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For thee I panted, thee I priz'd,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd

Whate'er I lov'd before :
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say-

“ Farewell! we meet no more !”

HUMAN FRAILTY. WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain;
But Passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,

But Pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his heart we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail,

To reach the distant coast! The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.

REBELLION is my theme all day;

I only wish 'twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may ?)

A little nearer home.
Yon roaring boys who rave and fight

On t'other side th’ Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,

But more so when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,

That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,

Who bravely breaks the most.
But, O! for him my fancy culls

The choicest flow'rs she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.
Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure them,


the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure them.
A rope! I wish we patriots had

Such strings for all who need 'em-
What! hang a man for going mad!

Then, farewell British freedom.

ON OBSERVING SOAR NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot!

In vain, recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age :
Those twinkling, tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand;
Lethæan gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.

So when a child, as playful children use,
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news,
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire
There goes my lady, and there goes the squire,
There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk!



OF THE BOOKS. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,

The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,

To which the said spectacles ought to belong. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause

With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning; While chief baron Ear, sat to balance the laws,

So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning. “ In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship,” he said, " will undoubtedly

find, That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,

Which amounts to possession time out of mind.” Then holding the spectacles up to the court“ Your lordship observes they are made with a

straddle, As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Design’d to sit close to it, just like a saddle.


Again, wonld your lordship a moment suppose ('8'is a case that has happen'd, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles

then? On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,

And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.” Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes :
But what were his arguments few people know,

For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone,

Decisive and clear, without one if or but, “ That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,

By daylight or candlelight - Eyes should be shut !"




By the Mob, in the month of June, 1780.
So then—the Vandals of our isle,

Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile

Than ever Roman saw!
And MURRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift,

And many a treasure more,
The well-judg'd purchase, and the gift,

That grac'd his letter'd store.
Their pages mangled, burnt and torn,

The loss was his alone ;
But ages yet to come shall mourn

The burning of his own.

WHEN wit and genius meet their doom

In all-devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,

And bid us fear the same.
O'er MURRAY's loss the Muses wept,

They felt the rude alarm,
Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept

His sacred head from harm.
There Mem'ry, like the bee, that's fed

From Flora's balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read

Had treasur'd up before.
The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel

The flow'rs are gone—but still we find

The honey on his tongue.


Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
“ Good Mussulman, abstain from pork ;
There is a part in ev'ry swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication."
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part express’d,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard

From the whole hog to be debarrd; * Lord Mansfield bore the loss of his library with great calmness, and once, in the House of Lords, made the following pathetic allusion to it, when giving his opinion on a legal question; speak not this from books, for books I have none."...Ed.

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