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all.”

There's my countryman Higgins-oh! let him alone “ Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst
For making a blunder, or picking a bone.

“ But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst.” But hang it-to poets, who seldom can eat,

“ The tripe!” qaoth the Jew: “if the truth I must Your very good mutton's a very good treat:

speak,
Such dainties to them it would look like a firt; I could eat of this tripe seven days in a week:
Like sending 'em ruffles, when wanting a shirt. “ I like these here dinners so pretty and small;
While thus I debated, in reverie centerd,

“ But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at
An acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himself, enter*d;
An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he,

“ Oh ho!" quoth my freind," he'll come on in a trice, Who smil'd as he gaz'd at the ven’son and me. “ He's keeping a corner for something that's nice: “ What have we got here ?-Why this is good eating? “ There's a pasty""A pasty !” repeated the Jew; “ Your own, I suppose or is it in waiting?"

I don't care if I keep a corner fort too." “ Why whose should it be, 'sir ” cried I, with a " What the de'il, mon, a pasty !" re-echo'd the Scot; flounce;

“ Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for thot." “ I get these things often" but that was a bounce: “ We'll all keep a corner," the lady cry'd out; “ Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the “ We'll all keep a corner," was echo'd about. nation,

While thus we resolv'd, and the pasty delay'd, “ Are pleas'd to be kind-but I hate ostentation." With looks that quite petrified enter'd the maid ;

“ If that be the case ther:," cried he, very gay, A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, " I'm glad I have taken this house in my way.

Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night; “ To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; But we quickly found out, for who could mistake “ No words—I insist on't-precisely at three:

her? « We'll have Johnson and Burke; all the wits will That she came with some terrible news from the be there;

baker: “ My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare. And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven,' “ And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner! Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. : “ We wanted this ven'son to make out a dinner. Sad Philomel thus-but let similes dropI'll take no denial-it shall and it must,

And now that I think on't the story may stop. “ And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplaca,

Here, porter--this ven’son with me to Mile-end ! To send such good verses to one of your taste;
“ No words, my dear Goldsmith my friend-my You've got an odd something a kind of discerning,
dear friend!"

A relisha taste-sicken'd over by learning:
Thus, snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind, At least, it's your temper, as is very well known, :
And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.

That you think very slightly of all that's your own;
Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, So perhaps, in yur habits of thinking amiss,
And “ nobody with me at sea but myself,"

You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.
Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good ven'son pasty
Were things that I never dislik'd in my life,
Tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife.

RETALIATION.*
So next day, in due splendor to make my approach,

A POEM.
I drove to his door in my own hackney coach.
When come to the place where we all were to dine

Op old, when Scarron his companions invited,
(A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine), Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.
My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite If our landlordt supplies us with beef and with fish,
dumb

Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best With tidings that Johnson and Burke could not

dish: come;

Our Dean I shall be ven’son, just fresh from the “ And I knew it,” he cry'd, “ both eternally fail,

plains; “ The one at the House, and the other with Thrale: Our Burkes shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains; “ But no matter; I'll warrant we'll make up the party Our Will|| shall be wild fowl of excellent flavour, “ With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty : And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the savour; The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew,

Our Cumberland's ** sweet-bread its place shall “ Who dabble and write in the papers like you;

obtain, “ The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; And Douglastt is. pudding substantial and plain : “ Some thinks he writes Cinna-he owns to Panarge." While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, * Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came. at the St. James's Coffee-house. One day it was proposed to At the top a fry'd liver and bacon were seen,

write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person, At the bottom was tripe in a swinging tureen;

furnished subjects of criticism. He was called on for Retalia

tion, and at their next meeting produced the poem.
At the sides there were spinage and pudding made hot,

+ The master of St. James's Coffee-house, where the
In the middle a place where the pasty-was not. doctor, and the friends he has characterised in this poem,
Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter aversion, occasionally dined.
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian :

| Dr. Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland.

$ Mr. Edmund Burke. So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound,

|| Mr. William Burke, secretary to General Conway, and While the bacon and liver went merrily round: 1

member for Bedwin.
But what vex'd me most, was that dw'd Scottish Mr. Richard Burke, collector of Grenada.
rogue,

** Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Indian, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his

Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces. brogue:

tt Doctor Douglas, canon of Windsor, an ingenious Scotch

gentleman, who no less distinguished himself as a citizen of And, “ Madam," quoth he, “may this bit be my

the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary poison,

mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particuA prettier dinner I never set eyes on;

larly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes,

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Our Garrick's * a salad, for in him we see

Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out,
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:

Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
That Ridget is anchovy, and Reynolds f is lamb; Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;
That Hickey's & a capon, and, by the same rule, ; And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry-fool.

Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,

Say, where has our poet this malady caught ?
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ?

Or wherefore his characters thus without fault
Here, waiter, more wine: let me sit while I'm able, Say, was it that vainly directing his view
Till all my companions sink under the table;

To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself ?
Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth,

Here Douglas retires, from his toils to relax, Who mix'd reason with pleashre, and wisdom with The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: mirth :

Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, If he had any faults he has left us in doubt;

Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re.
At least, in six weeks I could not find 'em out;

clines:
Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be deny'd 'em, When satire and censure encircled his throne,
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. I feard for your safety, I fear'd for my own;
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
such,

Our Dodds* shall be pious, our Kendrickst shall
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much;

lecture;
Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, Macpherson I write bombast, and call it a style;
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind : Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile ;
Tho' fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,
To persuade Tommy Townshend || to lend him a vote; No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,
And thought of convincing, while they thought of And Scotchmen meet Scotchmen and cheat in the dark.
dining:

Here lies David Garrick: describe him who can,
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man:
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit: As an actor, confess'd without rival to slibe';
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, The man had his failings—a dupe to his at.
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,

Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint, And be-plaster'd with rouge his own natural red.
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ;
in't :

'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting. The papil of impulse, it forc'd him along,"

With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;

He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home; If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
Would you ask for his merits ? Alas! he had none; He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them

back.
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at; Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowd what came,
Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet! And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;

What spirits were his! what wit and what whim! Till, his relish grown callous, almost td disease,
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!! Who pepper'd the highest was surest te please;
Now wrangling and grumbling, to keep up the ball!

But let us be candid, and speak out our mind;
Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all!

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfals || so grave,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick; | What a commerce was yours, while you got and you
Bat, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,

gave! As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,

rais'd, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ;

While he was be-Roscius’d, and you were be-prais'd!
A flattering painter, who made it his care

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flie,
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

To act as an angel and mix with the skes :
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,
And comedy wonders at being so fine:

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise ind with love.

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
• David Garrick, Esquire.
+ Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the
Irish bar.
Sir Joshua Reynolds.

* The Rev. Dr. Dodd. An eminent attorney.

† Dr. Kendrick, who read lectures at the Devil 'Tavern, #Mr. T. Townshend, member for Whitchurch, afterwards under the title of “ The School of Shakspeare." created Viscount Sydney.

| James Macpherson, Esq. who, from the mere force of 9 Mr. R. Burke. This gentleman having slighty fractured his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity. one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor has § Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word to the rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive jus. Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c. tice for breaking his jests upon other people.

# Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. )

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Here Hickey reclines, a most blant pleasant crea

THE HERMIT.
ture,
And slander itself must allow him good nature; The following Letter, addressed to the Printer of the
He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper;

St. James's Chronicle, appeared in that Paper in
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.

June, 1767. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser 3

SIR–As there is nothing I dislike so much as I answer, No, no, for he always was wiser:

newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, perToo courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?

mit me to be as concise as possible in informing a corHis very worst foe can't accuse him of that:

respondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Perhaps he confided in men as they go,

Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; And so was too foolishly honest ? Ah, no!

and I think so still. I said, I was told by the bookThen what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye

seller that it was then first published; but in that, it He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

seems, I was misinformed, and my reading was not Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,

extensive enough to set me right. He has not left a wiser or better behind :

Another correspondent of yours accuses me of His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;

having taken a ballad, I published some time ago, His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;

from one* by the ingenious Mr. Percy, I do not think Still born to improve us in every part,

there is any great resemblance between the two His pencil our faces, his manners our heart :

pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some years ago : When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of

and he (as we both considered these things as trifles hearing;

at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form stuff,

the fragments of Shakspeare into a ballad of his own. He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff.

He then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it,
and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as

these are scarce worth printing; and were it not for
POSTSCRIPT.

the busy disposition of some of your correspondents,

the public should never have known that he owes me After the fourth edition of this poem was printed,

the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his the publisher received the following epitaph on Mr.

friendship and learning for communications of a mucb Whitefoordt, from a friend of the late Doctor Gold

more important nature. I am, Sir, Yours, &c. smith.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
Here Whitefoord reclines, and, deny it who can,
Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a grave i man:
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun;

“ TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;

And guide my lonely way, A stranger to flatt'ry, a stranger to fear ;

To where yon taper cheers the vale
Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will;

With bospitable ray.
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill!
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;

"For here forlorn and lost I tread, A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.

With fainting steps and slow; What pity, alas ! that so lib'ral a mind

Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Should so long be to newspaper essays confin'd!

Seem lengthening as I go.”
Who perhaps :o the summit of science could soar,
Yet content “if the table he set in a roar;"

“ Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries, Whose talents to fill any station were fit,

“ To tempt the dangʻrous gloom;

For yonder faithless phantom flies
Yet happy if Noodfalls confess'd him a wit.

To lure thee to thy doom.
Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks!
Who copied lis squibs, and re-echo'd his jokes ;

“ Here to the houseless child of want Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,

My door is open still : Still follow yçur master, and visit his tomb:

And though my portion is but scant,
To deck it bring with you festoons of the vine,

I give it with good will.
And copious ibations bestow on his shrine;
Then strew al around it (you can do no less)

“ Then turn to-night, and freely share Cross-reading, ship-news, and mistakes of the

Whate'er my cell bestows; press.)

My rushy couch and frugal fare,
Merry Whtefoord, farewelll for thy sake I admit

My blessing and repose.
That a Scot nay have humour, I had almost said wit:
This debt to hy mem'ry I cannot refuse,

« No flocks that range the valley free “ Thou best-humour'd man, with the worst-humour'd

To slaughter I condemn : muse."

Taught by that Pow'r who pities me,

I learn to pity them: * Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be “ But from the mountain's

grassy

side under the necesity of using an ear-trumpet in company.

A guiltless feast I bring; + Mr. Caleb Vhitefoord, author of many humourous essays.

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to ny, it was impossible to keep him company

And water from the spring. without being infected with the itch of punning.

Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. || Mr. Whiteford has frequently indulged the town with # The Fryar of Orders Gray, in Reliq. of Ancient Poetry, humorous pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser.

Vol. I. p. 243.

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" Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;

All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,

His gentle accents fell :
The modest strangerlowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

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Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,

And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,

Received the harmless pair. And now when busy crowds retire

To take their evening rest, The hermit trim'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily prest, and smil'd; And, skill'd in legendary lore

The lingering hours beguild.
Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart:

To sooth the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the hermit spy'd,

With answering care opprest:
“And whence, unhappy youth,” he cry'd,

The sorrows of thy breast ?
“ From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost thou rove;
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

Or unregarded love?
“ Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things,

More trifling still than they.
" And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep? “ And love is still an emptier sound,

The modern fair one's jest: On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest. “ Por shame, fond youth, thy sorrows bush,

And spurn the sex,” he said: Bat while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,

As bright as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms :
The lovely stranger stands confess’d

A maid in all her charms.

And, ah I forgive a stranger rude,

A wretch forlorn," she cried; “ Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

Where heav'n and you reside. " But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love bas taught to stray ?
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.
My father liv'd beside the Tyne,"

A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,

He had but only me.
" To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came,
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,

And felt or feign'd a flame. “ Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove: Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

But never talk'd of love. “ In humble, simplest habit clad,

No wealth or pow'r had he: Wisdom and worth were all he had ;

But these were all to me. “ The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of heav'n refin'd, Could nought of purity display

To emulate his mind. “ The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

With charms inconstant shine: Their charms were his, but, woe to me,

Their constancy was mine. « For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain.
Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died. “ But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he'sought,

And stretch me where he lay. “ And there forlorn, despairing, hid,

I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I." “ Forbid it, Heaven!” the hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one tarn'd to chide;

'Twas Edwin's self that prest.
Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restor'd to love and thee.
“ Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign:
And shall we never, never part,

My life-my all that's mine?
“ No, never, from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true,
The sigh that rends thy constant heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too."

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And though her fops are wondrous civil, THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell’d ngose, A TALE.

As each a different way pursues, SECLUDED from domestic strife,

While sullen or loquacious strife Jack Book-worm led a college life;

Promis'd to hold them on for life, A fellowship at twenty-five

That dire disease, whose ruthless pow'r Made him the happiest man alive;

Withers the beauty's transient flow'r, He drank his glass, and eraek'd his joke,

Lo! the small-pox, whose horrid glare And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Leveli'd its terrors at the fair; Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,

And, rifling ev'ry youthful grace, Could any accident impair?

Left but the remnant of a face. Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix

The glass, grown hateful to her sight, Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six ?

Reflected now a perfect fright: O had the archer ne'er come down

Each former art she vainly tries To ravage in a country town;

To bring back lustre to her eyes.. Or Flavia been content to stop

In vain she tries her pastes and creams At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop!

To smooth her skin, or hide its seams; O had her eyes forgot to blaze!

Her country beaux and city cousins, Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze!

Lovers no more, flew off by dozens: Oh!-but let exclamation cease;

The 'squire himself was seen to yield, Her presence banish'd all his peace:

And e'en the captain quit the field. So with decorum all things carried,

Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was--married. The rest of life with anxious Jack, Need we expose to vulgar sight

Perceiving others fairly flown, The raptures of the bridal night?

Attempted pleasing him alone. Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,

Jack soon was dazzled to behold Or draw the curtains clos'd around?

Her present face surpass the old. Let it suffice, that each had charms :

With modesty her cheeks are dy'd, He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;

Humility displaces pride; And, though she felt his usage rough,

For tawdry finery is seen Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

А

person ever neatly clean: The honeymoon like lightning flew;

No more presuming on her sway, The second brought its transports too;

She learns good-nature ev'ry day: A third, a fourth, were not amiss;

Serenely gay, and strict in duty, The fifth was friendship mixed with bliss ;

Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.
But when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face

THE GIFT.
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind,

To IRIS,
That,very face had robb'd her mind.

In Bow Street, Covent Garden.. Skill'd in no other arts was she

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake, But dressing, patching, repartee;

Dear mercenary beauty, And, just as humour rose or fell,

What annual offering shall I make By turns a slattern or a belle:

Expressive of my daty? 'Tis true she dress'd with modern grace; Half naked at a ball or race;

My heart a victim to thine eyes,

Should I at once deliver,
But when at home, at board or beư,
Five greasy night-caps wrapt her head.

Say, would the angry fair one prize
Could so much beauty condescend

The gift who slights the giver? To be a dull domestic friend?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, Could any curtain lectures bring

My rivals give--and let 'em; To decency so fine a thing?

If

gems, or gold, impart a joy, In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;

I'll give them when I get 'em. By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.

I'll give-but not the full-blown rose, Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy

Or rose-bud more in fashion; Of powder'd coxcombs at her levee:

Such short-liv'd offerings but disclose The 'squire and captain took their stations,

A transitory passion. And twenty other near relations.

P'll give thee something yet unpaid, Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke

Not less sincere than civil: A sigh in suffocating smoke;

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid, While all their hours, were past between

I'll give thee-to the devil. Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown:

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED. He fancies ev'ry vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her nose:

In Imitation of Dean Swift. Whenever rage or envy rise,

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!

As rational the human mind; He knows not how, but so it is,

Reason, they say, belongs to man; Her face is grown a knowing phiz ;

But let them prove it, if they can.

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