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He would as soon pretend to sing
As to attempt another trip.
Well dipp'd in claret or champaigne,
And all his wit is up amain.
His tongue and wit alike are slack;
No flounder is more flat than Jack.
Written under a Miniature.
(From the Greek of Metrodorus.)
TO A LADY THAT WISHED TO DIE.
Not yet to heav'n repair,
And are so many there.
POOR JACK'S CASE.
THERE is a fish, as sailors tell,
That quits the ocean, and will fly
As any bird, but not so high;
And he is dry as any chip,
Ruby lips and flowing tresses,
At thy convicting voice, for thou canst blast All that beauty's power encreases;
His guilty spirit with a tougue of fire ! By th' angelic smiles and graces,
Ab! who would scatter for a fleeting grasp Lovers see in ladies' faces,
Of unblest gold, a bane upon the sweet All the flames and piercing darts,
Reviving hour of Nature's rest?-Ah! who Ang all the broken bleeding hearts,
Would feel the inextinguishable curse Love-indited tablets show
Of his own reason? nursing, as it were,
A serpent's venom in each brooding thought.
The friendly beacon 'gainst Temptation's storm
Destructive: Conscience gives the genial smile,
The calm, untainted cheerfulness of soul
That guiltless Poverty dares call its own! BEHOLD another year has sped
"Tis that stern pow'r which never smil'd on vice, But, Charlotte, thou hast nought to dread, Though trimly wrapp'd in grandeur's glittring Since Time will ev'ry beauty spare;
garb. Time koows what's perfect, and well knows, "Twould take him ages to compose Another damsel half so fair.
THE WIDOW TO IIER HOUR GLASS.
INVOCATION TO POVERTY.
BY THE LATE MR. FOX.
OH, poverty! of pale, consumptive hue,
If still thy presence must my steps attend, ili At least continue, as thou art,--my friend !
When Scotch example bids me be unjust,
COME, friend, I'll turn thee up again :
Since thou hast stood
In frame of wood,
And when my husband died,
Its conic crown
Still sliding down,
And mingling joy and pain,
Though silent thou,
Still shalt thou flow,
Thou get'st a holiday.
Come, lovely May!
Thy lengthen'd day
I'll turn thee up again.
ON THE CHANGES OF LIFE.
And go, or poor, or dook'd with state, And love the more ; and sootbe, and bless
Man in his utter wretchedness.
THE PLAGUE OF LONDON, 1666.
scription is extracted from the City of the Tht humble cot, and castle tow'r
Plague,” by Wilson.
KNOW ye what you will meet with in the city! Must all the last, great change obey,
Together will ye walk, thro' long, long streuls, And pass in nothingness away!
All standing silent as a midnight church. How then, fond Man, these facts despise,
You will hear nothing but the browo red grass A world in ashes, and the skies
Rustling beneath your feet; the very beating Dissolved-build hopes on hopes below,
Of your own hearts will awe you; tbe small voice And wish them fix'd-then think them so.
Or that vain bauble, idly counting time, Know, all of life's a cheating breath,
Will speak a solenn language in the desert. And nothing's certain here but death?
Look up to Ileaven, and there the sultry clouds, Go, trifler of the globe, you rule,
Still threatening thunder, lower with grim delight, The worm, the god-the sage, the fool
As if the spirit
of the plague dwelt there, The saint, the sinner-sin no more
Dark’ning the city with the shadows of death. You're gods, indeed, when sin is o'er!
Know ye that hideous hub-bub? Hark, far off All wit is folly-wisdom dross
A tumult-like an echo!-on it comes, Ambition, nonsense-pride, remorse
Weeping and wailing, shrieks and groaning Unless Religion's soothing care
prayer : Direct the thought, the reason clear,
And louder than all outrageous blasphemy. The passions still, the mind control,
The passing storm hath left the silent streets. And calm in all the restless soul !
And are these houses near you tenantless ? Why rolls the Sun along on high,
Over your beads from a window—suddenly Dilates his beam, and lights the sky?
A ghastly face is thrust, and yells of death Why shines the Earth with vernal geen,
With voice not human. Who is he that tlies, And flow'rs and fruitage swell the scene?
As if a demon dogg'd him on his path? Wliy lives tlie ox, and lives to toil,
With ragged hair, white face, and blood-shot eyes, And bows bis strength to till the soil,
Raving, he rushes past you; 'till he falls, Unless a God the whole design'd
As if struck by lightning, down upon the stones, Obsequious to the human mina ?
Or, blind madness, dash d against the wall, That mind immortal! and how great
Sinks bucknurd into stillness. Stand aloof, The change to that immortal state!
And let the pests triumphant chariot Hold then, awhile, successful strife,
llave open way advancing to the tomb. ' Time leads us on to death or life;
See how he mocks the pomp and pageantry A scene of things, a world on high
Of earthly kings! a miserable cart, A length of pain--a round of joy,
Jleaped up with human bodies! dragged along A life or deatis, which then shall be,
By pale steeds, skeleton avatomies ! When Time evolves Eternity!
And onwards urg'd by a wan neagre wretch,
Dooni'd never to return from the foul pil,
Would ye look in? Grey hairs and golden tresses,
Wan slirivell’d cheeks that have not smil'd for
years, -thou shalt stand
And many a rosy visage smiling still;
Bodies in the noisoine weeds of beggary wrapt, A Deity, sweet Wonian, and be worshipped.
With age decrepid, and wasted to the bone;
And youthful frames, august and beautiful; GONE from her cheek is the summer bloom, In spite of mortal paugs—there lie they all And her breath hath lost all its faint perfume, Emirac'd in ghastliness! But look not long, Aud the gloss hath dropped from her golden hair, For haply 'mid the faces glimmering there, And her forehead is pale, tho' no longer fair : The well-known cheek of some beloved friend And the Spirit that sate on her soft blue eye,
Will meet thy gaze, or some small snow-white
hand, Is struck with cold mortality;
Bright with the ring that holds her lover's hair. And the smile that played on her lip hath fled,
Let me sit down beside you. I am faint And every grace hath now left the dead.
Talking of horrors that I look'd upon
At last without a shudder.
Loudon: Printed for the Proprietors by H.Hewitt, Shrank from the tone of her last sad sigli:
145, High Holburn, Published at 42, HolywellAnd this is Mau's fidelity.
street, Strand; and sold by Sherwood, Neely,
and Jones, Paternoster-row; Simpkin and Mar"Tis Woman alone, with a firmer heart,
shall, Stationers'-court; and may be had of all Cau see all these idols of life depart,
daugliter to visit her in prison, taking care that she brought her nothing to eat.
Many days passed over in this manner, licui hais SERVILIA.---Among the numerous vic
when the gaoler, at length surprised that tims of the tyranny of Nero, was one Ba
the prisoner lived so long without food, reas Soranus, a man, as Tacitus informs and suspecting the daughter, took means us, of singular vigilance and justice in
of secretly observing their interviews.--the discharge of his duty. During his He then discovered that the affectionate confinement, his daughter Servilia was
daughter had all the while been nourishapprehended, and brought into the Senate ing her mother with her own milk. Amazed to be arraigned. The crime laid to her at so tender, and at the same time so charge was, that she had turned into mo
ingenious an artifice, he related it to the ney all her ornaments and jewels, and the triumvir, and the triumvir to the præror, most valuable part of her dress, to defray who thought the fact merited stating in the expence of consulting magicians. To the assembly of the people. This prothis the young Servilia, with a flood of duced the happiest effects; the criminal tears, replied, “That she had indeed was pardoned, and a decree passed, that consulted magicians, but the whole of the mother and the daughter should be her enquiry was to know whether the maintained for the remainder of their Emperor and Senate would afford pro
lives at the expence of the public, and tection and safety to her dear and indul- that a temple, sacred to filial piety, should gent parent against his accusers. “With be erected near the prison. this view," said she, “I presented the diviners, men till now utterly unknown ADOPTED SON. --- At the battle of to me, with my jewels, my apparel, and Freehold, during the first American war, other ornaments peculiar to my quality, a young English officer, closely pressed as I would have presented my blood and by two Abenakis Indians, with upraised life, could they have procured my father's batchets, no longer hoped for life, and liberty. But whatever this my proceed- only resolved to sell it dearly. At the ing was, my unfortunate father was an
moment when he expected to sink be1
utter stranger to it; and if it is a crime, neath them, an old Indian armed with a I alone am guilty.” This pathetic ap- bow approached him, and prepared to peal was lost on the sanguinary monster; aim an arrow; but having adjusted it, in and Servilia and her father were con an instant he dropt his bow, and ran to demned to die.
throw himself between the young officer
and his assailants; they immediately FILIAL PIETY. --- Valerius Maximus retired with respect, relates, that a woman of distinction ha The old man took his prisoner by the ving been condemned to be strangled, hand, enco
couraged him by caresses, and was delivered to the triumvir, who caused conducted him to his cabin.
It was her to be carried to prison, in order to winter, and the Indians were retiring be put to death. The gaoler who was home. Here he kept him for some time, ordered to execute her, was struck with treating him with undiminished softness, compunction, and could not resolve to and making him less his slave than his kill her. He chose, however, to let her die companion. At length he taught him of hunger; but meanwhile suffered her the Åbenakis language, and the rude arts
in use among that people. They became after he shewed the young officer a flow. perfectly satisfied with each other, and ering shrub. “Seest thou that fine tree?"
E WILL the young officer was comparatively said he to him; “and hast thou pleasure
1.-For happy--except at times when his heart in looking upon it?" "Yes, I have," he
aos was wrung, to perceive the old man answered.
“ I have it no more," reintently fix his eyes on him and shed turned the Indian, with precipitation; bizt tears.
“but as for thou---Go, return to thy At the return of spring, the Indians country, that thy father may again with returned to arms, and prepared for the pleasure mark the rising sun, and behold campaign. The old man, yet sufficiently the springing flower.” strong to support the fatigues of war, set out with them, accompanied by his pri- GOOD FORTUNE WHEN LEAST The Abenakis made a march of EXPECTED.--A poor retailer of fruit
, more than two hundred leagues across who had three small children, could the desert, till at length they arrived scarcely, in dear times, earn so much as within sight of an English camp; the old
was necessary to procure herself and chilIndian pointed it out to the young officer, dren bread; but for the hire of the damp at the same time contemplating him bole, which her landlord called a room, wistfully. “Behold thy brothers!” said it was impossible. The hard-hearted he to him; “behold where they wait to man distrained for his rent, really took give us battle! Hear me; I have saved her bed, and her little wretched furnithy life, I have taught thee to make a ture, and ordered them to be sold by canoe, bows, and arrows; to obtain the
auction. The poor wretched widow and means to make them from the forest; to her orphans were present at the sale. manage the hatchet, and to take off the
Even the best things were thrown away scalp of an enemy. What wert thou, for a trifle, and there was not enough when I took thee to my cabin? Thy produced for the rent. In the catalogue hands were those of a child; they neither ihere was a very small and much smoaked served to nourish nor defend thee; thy picture of Saint Jerom, an inheritance soul was in night; thou knew nothing; from her grandmother, which hung over thou owest me all! Wilt thou, then, be her bed, and to which she and her chilungrateful enough to join thy brothers, dren offered up their pious prayers. As and raise the hatchet against us?” they were accustomed to do, they meThe young Englishman vowed he would chanically raised up their little hands
, rather lose a thousand lives, than spill when Saint Jerom was put up, and the the blood of one Abenakis. The Indian tears of the mother flowed abundantly. looked on his prisoner with earnestness, A painter who was present examined the and in a mingled tone of tenderness and picture for a considerable time, and at sorrow, enquired, “Hast thou a father?” last bid a dollar. Another connoiseur “He was alive," answered the young doubled the bidding. The painter to man, "when I left my country.” “Oh, alarm his rival at once immediately rose how miserable he must be!" cried the to a louis d'or, but the connoiseur said, Indian; and after a moment of silence, without pondering, “twenty-five guildhe added, “Knowest thou that I have ers". Fifty," answered the painter
. been a father? I am so no more! I saw
"A hundred,” replied the connoiseur. my child fall in the battle; he was at my The astonishment and joy of the poor woside. I saw him die like a warrior; he man may be well conceived, who not was covered with wounds, my child,
only saw all her debts paid by the little when he fell! But I have avenged him! Jerom, but a considerable overplus reYes, I have avenged him.” The Indian
maining. She could scarcely believe her ar pronouncing these words was much
ears, when she heard, that the two CODagitated; then turning to the East, where
noiseurs still keptout-bidding each other; the sun was just rising, he said to the and the painter first was silent at an offer young Englishman,
" Seest thou that of six hundred guilders. “ You are forbeauteous sun, resplendent of bright tunate," said he, after the painting was ness? Hast thou pleasure in seeing it?" knocked down to his rival--- You are 6 Yes," answered he, “I have pleasure fortunate, Sir, in being richer than I am; in seeing that beautiful sky."
otherwise you would not have had it well! I have it no more," said the Indian, under a thousand.” shedding a torreet of tears. A moment It was an original of Raphael.