Thro' the enclosures breaks; and now
Taily-ho! he climbs that distant brow;
"Tis where the white horse is in sight
On Oldborough-Castle's steepy height,
Nigh Cherwell on the chilling downs;
Enough to appal fox, men, and hounds,
And horses too, unless their name
Boast lineage of Newmarket fame.
See! scrambling, stumbling, and half-
blown,

The grey, the white-leg'd brown, the

steep.

The bitch is right, tho' she runs mute. Down, down the hill-she's right enough;

Horsemen, come on, now try your stuff;
Or up a hill, or on the plain,

Who cannot ride? but down again
O'er ridges, breaks, a headlong course,
When,-hap what may,-stop not your
horse,

This is the point of honour.-Try
Ye Sportsmen, who the Downs decry.

Our huntsman with his steady crew,
Like Eagles to their quarry flew.
But Brother's mare was a little blown,
And over the ruts came neck-and-heels
down:

And,-what was worse, sprung up again,

And left her rider on the plain.

It chanced that the horse that cou'd not leap,

His owner led adown the steep;
Up came the young Squire's wearied

PROLOGUE TO THE NEW PLAY, "LOOK AT HOME."

say,

"Have you seen the Fox pass by this way

?"

"Nau, Zur." "Your sheep how far

have been?"

"Along the slope where the ridge looks

green."

Try the hounds across.-The ground is soil'd;

Keep a good look out, or we are foll'd,

omitted in the Delivery.

AS some dull sign-board at a Public Inn,

True emblem of the sorry fare within, Salutes each Traveller with (as words of course),

"Good entertainment here for Man and Horse,"

So our dull Prologue is hung out to-day, To catch and claim attention to our Play. Our

age,

Jack Carter he took to the saw; To pluck and to pillage, the same little village,

They angled so pliant, for gull and for Tim Gordon, he took to the law. client,

As sharp as a weazle for rats, 'Till what with their saw-dust, and what with their law-dust,

They blinded the eyes of the flats. Then hey for the sawyer, and hey for the lawyer,

Make hay, for it's going to rain! And saw 'em and law 'em, and work'em and quirk 'em,

And at 'em again and again.

Jack brought to the people, a bill for the steeple,

They swore that they would n't be bit, But out of a saw-pit, is into a law-pit, Tim tickled 'em up with a writ.Cried Jack, the saw rasper, "I say neighbour Grasper,

We both of us buy in the stocks; While I, for my savings, turn blocks into shavings,

You, Lawyer, are shaving the blocks." Then hey for the sawyer, &c. &c.

Jack made him a coffin, but Timothy

off in

A loud clap of thunder had flown, When lawyers lie level, be sure that the devil,

Is sharp enough after his own.

Then hey for the sawyer, &c. &c.

LINES,

On reading in the Feast of Wit for February, that Howard the Philanthropist regretted having lived too abstemious a Life.

YE temp'rate sober sons of Care,

Who never waste, but always spare,
Who seldom feel an ache or pain,
In toes or knees, back, breast, or brain,
When fever'd sickness you beset,
And Spare-none spreads for you his net,
Be wise, and follow my advice,
And he may cast it twice, nay thrice;
Before he takes you for his prey,
Attend therefore to all I say.
Throw vegetables to your hogs,
And water-gruel to the dogs,
Sago, skim'd milk, and barley broth,
To give your cats be nothing loth;
Balm, sage, and rue, with hundreds
more,

Of simple teas, throw out at door,
With all old nurses' nice slip-slops,
Lettuce, green peas, and turnip-tops:
Believe no one who swears they're good,
Since such, to you, are direful food.
But when it is your hour to dine,
Eat lustily of good sir-loin.
Since solids must support the weak,
And spirits give us strength to speak,
Then freely cat, and near the chine,
And wash it down with gen'rous wine.
But when you do retire to rest,
A glass of brandy will be best;
To light your torch, when almost out,
And bring your feeble frame about,
To brave the storm, and gain the shore,
Where you may live to see fourscore,
And then not puling yield your breath,
But die a generous kind of death,
And in a kindly warmth expire,
Just as a wise man will desire.
So pray remember what I've said,
Go sober, when you're well to bed.
When ill, then take a cordial cup,
To bear your wasted spirits up.
I ought perhaps to give a line,

To ye who daily take your wineTo such I've only this to say,

Repent when sick-and fast-and pray. Stambourn, August 19.

A. B.

A PARSON's wife of fair renown,

The fashion of a country town, TO LONDON came to "see the sights," And shew her daughter town delights. Full oft had she with plenteous bounty Done honour to her native county, And ta'en within her mansion's entry, As visitors, the London gentry : With curious taste had done her best To entertain each welcome guest; Now, come to town, she longs to see Returns of hospitality.

One day, as pacing down Pall-Mall, Two youths she spies, she knew full well! "Bless me!" she cried, "look there i look there!

The Gents who used with us to fare! Look up, my dear, that they may greet

us

They'll be so very glad to meet us." Thus said-with many a glance around, She bobs and curtsies to the ground, One listless youth, her action viewing, Cries- Curse me, what's yon woman doing!" "Zounds!" screams the other, "Bob, take heed,

"Tis her-with whom we used to feed." "Feed!" says the first-" O dem her meat!

Give her, I beg-the cut complete.
To London got-'twill save her pain-
Cut-and she'll never come again."

MORAL.

Each animal must have its whim, The oxen graze, the fishes swim. But if another's plans you're after, You then are-fishes out of water. So warn'd-desist abroad to roam. And shew CIVILITIES AT HOME.

EPITAPH

In the Church Yard of Berkeley, Glouces tershire.

WRITTEN BY DEAN SWIFT.

HERE lies the Earl of Suffolk's fool,
Men called him Dicky Pearce;
His folly served to make fools laugh,
When wit and mirth were scarce.
Poor Dick, alas, is dead and gone,
What signifies to cry,

Dickies enough are still behind.
To laugh at by and by.