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Denote the rage with which he writes,
And here my simile almost tript;
S T A NZAS
And finds too late that men betray;
What art can wash her guilt away?
To hide her shame from every eye,
And wring his bosom — is to die.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
Whene'er he went to pray.
To comfort friends and foes;
When he put on his clothes, And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
And curs of low degree.
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
The wondering neighbours ran,
To bite so good a man.
To every Christian eye;
They swore the man would die.
That show'd the rogues they lied ; The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
ON EDWARD PURDON.
Who long was a bookseller's hack;
I don't think he 'll wish to come back.
COMEDY OF THE SISTER. What? five long acts and all to make us wiser? Our authoress sure has wanted an adviser. Had she consulted me, she should have made Her moral play a speaking masquerade; Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on 't, this had kept her play from sinking; Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of thinking. Well! since she thus has shown her want of skill, What if I give a masquerade? – I will. But how? ay, there 's the rub! (pausing] — I've got my cue; The world 's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you.
[To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! False wits, 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 woman; The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure, And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure: Thus 't is 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 liopship a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous in debate,
bestrides the state;
V E R S E S
IN REPLY TO
AN INVITATION TO DINNER AT SIR GEORGE BAKER'S.
“This is a poem! This is a copy of verses!"
Your mandate I got,
(By the bye you may tell him,
Yet how can I when vext,
To be frolick like him,
This tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,