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THE PETTIFOGGER.

At length those flies got drunk; and for their sin,
Some hundreds lost their legs and tumbled in;
And sprawling 'midst the gulph profound,
Like Pharaoh and his daring host, were drown'd.
Wanting to drink-one of the men
Dipp'd from the bowl the drunken host,
And drank-then, taking care that none were lost,
He put in ev'ry mother's son agen.

Up jump'd the Bacchanalian crew, on this,
Taking it very much amiss-

Swearing, and in the attitude to smite:

'Lord! (cry'd the man with gravely-lifted eyes) Though I don't like to swallow flies,

"I did not know but others might."

THE PETTIFOGGER, OR FEE SIMPLE, Esq. (FRENEAU.)

IN a town I could mention. a lawyer resided
As cunning as Satan. and fond of disputes;
In wrangles and quarrels he ever confided,

To keep on his docket a long string of suits.
Of little importance, nay, paltry and mean,
The matter contested, a pig or a hen ;
But one thing he stuck to, he ever was seen
To have for his pleading just one pound ten.
With pleasure he saw that the quarrels increased,
Each day he had business from wranglesome men,
But all to the 'squire was a holiday feast

While he got his dear FEE, the one pound ten. A parchment, Caveto, hung up in his hall, Which cautioned the reader to read and attend,

That for one pound ten he would quibble and brawl, Twist, lie, and do all things a cause to defend. Sometimes when the limits of lots were disputed,

He would put all to rights in the turn of a straw; From the tenth of an inch he his pocket recruited, Till he made the two parties curse lawyer and law. Thus matters went on, and the lawyer grown rich, Fed high, and swilled wine till the dropsy began To bloat up his guts to so monstrous a pitch, You would hardly have known him to be the

same man.

At last he departed, and when he had died,
His worship arriving at Belzebub's den;
How much is the entrance? (demanded the guide)-
Old Devil made answer, "TIS ONE POUND TEN.

PATIENCE.

"TWAS at some country place, a parson preaching, The virtue of long sufferance was teaching: And so pathetically did exhort

His list'ning congregation, and in short
Discours'd so much of Job, and how he bore
With such exceeding pleasantry his woes,
Faith 'twas enough to make a man suppose
Job wish'd for more.

Meaning, perhaps, that since 'tis plain,
How needlessly we grieve at pain;

How would it be if man

Pursu'd a different plan,

And were to laugh and treat the matter lightly;
And not, when tortur'd with the gout,

To make wry faces, roar and shout,

But look agreeable and sprightly.

And pray, d'ye think my dearest life," Exclaim'd the parson's wife,

As after church they sat,

In courteous chat,

"That 'tis in human nature to endure "The sad extremity of wo,

That Job, you say, did undergo?

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Tis more than you or I could do, I'm sure.” 'My dear,' quoth he, this diffidence, 'Shews, let me tell you, great good sense, "A talent in your sex we seldom see; ◄ And doubtless the remark is true, 'As far as it extends to you,

Tho' not, I think, to me.

"No woman, since the world began,
Could bear misfortune like a man-
And in good truth, 'twixt you and me,
And that without much vanity,

I do conceive that I myself have shewn,
That patience and that strength of mind
Were not entirely confin'd

To Job alone.'

Thus said the modest priest, and would have said much more,

But for the sudden opening of the door,
When out of breath, in stumps

His clownish servant Numps,'

His mouth wide open, on the parson gazing-
Just like the wight,

Who drew old Priam's curtains in the night,
To tell him Troy was blazing.

'Well, Numps, the matter? speak! why look'st se pale!

Has any thing gone wrong?' quoth Numps, the

ale.'

'What,' cries the priest, the ale gone sour?" (And then his phiz began to lower ;)

"Turn'd sour? no measter, no,' reply'd the fellow;

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• But just now, as I went, d' ye see,

To tilt the cask-away rolled he,

'And all the liquor's spilt about the cellar.'

The fact was, Numps the cask of ale had stav'd;
Now, prythee, tell me how the priest behav'd?
Did he pull off his wig, or tear his hair?
Or like that silly fellow Job,

Throw ashes on his head, or rend his robe?
Say, how did he this dire misfortune bear?
And thus, in voice of pious resignation,
He to this man address'd this mild oration:
May God confound thee, thou d-n'd stupid bear,
The best of priests you know, will sometimes swear,
What, you must meddle, must ye

With the barrel, and be curst t' ye?

'I wish thy paws were in the fire—Õdd rot 'm— "Get thee down stairs, this instant, wretch, 'Or by the living G--d I'll kick thy breech 'From top to bottom.'

"Nay, now, my dearest,' cried the dame, Is this your patience?-Fie for shame! I beg you'll recollect your text,

'Job was not half so vext

When he 'd his sons and daughters to bewail.'
'D--n all his sons and daughters if you choose,
Answer me this, I say-did Job e'er lose
A barrel of such ale?'

EPIGRAM

ON THE DEATH OF A NOTED KNAVE.

If heav'n be pleas'd when sinners cease to sin-
If hell be pleas'd, when sinners enter in-

If earth be pleas'd freed from a truckling knave

Then all are pleas'd

is in his grave.

THE SEGAR,

A PARODY ON SAPPHO'S ODE.

(Translated by Phillips.)

BLEST as old Homer's gods is he,
The man, at night from trouble free,
Who in the chimney-corner smokes,
Gaily talks, and blithly jokes.

"Tis this, that oft has sooth'd my breast,
And added sharpness to the jest.
Wit, beaming 'midst the smoaking croud,
Appears like Sol behind a cloud.
Smoke solid pleasure can impart;
"Tis this that oft has cheer'd my heart;
For, while I smoke, in fancy gay,
I nod, and smile, and puff away.

VERSES

ON THE CREW OF A CERTAIN VESSEL,

Several of whom happened to be of the same Name with celebrated Clergymen.

(FRENEAU.)

IN life's unsettled, odd career,
What changes every day appear
To please or plague the eye!
A goodly brotherhood of priests
Are here transform'd to swearing beasts,
That heaven and hell defy.

Here Bonner, bruis'd with many a knock,
Has changed his surplice for---a frock;
Old Erskine swabs the deck: