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A COURT AUDIENCE.

OLD South, a witty churchman reckon❜d,
Was preaching once to Charles the Second,
But much too serious for a court

Who at all preaching made a sport.
He soon perceiv'd the audience nod,
Deaf to the zealous man of God!
The doctor stopp'd; began to call,
6 Pray wake the earl of Lauderdale.
My lord! why, 'tis a monstrous thing!
You snore so loud-you'll wake the king.'

THE AVARO.

THUS to the master of a house,

Which, like a church, would starve a mouse;
Which never guest had entertain'd,

Nor meat nor wine its floors had stain'd,
I said,-Well, sir, 'tis vastly neat ;
But where d' you drink, and where d'
If one may judge, by rooms so fine,
It costs you more in mops than wine.

THE MISTAKE.

(TAYLOR.)

you

eat?

A CANNON ball, one bloody day,
Took a poor sailor's leg away;
And as on comrade's back he made off.
A second fairly took his head off,
The fellow, on this odd emergence,
Carries him pick-back to the surgeon's.
Zounds! cries the doctor. are you drunk,
To bring me here a headless trunk?
A lying dog! cries Jack-he said
His leg was off, and not his head..

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THE TENDER HUSBAND.

(PINDAB.)

Lo, to the cruel hand of fate,

My poor dear Grizzle meek-soul'd mate, Resigns her tuneful breath

Tho' dropp'd her jaw, her lip tho' pale,
And blue each harmless finger nail,
She's beautiful in death.

As o'er her lovely limbs I weep,
I scarce can think her but asleep-
How wonderfully tame!

And yet her voice is really gone,
And dim those eyes that lately shone
With all the lightning's flame.

Death was, indeed, a daring wight,
To take it in his head to smite-
To lift his dart to hit her;
For as she was so great a woman,
And car'd a single fig for no man,
I thought he fear'd to meet her.
Still is that voice of late so strong,
That many a sweet Capriccio sung,
And beat in sounds the spheres!
No longer must those fingers play
Britons strike home, that many a day
Have sooth'd my ravish'd ears!

Ah me! indeed I'm much inclin'd
To think I now might speak my mind,
Nor hurt her dear répose;

Nor think I now with rage she'd roar,
Were I to put my fingers o'er,
And touch her precious nose.

Here let me philosophic pause—
How wonderful are nature's laws,

92

THE TENDER HUSBAND.

When lady's breath retires,

Its fate the flaming passions share,
Supported by a little air,
Like culinary fires!

Whene'er I hear the bagpipe's note,
Shall fancy fix on Grizzle's throat,
And loud instructive lungs:
O Death, in her, tho' only one,
Are lost a thousand charms unknown,
At least a thousand tongues.

Soon as I heard her last sweet sigh,
And saw her gently closing eye,
How great was my surprise!
Yet have I not with impious breath,
Accus'd the hard decrees of death,
Nor blam'd the righteous skies

Why do I groan in deep despair,
Since she 'll be soon an angel fair?
Ah! why my bosom smite?
Could grief my Grizzle's life restore!
But let me give such ravings o'er--
Whatever is, is right.

Oh, doctor! you are come too late;
No more of physic's virtues prate,
That could not save my lamb:
Not one more bolus shall be giv'n-
You shall not ope her mouth by heav'n
And Grizzle's gullet cram.

Enough of bolusses, poor heart,
And pills, she took to load a cart,
Before she clos'd her eyes;
But now my word is here a law,
Zounds! with a bolus in her jaw;
She shall not seek the skies.

THE TENDER HUSBAND.

Good sir, good doctor, go away:
To hear my sighs you must not stay,
For this my poor lost treasure:
I thank you for your pains and skill:
When next you come, pray bring your bill;
I'll pay it, sir, with pleasure.

Ye friends who come to mourn her doom,
For God's sake gently tread the room,
Nor call her from the blest-
In softest silence drop the tear,
In whispers breathe the fervent pray'r,
To bid her spirit rest.

Repress the sad, the wounding scream;
I cannot bear a grief extreme-
Enough one little sigh-
Besides, the loud alarm of grief,
In many a mind may start belief,
Our noise is all a lie.

Good nurses, shroud my lamb with care;
Her limbs, with gentlest fingers, spare;
Her mouth, ah! slowly close;
Her mouth a magic tongue that held-
Whose softest tone, at times, compell'd,
To peace, my loudest woes.
And, carpenter, for my sad sake,
Of stoutest oak her coffin make-

I'd not be stingy, sure

Procure of steel, the strongest screws;
For who would paltry pence refuse
To lodge his wife secure?

Ye people who the corpse convey,
With caution tread the doleful way,
Nor shake her precious head;
Since fame reports a coffin tost,
With careless swing against a post,
Did once disturb the dead.

93

Farewell, my love, for ever lost!
Ne'er troubled be thy gentle ghost,
That I again will woo

By all our past delights, my dear,
No more the marriage chain I'll wear,
P-x take me if I do!

ON A BAD SINGER.

WHEN Screech-owls screek, their note portends
To foolish mortals death of friends:
But when Corvina strains her throat,
E'en screech-owls sicken at the note.

EPIGRAM.

UPON some hasty errand Tom was sent,
And met his parish curate as he went:
But, just like what he was, a sorry clown;
It seems he passed him with a cover'd crown.
The gownman stopp'd, and turning, sternly said—
I doubt, my lad, you're far worse taught than fed!
Why aye! says Tom, still jogging on, that's true:
Thank God, he feeds me! but I'm taught by you.

ON A BOWL OF PUNCH.

WHENE'ER a bowl of punch we make,
Four striking opposites we take ;

The strong, the small, the sharp, the sweet,
Together mix'd, most kindly meet;

And when they happily unite,

The bowl is pregnant with delight:'

In conversation thus we find,
That four men differently inclin'd,

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