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YOUNG Slouch the farmer had a jolly wife, That knew all the conveniences of life, Whofe diligence and cleanlinefs fupplied The wit which Nature had to him denied:

But then she had a tongue that would be heard,

And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made cenforious perfons of the town
Say, Slouch could hardly call his foul his own;
For, if he went abroad too much, the 'd ufe
To give him flippers, and lock up his fhoes.
Talking he lov d, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturb'd or contradicted;
Yet ftill into his ftory fhe would break
With "Tis not fo; pray give me leave to
"speak.”

His friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not diff'ring much from calling of him fool;
Told him he must exert himself, and be
In fact the master of his family.

"Why muft old Pigeons, and they ftale, be "dreft,

"When there's fo many fquab ones in the neft? "This Beer is four; 'tis mufty, thick, and ftale, "And worse than any thing except the Ale."

}

Sue all this while many excufes made: Some things fhe own'd; at other times the laid The fault on chance, but oft'ner on the maid. Then Cheese was brought. Says Slouch—“This "e'en fhall roll;

"I'm fure 'tis hard enough to make a Bowl:
"This is Skim-milk, and therefore it fhall g
1 go;
"And this, becaufe 'tis Suffolk, follow too."
But now Sue's patience did begin to wafte;
Nor longer could diffimulation laft.
"Pray let me rife," fays Sue," my dear; I'll find
"A Cheese perhaps may be to Lory's mind."
Then in an entry ftanding clofe, where he
Alone, and none of all his friends, might fee;
And brandishing a cudgel he had felt,
And far enough on this occafion smelt-
"I'll try, my joy," the cried, "if I can please
"My deareft with a taste of his Old Cheese !"
Slouch turn'd his head, saw his wife's vigorous
hand

Wielding her oaken fapling of command,
Knew well the twang-"Is 't the Old Cheese,
"my Dear :"
["I'll fwear,
"No need, no need of Cheefe," cries Slouch;

He faid, "That the next Tuesday noon would I think I've din'd as well as my Lord Mayor!",

"fhew

"Whether he were the lord at home or no; "When their good company he would entreat "To well-brew'd ale, and clean if homely

"meat."

With aching heart home to his wife he goes, And on his knees does his rafh act difclofe; And prays dear Sukey, that, one day at least, He might appear as mafter of the feaft.

"I'll grant your wifh," cries fhe, " that you "may fee

"'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me." The guests upon the day appointed came, Each bowfy farmer with his fimp'ring dame, "Ho, Sue!" cries Slouch, "why doft not thou "appear?

"Are these thy manners when aunt Snap is

"here?"

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And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine. Fifty long miles had thofe fad rogues to travel With fomething in their fhoes much worse than gravel,

In fhort, their toes fo gentle to amuse,
The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:
A noftrum famous in old Popish times
For purifying fouls that ftunk with crimes;
A fort of apoftolic falt,

That Popith parfons for its pow'rs exalt
For keeping fouls of finners fweet,
Juft as our kitchen falt keeps meat.
The knaves fet off on the fame day,
Peas in their fhoes, to go and pray

But
very diffrent was their speed, I wot:
One of the finners gallop'd on
Light as a bullet from a gun;

The other limp'd as if he had been sbot.

ONE faw the VIRGIN foon-peccavi cried-
Had his foul whitewath'd all fo clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,

Made fit with faints above to live for ever.
In coming back, however, let me say,
He.met his brother rogue, about half way,
Hobbling with outstretch'd bum and bending knees,
Damning the fouls and bodies of the peas;

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in fweat, His MUZZLE, form'd of oppofition stuff,
Deep fympathizing with his groaning feet. Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
"How now," the light-toed, whitewash'd pilgrim
broke,

"You lazy lubber?".

"Odds curfe it!" cried the other, " 'tis no joke: "My feet, once hard as any rock,

"Are now as foft as blubber.
"Excufe me, Virgin Mary, that I swear-
"As for Loretto, I fhall not get there:
"No! to the Devil my finful foul must go,
"For damme if I ha'nt loft ev'ry toe.
"But, brother finner, do explain
"How 'tis that you are not in pain;
"What Pow'r hath work'd a wonder for your
46 toes;

"Whilft I just like a fnail am crawling,
Now fwearing, now on faints devoutly bawl-
❝ing,

"Whilft not a rafcal comes to ease my woes?
"How is 't that you can like a greyhound go,
"Merry, as if that nought had happen'd, burn
66 ye?"-

*Why," cried the other, grinning, “you must "know,

"That juft before I ventur'd on my journey, "To walk a little more at ease,

A

"I took the liberty to boil my peas."

A Country Bumpkin and Razor-feller.
PETER PINDAR,
FELLOW in a market town,

Moft mufical, cried razors up and down,
And offer'd twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly feem'd wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,

As ev'ry man would buy, with cafh and fenfe.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard-
Poor Hodge-who fuffer'd by a broad black beard,
That feem'd a fhoe brush stuck beneath his
nofe :

With cheerfulness the eighteeen pence he paid,
And proudly to himfelf in whifpers faid,

"This rafcal fole the razors, I fuppofe.
"No matter if the fellow be a knave;
"Provided that the razors bave,

"It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
So home the clown with his good fortune went,
Smiling in heart and foul content,

And quickly foap'd himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,

Juft like a hedger cutting furze:
'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried-
All were impoftors-" Ah!" Hodge figh'd,
"I with my eighteen pence within my purfe."
In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and winc'd, and ftamp'd, and
fwore;

Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd, and made wry faces,

And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.

So kept it-laughing at the steel and fuds : Hodge, in a paffion, ftretch'd his angry jaws, Vowing the direft vengeance, with clench'd claws, On the vile CHEAT that fold the goods. "Razors !-a damn'd, confounded dog!"Not fit to fcrape a hog!"

66

Hodge fought the fellow, found him, and begun→
'P'rhaps, Mafter Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
"That people flay themselves out of their
"lives:

"You rafcal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
"Giving my fcoundrel whiskers here a fcrubbing,
Sirrah! I tell you, you 're a knave,
"With razors just like oyster knives.
"To cry up razors that can't bave."
"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a
"knave.

"As for the razors you have bought,
"Upon my foul I never thought
"That they would farve.'

"Not think they 'd fhave!" quoth Hodge, with
wond'ring eyes,

And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; "What were they made for then, you dog?” he cries.

"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile"to fell."

The Bald-pated Welfbman and the Fly..
SOMERVILLE.

"Qui non moderabitur irae,

"Infectum volet effe, dolor quod fuaferit et mens,
"Dum poenas odio per vim feftinat inulto."

HOR.

A SQUIRE of Wales, whose blood ran higher
Than that of any other fquire,
Hafty and hot; whofe peevith honour
Reveng'd each flight was put upon her,
Upon a mountain's top one day
Expos'd to Sol's meridian ray,
He fum'd,,he rav'd, he curs'd, he swore,
Exhal'd a fea at ev'ry pore;
At laft, fuch infults to evade,
Sought the next tree's protecting shade;
Where as he lay diffolv'd in fweat,
And wip'd off many a rivulet,
Off in a pet the beaver flies,
And flaxen wig, time's best disguise,
By which, folks of maturer ages
Vie with fmooth beaux, and ladies
pages:
Though 'twas a secret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd age had cropp'd his crown,
Grubb'd all the covert up, and now
A large fmooth plain extends his brow.
And courted the refreshing air,
Thus as he lay with numskull bare,
A noify fly offends his ear.
New perfecutions still appear,
Alas! what man of parts and fenfe
Could bear fuch vile impertinence ?
Yet, fo difcourteous is our fate,
Fools always buz about the great..
3 Ka

This

This infect now, whofe active fpite
Teas'd him with never-ceafing bite,
With fo much judgment play'd his part,
He had him both in tierce and quart:
In vain with open hands he tries
To guard his cars, his nofe, his eyes;
For now at laft, familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his worthip's crown,
With teeth and claws his fkin he tore,
And stuff'd himself with human gore.
At laft, in manners to excel,
Untrufs'd a point, fome authors tell.
But now what rhetoric could affuage
The furious fquire, stark mad with rage?
Impatient at the foul difgrace
From infect of fo mean a race,
And plotting vengeance on his foe,
With double fift he aims a blow.
The nimble fly efcap'd by flight,
An fkipp'd from this unequal fight.
Tin pending ftroke with all its weight
Fell on his own beloved pate.

Thus much he gain'd by this adventurous deed,
He foul'd his fingers, and he broke his head.
MOR A L.

Let fenates hence learn to preferve their state,
And fcorn the fool, below their grave debate,
Who by th' unequal ftrife grows popular and

great.

Let him buz on, with fenfelefs rant defy
The wife, the good; yet ftill 'tis but a fly.
With puny
foes the toil's not worth the coft,
Where nothing can be gain'd, much may be loft:
Let cranes and pigmies in mock-war engage,
A prey beneath the gen'rons eagle's rage.
True honour o'er the clouds fublimely wings;
Young Ammon fcorns to run with iefs than kings.

The incurious Bencher.

AT

SOMERVILLE.

T Jenny Mann's, where heroes meet,
And lay their laurels at her feet;
The modern Pallas, at whofe fhrine
T. ey bow, and by whofe aid they dine:
Colonel Brocade among the reft
Was ev'ry day a welcome gueft.
One night as careletsly he ftood,
Cheering his reins before the fire
(So ev'ry true-born Briton fhould),

Like that he chaf'd and fum'd with ire.
"Jenny," faid he, " 'tis very hard,
"That no man's honour can be spar'd;
Ir I but fup with Lady Duchefs,
"O play a game at ombre, fuch is
"The malice of the world, 'tis faid,
"Although his Grace lay drunk in bed,
"'Twas I that caus'd his aching head.
"If Madam Doodle would be witty,
"And I am fummon'd to the city,
"To play at blindman's-buff, or so,
"What won't fuch hellifh malice do?

"If I but catch her in a corner,

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Dreadful examples fhall be made.
"What! can't they drink bohea and cream,
"But (d-n them!) I must be their theme?
"Other men's bufinefs let alone,

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Why fhould not coxcombs mind their own "
As thus he rav'd with all his might
(How infecure from Fortune's fpite,
Alas, is ev'ry mortal wight!)
To fhew his ancient fpleen to Mars,
Fierce Vulcan caught him by the a—;
Stuck to his fkirts, infatiate varlet!
And fed with pleasure on the scarlet.
Hard by, a id in the corner, fate
A Bencher grave, with look fedate,
smoking his pipe, waim as a toast,
And reading over last week's poft;
He faw the foe the fort invade,

And foon fmelt out the breach he made
But not a word-a little fly

He look'd, 'tis true; and from each eye
A fidelong glance fometimes he fent,
l'o bring him news, and watch th' event.
At length, upon that tender part

Where honour lodges (as of old
Authentic Hudibras has told)
The bluft ring colonel felt a smart;
Sore griev'd for his affronted bum,
Frifk'd, fkipp'd, and bounc'd about the room:
Then turning fhort-" Zounds, fir!" he cries;
"Pox on him! had the fool no eyes?
"What! let a man be burnt alive?"
"I am net, Sir, inquifitive,"
Replied Sir Gravity, to know
"Whate'er your Honour 's pleas'd to do;
"If you will burn your tail to tinder,

Pray what have I to do to hinder ? "Other men's bufinefs let alone,

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Why should not coxcombs mind their own
Then, knocking out his pipe with care,
Laid down his penny at the bar;

And, wrapping round his frieze furtout,
Took up his crab-tree, and walk'd out.

The officious Meffenger. A Tale. SOMERVILLE.
MAN, of precarious science vain,

Treats other creatures with difdain;
Nor Pug nor Shock have common sense,
Nor even Poll the leaft pretence,
Though the better than us all,
prates
To be accounted rational.
The brute creation here below,
It feems, is nature's puppet-show;
But clock-work all, and mere machine,
What can these idle gimcracks mean?
Ye world-makers of Grefham hall,
Dog Rover fhall confute you all;
Shall prove that ev'ry reafoning brute
Like Ben of Bangor can difpute;
Can apprehend, judge, fyllogize,
Or like proud Bentley criticize;
At a moot point, or odd difafter,

"Humph! 'tis, Your fervant, Colonel Horner: Is often wifer than his master.

"But rot the fneering fops, if e'er

"I prove it, it shall coft them dear;

5

He may mistake fometimes, 'tis true;
None are infallible but you.

The

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The dog whom nothing can m
ni lead
Must be a dog of its indeed.
But to my tale: Hear me, my friend,
And with due gravity attend.

Rover, as heralds are agreed,
Well-born, and of the fetting breed,
Rang'd high, was ftout, of nofe acute,
A very learn'd and courteous brute.
In parallel lines his grounds he beat,
Not fuch as in one centre meet;
In those let blund'ring doctors deal,
His were exactly parallel.
When tainted gales the game betray,
Down close he finks, and eyes his prey.
Though diffrent paffions tempt his foul,
True as the needle to the pole,

He keeps his point, and panting lies;
The floating net above him flies,
Then, dropping, fweeps the flutt'ring prize.
Nor this his only excellence:
When furly farmers took offence,
And the rank corn the fport denied,
Still faithful to his master's fide,
A thoufand pretty pranks he play'd,
And cheerful each command obey'd:
Humble his mind, though great his wit,
Would lug a pig, or turn the fpit;
Would fetch and carry, leap o'er fticks,
And forty fuch diverting tricks.
Nor Partridge, nor wife Gadbury,
Could find loft goods as foon as he :
Bid him go back a mile or more,
And feek the glove you hid before,
Still his unerring nofe would wind it;
If above ground, was fure to find it;
Whimp'ring for joy his mafter greet,
And humbly lay it at his feet.

But hold-it cannot be denied
That ufeful talents mifapplied
May make wild work. It happ'd one day,
Squire Lobb, his mafter, took his way,
New fhav'd, and fmug, and very tight,
To compliment a neighb'ring knight;
In his beft trowfers he appears
(A comely perfon for his years);

And clean white drawers, that many a day
In lavender and rofe-cakes lay.
Acrofs his brawny fhoulders ftrung,
On his left fide his dagger hung;
Dead-doing blade! a dreadful guest
Or in the field or at the feaft.
No franklin, carving of a chine
At Chriftide, ever look'd fo fine.
With him obfequious Rover trudg'd,
Nor from his heels one moment budg'd:
Awhile they travell'd, when within
Poor Lobb perceiv'd a rumbling din:
Then warring winds, for want of vent,
Shook all his earthly tenement.
So in the body politic

(For ftates fometimes, like men, are fick)
Dark faction mutters through the crowd,
Ere bare-fac'd treafon roars aloud;

}

Whether crude humours undigested
His lab'ring entrails had infefted;
Or laft night's load of bottled ale,
Grown mutinous, was breaking gaol;
The caufe of this his awkward pain
Let Johnston or let H-th explain;
Whofe learned nofes may difcover
Why nature's ftink-pot thus ran over.
My province is th' effect to trace,
And give each point its proper grace:
Th' effect, O lamentable cafe!
Long had he ftruggled, but in vain,
The factious tumult to restrain.
What should he do? Th' unruly rout
Prefs'd on; and it was time, no doubt,
T' unbutton, and to let all out.

The trowfers foon his will obey:
Not fo his ftubborn drawers; for they,
Beneath his hanging paunch close tied,
His utmost art and pains defied:
He drew his dagger on the spot,
Refolv'd to cut the Gordian knot.
In the fame road juft then pafs'd by
(Such was the will of destiny)
The courteous curate of the place,
Good-nature fhone o'er all his face.
Surpris'd the flaming blade to view,
And deeming flaughter muft enfue,
Off from his hack himself he threw :
Then without ceremony feiz'd
The squire, impatient to be eas'd.
"Lord! Mafter Lobb, who would have
"thought

"The fiend had e'er fo ftrongly wrought?
Is fuicide fo flight a fault?

}

}

"Rip up thy guts, man? What! go quick
"To hell, outrageous lunatic?
"But, by the bleffing, I'll prevent
"With this right hand thy foul intent."
Then grip'd the dagger faft: the fquire,
Like Peleus' fon, look'd pale with irc;
While the good man like Pallas flood,
And check'd his eager thirst for blood.
At laft, when both awhile had strain'd,
Strength, join'd with zeal, the conquest gain'd:
The curate in all points obey'd,
Into the fheath returns the blade;
But first th' unhappy fquire he fwore,
T'attempt upon his life no more.
With fage advice his fpeech he clos'd,
And left him (as he thought) compos'd.
But was it fo, friend Lobb? I own,
Misfortune feldom comes alone;
Satan fupplies the fwelling tide,
And ills on ills are multiplied.
Subdued, and all his meatures broke,
His purpofe and intent mistook,
Within his drawers, alas! he found
His guts let out without a wound;
For, in the conflict straining hard,
He left his poftern-gate unbarr'd;
Moft wofully bedaub'd, he moans
His pitcous cafe, he fighs, he groays.
3 K 3

To

To lofe his dinner, and return,
Was very hard, not to be borne.
Hunger, they fay, parent of arts,
Will make a fool a man of parts.
The fharp-fet fquire refolves at laft,
Whate'er befel him, not to faft:

He mus'd awhile, chaf'd, ftrain'd his wits,
At laft on this expedient hits :
To the next brook with fober pace
He tends, preparing to uncafe,
Straddling and mutt'ring all the way,
Curs'd inwardly th' unlucky day.
The coaft now clear, no foul in view,
Off in a trice his trowfers drew;
More leifurely his draw'rs, for care
And caution were convenient there:
So faft the plafter'd birdlime ftuck,
The skin came off with ev'ry pluck.
Sorely he gaul'd each brawny ham;
Nor other parts efcap'd, which shame
Forbids a bafhful Mufe to name.
Not without pain the work achiev'd,
He fcrubb'd and wash'd the parts aggriev'd;
Then, with nice hand and look fedate,
Folds up his draw'rs, with their rich freight,
And hides them in a bufh, at leifure
Refolv'd to fetch his hidden treasure:
The trufty Rover lay hard by,
Obferving all with curious eye.

;

Now rigged again, once more a beau,
And matters fix'd in ftatu quo,
Brifk as a fnake in merry May,
That just has caft his flough away,
Gladfome he caper'd o'er the green,
As he prefum'd, both fweet and clean
For, O! amongst us mortal elves,
How few there are fmell out themfelves!
With a mole's car, and eagle's eye,
And with a blood-hound's nofe, we fly
On others' faults implacably.

But where's that ear, that eye, that nofe,
Against its mafter will depofe?
Ruddy Mifs Prue, with golden hair,
Stinks like a pole-cat or a bear;
Yet romps about me ev'ry day,
Sweeter, he thinks, than new-made hay.
Lord Plaufible, at Tom's and Will's,
Whofe poisonous breath in whiffers kills,
Still buzzes in my ear, nor knows
What fatal fecrets he beftows:
Let him destroy each day a score,
'Tis mere chance-medley, and no more.
In fine, felf-love bribes ev'ry fenfe,
And all at home is excellence.

The fquire, arriv'd in decent plight,
With rev'rence due falutes the knight;
Compliments paft, the dinner-bell
Rung quick and loud, Farmonious knell
To greedy Lobb! Th' Orphan lyre
Did ne'er fuch rapturous joy infpire;
Though this the favage throng obey,
That hunger tames more fierce than they.

In comely order now appear The footmen loaded with good cheer; Her ladyfhip brought up the rear. Simp'ring the lifps, " Your fervant, fir"The ways are bad, one can't well stir "Abroad-or 'twere indeed unkind "To leave good Mrs. Lobb behind"She's well, I hope-Mafter, they say,

}

Comes on apace-How 's Mifs, 1 pray?"
Lobb bow'd, and ering'd; and, muttering low,
Made for his chair, would fain fall-to.
Thefe weighty points adjusted, foon
My lady brandishes her spoon.
Unhappy Lobb, pleas'd with his treat,
And minding nothing but his meat,
Too near the fire had chofe his feat:
When, O! th' effluvia of his bum
Begin amain to scent the room,
Ambrofial fweets, and rich perfume!

The flick'ring footman stopp'd his nose;
The chaplain too, under the rofe,

Make awkward mouths; the knight took fnuff;

Her ladyship began to huff:

"Indeed, Sir John-pray, good my dear-
"Tis wrong to make your kennel here-
"Dogs in their place are good, I own-
"But in the parlour-foh!-be gone."
Now Rockwood leaves th' unfinish'd bone,
Banish'd for failings not his own;
No grace even Fidler could obtain,
And fav'rite Virgin fawn'd in vain.
The fervants, to the ftranger kind,
Leave trufty Rover still behind;

But Lobb, who would not feem to be
Defective in civility,

And, for removing of all doubt,
Knitting his brows, bids him get out:
By figns expreffes his command,
And to the door points with his hand.
The dog, or through mistake or fpite
(Grave authors have not fet us right),
Fled back the very way he came,
And in the bush foon found his game i
Brought in his mouth the fav'ry load,
And at his mafter's elbow ftood.
O Lobb! what idioms can exprefs
Thy ftrange confufion and dittrefs,
When on the floor the draw'rs difplay'd
The fulfome fecret had bewray'd?
No traitor, when his hand and feal
Produc'd his dark defigns reveal,
E'er look'd with fuch a hanging face,
As Lobb, half-dead at this difgrace.
Wild-ftaring, thunder-ftruck, and dumb,
While peals of laughter fhake the room;
Each fath thrown up to let in air,
The knight fell backward in his chair,
Laugh'd till his heart-ftrings almost break,
The chaplain giggled for a week;
Her ladyfhip began to call

For harthorn, and her Abigail;

The

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