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70 THE SIMPLE TRUTH MOST SIMPLY TOLD.

Ar'n't you a murderer?' gravely Susan cries;
Ar'n't you for ever busy with that claw,
'Killing poor little unoffending little flies,
Merely to satisfy your nasty maw.'
But, Susan, don't you feed on gentle lamb?
Don't you on pretty little pigeon cram?
"Dont you on harmless fishes often dine!'
That's very true quoth Susan true indeed;
Lord! with what eloquence these spiders plead!
This little rascal beats a grave divine.

'It was no snake, I verily believe,
But a sly spider that seduced poor Eve.
But then you are so ugly'—'Ah! sweet Sue.
'I did not make myself, you know too well:
Could I have made myself, I had been you,

And killed with envy every beauteous belle.' • Heavens! to this Spider!-what a witching tongue Well go about thy business-go along;

All animals indeed their food must get:

And hear me-shouldst thou look with longing

eyes,

'At any time on young fat luscious flies,

• I'll drive the little rascals to thy net. 'Lord! then how blind I've been to form and feature: I think a Spider, now, a comely creature!'

THE SIMPLE TRUTH MOST SIMPLY TOLD. AN EPIGRAM,

HONEST Teague, when return'd from a trip to the North.

For to Lapland 't was said he had been;

Was questioned- If during his cold wintry birth, Whether any Rein Deer he had seen?”

When,' says he, by my sowle, as truth I regard, 'I was station'd there almost a year;

And sometimes, in the summer, it rain'd very hard, 'But I never once saw it rain Deer?'

THE JEWESS AND HER SON.

(PINDAR.)

ECONOMY's a very useful broom;

Yet should not ceaseless hunt about the room
To catch each straggling pin to make a plum.
Too oft economy 's an iron vice,

That squeezes e'en the little guts of mice,
That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb.
Proper economy 's a comely thing;

Good in a subject--better in a king;

Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling, Most easily inclined to make folks mean ; Inclines them, too, to villany to lean,

To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing. E'en when the heart should only think of grief, It creeps into the bosom like a thief,

And swallows up the affections all so mild--
Witness the Jewess and her only child.

Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son,

Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat,
In imitation of th' ambitious great,

High from the gallery, ere the play begun,
He fell all plump into the pit,

Dead in a minute as a nit:

In short he broke his pretty Hebrew neck;
Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck!

The mother was distracted, raving, wild; Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her child;

Afflicted every heart with grief around,

Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past, And moderately calm th' hysteric blast,

She cast about her eyes in thought profound; And being with a saving knowledge blessed, She thus the play-house manager addressed:

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'Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, 'Dat meet mishfartin here so bad

'Sher, I muss baf de shilling back, you know, 'Ass Moses haf nat see de show.'

EPSOM RACES.

COME, Madam Muse, new nib thy pen,
And put on thy best graces;
To sing, in merry, jocund strain,
The joys of Epsom Races.

Curricles, coaches, chaises, gigs,
Beaux, bloods, and men of trade,
Black-legs, nobles, peers, and prigs,
All join the cavalcade.

The young, the old, the brown, the fair,
Of pleasure take their fill;

The mania spreads, from Berkley-square,
As far as Fish-street-hill!

Miss Drugget cries-- My sweet papa,
Let's go to Epsom pray;
There's you, and I, and dear mamma,
Will fill a one-horse chaise.

In order to go safe and slow,
By day-break we 'll set off;
The ride will do you good I know,
And cure your nasty cough.

I doates upon the country now;

How sweet the wernal breezes!
We'll take our dinner too I wow,
And dine beneath the treezes.'

Old Drugget shook his cranium wise,
But madam cried--'I fegs!

EPSOM RACES.

What, tho' old Dobbin's lost both eyes,
He still has got four legs.

You cruel man, you're more severe,

Than Chinese, Turk, or Persian;
Deny your wife, and daughter dear,
But one short day's diversion.
So, Mr. Drugget, pray give o'er,
And mind what I desire;
Go to the Liv'ryman, next door,
*And quick a buggy hire.'

The cit found all resistance nought,
My lady was in arnest;

The chaise was hir'd, provisions bought,
And poor old Dobbin harness'd.

Through ev'ry village that they went,
The boys began a hooting;
Their luckless steed was almost spent
Before they got to Tooting.

Old Drugget laid on many a blow,
And whipp'd with might and main ;
And, now, behold, he cry'd, 'Gee-ho!"
And now he jerk'd the rein.

At length he turn'd to spousy dear,
And said- My sweetest jewel,
The race-ground, love, is very near,
For, see, we 're ent'ring Ewall.'

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Reaching, at last, the crowded course,
They gap'd, they star'd, they wonder'd
Whilst bets upon the fav'rite horse,
Vociferously thunder'd.

The cit exclaim'd- Confound this din,
I wish, as I'm a sinner ;

H

73

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This cursed racing would begin,
That I might get my dinner.
What with the fagging that I've had,
By Jove I'm almost dead;
Holla! you sir! come here my lad,
You, gin and gingerbread!'

But when the racing list he reads,
To trust his sight afraid is;
Zounds, here's not only sporting steeds,
But also sporting ladies!

Sure there was never such a scene,
Since days of Father Adam ;
I'll see it nearer'-out he leapt,
And gave the reins to madam.

Ent'ring a booth, a dextrous cheat,
In trick and cunning able,
Seduc'd the unsuspicious cit
To join an E. Ó. table.

Tempted by play's inviting call,

A guinea bright he ventures; And views the circling of the ball, On expectation's tenters.

Breathless with joy, he gain'd his chaise, And cry'd the guinea's won!'

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But who can paint his grief, amaze--
His fav'rite watch was gone!

With dreadful ire his bosom burn'd,
But now the horses start;
Alas! the chaise was overturn'd,
By running 'gainst a cart!

Away went Drugget and his dear,

Away went ham and chicken;

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