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THE GIFT.

TO IRIS,

IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual off'ring shall I make,
Expressive of my duty?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair-one prize
The gift, who slights the giver ?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em.
If gems, or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.

I'll give but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion;
Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose
A transitory passion :

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil :

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil.

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

(IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT).

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind:
Reason, they say, belongs to man;
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,
By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,
Wise definition and division,

Homo est ratione præditum ;

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em,
And must in spite of them maintain,
That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature ;
That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;
And that brute beasts are far before 'em,
Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbour prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?

O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court.

They never to the levee go,

To treat as dearest friend a foe;
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.
Fraught with invective they ne'er go
To folks at Paternoster-row:
No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds;
No single brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape;
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion :
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him, humbly, cringing wait
Upon the minister of state:
View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors :
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.

88

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.
He in his turn finds imitators :

At court the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
Their masters' manners still contract,
And footmen, lords and dukes, can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape all.

STANZAS

ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart; Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasure

start.

O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,

Sighing, we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow, While thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung

tear.

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead;

Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S

BED-CHAMBER.

WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black
champaign,

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
There, in a lonely room, from bailiff snug,
The muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a
rug.

A window patch'd with paper lent a ray,
That dimly shew'd the state in which he lay.
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread,
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread,
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The Seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave prince William shew'd his lamp-
black face.

The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was

scor'd,

And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney

board;

A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

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