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And Watts, that once such pleasure took,
In writing hymns, here grown a cook,
Sinners no longer vex.

Here Burnet, Tillotson, and Blair,
With Jemmy Hervey, curse, and swear:
Here Cudworth mixes grog;
Pearson the crew to dinner hails,
A graceless Sherlock trims the sails,
And Bunyan heaves the log.

ANNE-OR, THE GRACES.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

INSTRUCTED to hold up her head;
With grace to sing, with grace to tread-
With grace to talk on love-affairs-
With grace at church to say her prayers,
With grace her parents to confute,
With grace on morals to dispute,
At last fell ANNE (such oft the case is)
A sacrifice to all the graces.

A CATCH.

TO A COMPANY OF BAD FIDDLE-SCRAPERS.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

MAY ye never play in tune,

In the morning, night, or noon:
May you ne'er at noon or night,
Know the wrong end from the right.
May the strings be ever breaking,
Pegs, I charge ye, ne'er unscrew;
May your beads be always aching,
Till the fiddle 's broke in two,

56

THE SUICIDE.

EPIGRAM.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

I TELL thee, dear girl, and believe me, 'tis true; I never beheld such a creature as you,

Such wit! and such beauty!--such taste and such pride!

Thou ne'er hadst an equal since Jezabel died.
Fine shape, and fine face, with a simper so thievish
Yet artful, deceitful, ill natur'd, and peevish.
God moulded thy face, but the devil thy heart;
What a pity that Satan should spoil the best part!

THE SUICIDE.

(AMERICAN MUSEUM.)

Virginibus puerisq; canto. HOR. II. Op. 1.

SCENES of mirth and joy, farewell!
Sadly let the muse complain:
Let her seek to move the tear,
Sympathetic and sincere;

Render not her efforts vain.

Ye who tender passions know,
Listen to this tale of wo;
Ye, whose breasts with pity burn,
Drop a tear on Damon's urn.

And you, ye fair, example take
From this affecting story;
Nor still persist the hearts to break,
Of lovers who adore ye.

Who to your charms shall make pretence,
And with addresses teaze you,

If virtue, beauty, wit, and sense
In vain combine to please you?

THE CARPENTER AND THE COFFINS,

Let Damon's fate your pity share;
Long sought be Chloe's heart to gain;
But Chloe, cruel, cruel fair,

Return'd his passion with disdain.

Lo! at her feet he sues for grace ;

Sighs, more than words, his flame discover;
Whilst, trickling down his beauteous face,
The big round drops confess the lover!

In vain his tears, in vain his sighs-

For Chloe, frowning, bids him leave her: Yes, I'll obey her,' Damon cries,

And rather die than grieve her.'

He draws his sword in wild despair;

(Poor Chloe trembled, wept, and blubber'd Three times he flourish'd it in air,

Then plung'd it in--the scabbard!

57

THE PLYMOUTH CARPENTER, AND THE COFFINS.

(PINDAR.)

In the last war, French pris'ners often dy'd,
Of fevers, colds, and more good things beside-
Presents for valour, from damp walls and chinks
And nakedness, that seldom sees a shirt;
And vermin, and all sorts of dirt;

And multitudes of motley stinks,

That might with smells of any clime compare,
That ever sought the nose, or fields of air.
As coffins are deem'd necessary things,
Forming a pretty sort of wooden wings,

For wafting men to graves, for t' other world;

58

THE CARPENTER AND THE COFFINS.

Where anchor'd, (doom'd to make no voyages more)
The rudders of our souls are put ashore,
And all the sails for ever furl'd.

A carpenter first cousin to the may'r,

Hight Master Screw, a man of reputation, Got leave, through borough-int'rest, to prepare Good wooden lodgings for the Gallic nation-I mean, for luckless Frenchmen that were dead; And very well indeed Screw's contract sped.

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His good friend, Death, made wonderful demands,
As if they play'd into each other's hands ;
As if the Carpenter and Death went snacks ;
Wishing to make as much as e'er they could,
By this same contract coffin-wood,

For such as Death had thrown upon their backs.

This Carpenter like men of other trades,
Whom conscience very easily persuades,

To take from neighbours useless superfluity; Resolv'd upon an economic plan,

Which shews, that in the character of man,
Economy is not an incongruity.

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I know, some monarchs say the same--whose pulses Beat high, for iv'ry chairs, and beds, and bulses.

For, lo! this man of economic sort
Made all his coffins much too short,
Yet snugly he accommodates the dead--
Cuts off, with much sang froid, the head,
And then to keep it safe as well as warm,
He gravely puts it underneath the arm;
Making the dead man quite a PARIS beau!
Holding his jowl en bras chapeau.

THE FOREST BEAU.

59

LINES,

Copied from a Board over the Door of John Grove, of White
Waltham, Berks, England.

JOHN GROVE, grocer, and dealer in coffee and tea,
Sells the finest of Congo's and best of Bohea ;
A dealer in coppice, a meas'rer of land,

Sells the finest of snuffs. and the finest white sand.
A singer of psalms, and a scriv`ner of money;
Collects the land-tax, and sells fine virgin's honey.
A ragman, a carrier. a baker of bread,

And a clerk to the living as well as the dead: Vestry clerk. petty constable; sells scissars and knives,

Best Virginia and buckles, collects the small tythes;
Is a treas'rer to clubs, and maker of wills;
He surveys men's estates, and vends Anderson's
pills.

Woollen-draper, and hosier; sells all sorts of shoes;
With the best earthen ware; also takes in the news.
Deals in hurdles and eggs; sells the best of small
beer,

The finest sea coals, and 's elected o'erseer,
Deputy surveyor; sells fine writing paper;
Has a vote for the county--and linen-draper,
A dealer in cheese, and the best Hampshire bacon,
Plays the fiddle divinely, if I'm not mistaken,

THE FOREST BEAU.
(FRENEAU.)

WHEN first to feel love's fire JACK STRAW begins,
He combs his hair, and cocks his hat with pins,
Views in some stream, his face, with fond regard,
Plucks from his upper lip the bristly beard,

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