THE FAIRIES.

COME follow, follow me,

Ye fairy elves that be,
Light tripping o'er the green;

Come follow MA B your queen:
Hand in hand we'll dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their neft,
Unheard and unespied,

Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul,
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly creep,

And find the nuts asleep;
Then we pinch their arms and thighs;
None us hears, and none us fpies.

But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the houshold maid,

And duly she is paid:
Every night before we go,
We drop a tester in her shoe.

Then o'er a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat,

The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
Ir. acorn-cups fill’d to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of Inails,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's eas'ly chew'd;

Tails of worms, and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that's wond'rous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minlirelly;
Grace faid, we dance awhile,

And so the time beguile:
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

O'er tops of dewy grass
So nimbly we do pass,
The young and tender stalk

Ne'er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

THE MISER AND PLUTUS.

THE wind was high, the window shakes,

With sudden start the MISER wakes;
Along the silent room he stalks,
Looks back, and trembles as he walks:
Each lock and ev'ry bolt he trys,
In ev'ry creek and corner prys,
Then opes the chest with treasure stor’d,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with sudden qualms poffeft,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast;
By conscience ftung, he wildly stares,
And thus his guilty foul declares:

“ Had the deep earth her stores confin’d, “ This heart had known fweet peace of mind. “ But VIRTUE's fold. Good gods! what price “ Can recompense the pangs of vice? “ O bane of good! feducing cheat! “ Can man, weak man, thy pow'r defeat? " Gold banish'd HONOUR from the mind, “ And only left the name behind;

“ Gold sow'd the world with ev'ry ill; “ Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill: 66 'Twas gold infiructed coward hearts “ In TREACH’RY's more pernicious arts. " Who can recount the mischiefs o’er: 66 Virtue resides on Earth no more!” He spoke, and figh’d. In angry mood Plutus, his god, before him liood. The Miser, trembling, lock'd his chest: The vision frown'd, and thus address'd:

• Whence is this vile ungrateful rant, • Each fordid rascal's daily cant?

Did I, base wretch! corrupt mankind ? · The fault's in thy rapac'ous mind. • Because my blessings are abus’d,

Must I be censur’d, curs’d, accus'd? « Ev’n VIRTUE's self by knaves is made • A cloak to carry on the trade; ' And pow'r (when lodg’d in their poffeffion) • Grows tyranny and rank oppression. · Thus, when the villain crams his chest,

Goud is the canker of the breast; • 'Tis AV'RICE, INSOLENCE, and PRIDE, • And ev'ry shocking vice beside: • But when to virt’ous hands 'tis giv'n, " It bleffes, like the dews of heav'n: · Like heav'n it hears the ORPHAN's cries,

And wipes the tears from widow's eyes. « Their CRIMES ON GOLD Mall Misers lay, • Who pawn’d their sordid souls for pay? • Let BRAVOES, then, when blood is ipilt,

Upbraid the passive SWORD with guilt.'

A WHIMSICAL EPITAPH. HERE lies the body of SARAH SEXTON,

Who, as a wife, did never vex one; We can't say that for her at th' next-fione.

UNIVERSAL ORDER.
ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole,

Whose body nature is, and God the soul;
That chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same,
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;
Lives through all life, extends through all extent;
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in an hair as heart;
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
To him no high, no low, no great, no finall;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

Cease then, nor order imperfection name: Our proper bliss, depends on what we blame. Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness heav'n bestows on thee. Submit.-In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as bleft as thou canst bear: Safe in the hand of one disposing pow'r, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not fee; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good: And, spite of pride, in erring reason's fpite, One truth is clear--WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT.

SIMPLICITY.
O THOU, by nature taught

To breathe her genuine thought,
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong:

Who first on mountains wild,

In fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, and pleasure's, nurs’d the pow'rs of fong!

L

Thou, who with hermit heart,

Disdain'st the wealth of art And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall:

But com'ft a decent maid,

In attic robe array'd,
O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call!

By all the honey'd store,

On Hybla's thymy shore, By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear,

By her, whose love-lorn woe,

In ev'ning musings flow,
Sooth'd sweetly fad Electra's poet's ear:

By old Cephisus deep,

Who spread his wavy sweep In warbled wand'rings round thy green retreat,

On whose enameli'd fide,

When holy FREEDOM dy'd,
No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.

O fifter meek of TRUTH,

To my admiring youth,
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse !

The flow'rs that sweetest breathe,

Though beauty cull’d the wreath,
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hués.

While Rome could none esteem,

But virtue's patriot theme, You lov’d her hills, and led her laureate band;

But staid to sing alone

To one distinguish'd throne,
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

Nor more in hall or bow'r,

The passion's own thy pow'r,
Love, only love, her forceless numbers mean:

For thou has left her shrine,

Nor olive now, nor vine,
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.