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Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wit, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses!

Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em,
Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em.
There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more
To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore.
These in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen.

Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her sampler, and takes up the wo-

man;

The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure, And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure, Thus 'tis with all-their chief and constant

care

Is, to seem every thing but what they are.
Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on,
Who seems t' have robb'd his vizor from the

lion;

Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round parade,

Looking, as who should say, Dam'me who's

afraid?

[Mimicking. Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am You'll find his lionship a very lamb. Yon politician, famous in debate,

Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state; Yet, when he deigns his real shape t' assume, He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom.

Yon patriot too, who presses on your sight,
And seems, to every gazer, all in white,
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and, whip-the man's in
black!

Yon critic too-but whither do I run?
If I proceed, our bard will be undone.
Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too :
Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.

A SONNET.

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;

Mira, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection,
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Mira follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.

AN ELEGY

ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX-MRS. MARY BLAIZE.

GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways,
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of moustrous size;
She never slumber'd in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her-
When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all:
The doctors found when she was dead.
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.

EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL.

THIS tomb inscribed to gentle Parnell's name,
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
What heart but feels his sweetly-moral lay,
That leads to truth though pleasure's flowery
way!

Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid;
And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him, the tribute we bestow,
The transitory breath of fame below :
More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies.

LETTER,

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A COMMON COUNCILMAN, AT THE TIME OF THE CORONATION OF GEORGE THE THIRD.

SIR,

I HAVE the honour of being a common councilman, and am greatly pleased with a paragraph from Southampton in yours of yesterday. There we learn that the mayor and aldermen of that loyal borough had the particular satisfaction of celebrating the royal nuptials by a magnificent turtle feast. By this means the gentlemen had the pleasure of filling their bellies and showing their loyalty together. I must confess, it would give me some pleasure to see some such method of testifying our loyalty practised in this metropolis, of which I am an unworthy member. Instead of presenting his Majesty (God bless him) on every occasion with our formal addresses, we might thus sit comfortably down to dinner, and wish him prosperity in a sir

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