A

NEW SIMILE.

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.

LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite:
Till reading, I forgot what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious;
First please to turn to god Mercurius:
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the second, page the tenth :
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
Wings upon either side-mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather?
Why these denote a brain of feather.

A NEW SIMILE.

peruse,

A brain of feather! very right,
With wit that's flighty, learning light;
Such as to modern bard's decreed;
A just comparison.-proceed.
In the next place, his feet
Wings grow again from both his shoes
Design'd, no doubt, his part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air;
And here my simile unites,
For, in a modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,

His feet are useful as his head.

Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Fill'd with a snake-incircled wand;
By classic authors term'd Caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses :
To wit-most wond'rously endu❜d,
No poppy-water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue's such,

Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore :
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives men's souls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then:
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The serpents round about it twin'd,
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venom'd bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike too both conduce to sleep.

;

A NEW SIMILE.

This difference only, as the god
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod,
With his goose-quill the scribbling elf
Instead of others damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript;
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing:

Well! what of that? out with it-stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as a great a thief as he :
But e'en this deity's existence

Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox

Are they but senseless stones and blocks?

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 Parsons' black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane ;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs 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!

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.

Oh, Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe, Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast 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.