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O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain:

Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

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THE

CLOWN'S REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was desir'd by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears; "An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to letters,

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters, Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."

Edinburgh, 1753.

EPITAPH

ON

EDWARD PURDON.*

HERE lies poor NED PURDON, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world,

I don't think he'll wish to come back.

* This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he in listed as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the Newspapers. He translated Voltaire's HENRIADE.

AN

ELEGY

1

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 monstrous 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.

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