ANOTHER AFFLICTION.
Her eye-brow box one morning lost
(The best of folk are oft'nest cross'd),
Sad Ellen thus to Jenny said,
Her careless but afflicted maid-
"Put me to bed, then, wretched Jane;
Alas! when shall I rise again?
I can behold no mortal now,
For what's an eye without a brow?”
How weak's that parent whose untimely care
From youthful pleasures would his son debar ?
Who thinks, with words unkind, and angry looks,
To fright him from his mistress to his books.
Vain supposition! for the youthful mind,
The more 'tis curb'd, the worse it is inclin'd;
Constraint in all things gives desire increase,-
Enjoyment soonest makes the passion cease.
ON THE BULL-BAITING BILL.
While St. Stephen's assembly were deeply intent
On the "Bull-baiting bill," brought forward by Dent;
When Wyndham's experience was gravely relating
A singular pleasure attendant on baiting;
Where Grosvenor declared, that the animal's note
Was more tuneful to some than Billington's throat;
Where Courtney, in drollery's cause ever hearty,
Instead of a brute, wish'd to bait Buonaparte;
Sir Richard Hill, of sympathy's softness brimful,
Got up, and declared, he "felt as a Bull!"
And the question being put, with due care and precision,
The fact was agreed to without a division.
In 1759, Dr. Hill wrote a pamphlet, entitled, "To David Garrick, Esq. the humble Petition of I, in behalf of Herself and Sister;" the purport of which was to charge Mr. G. with mispronouncing some words including the letter I, as furm, vurtue, &c. The following answer was returned to Dr. H. by Mr. Garrick :
If 'tis true, as you say, that I've injured a letter,
I'll change my notes soon, and I hope for the better;
May the just rights of letters, as well as of men,
Hereafter be fixed by the tongue and the pen!
Most devoutly I wish they may both have their due,
And that I may be never mistaken for U.
In the prime of life Tom lost his wife;
Says Dick, to sooth his pain,-
"Thy wife, I trow, is long ere now
In Abraham's bosom lain."
"His fate forlorn with grief I mourn,"
The shrewd dissembler cries;-
"For much I fear, by this sad tear
She'll scratch out Abraham's eyes!"
A PASTRY-COOK'S PUFF,
Or the pretty Swiss in Regent Street.
To see her sparkling eyes so bright,
And hair in ringlets flowing,
You'd scarcely know which way to turn,
Or what you are a doing.
Her smiles are sweet, and so complete
Good humour in her look,
The gentry say, "My gracious! what
A handsome pastry-cook!"
JUSTICE AND THE OYSTER.
Once (says an author), where, I need not say,
Two travellers found an oyster in their way;
Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,
While, scale in hand, Dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamour pleads the laws,
Explain'd the matter, and would win the cause.
Dame Justice, weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight.
The cause of strife remov'd so rarely well,
"There, take," says Justice," take you each a shell.
We thrive at Westminster on fools like you :
'Twas a fat oyster-live in peace;-adieu!"
MOTHER EVE'S PUDDING.-A RECIPE.
If you'd have a good pudding, pray mind what you're taught,
Take two penn'orth of eggs when you've twelve for a groat;
Take of the same fruit which Eve did once cozen,
When pared and well chopped, at least half a dozen;
Six ounces of bread, let your maid cut the crust,
The crumb must be grated as small as the dust;
Six ounces of currants from the stones you must sort,
Lest you break all your teeth, and spoil all the sport;
Five ounces of sugar won't make it too sweet;
Some salt and some nutmeg, to make it complete.
Three hours let it boil, without hurry or flutter,
And then dish it up with some good melted butter.
ON THE MANCHESTER MILLERS, NAMED
BONE AND SKIN.
Bone and Skin, two millers thin,
Would starve us all, or near it;
But be it known to Skin and Bone,
That flesh and blood can't bear it.
In the lottery of life, should Dame Fortune beguile,
From this maxim divert not your eyes;
That, however the goddess may simper and smile,
She has always two blanks to a prize!
NO JOKE, NO RIDDLE.
A house, with wings, extended wide,
A racket-ground to play in;
Two porters'-lodges there beside,
And porters always staying,—
To guard the inmates there within,
And keep them from the town;
From duns as free as saints from sin
And sheriffs of renown.
To get whitewash'd it is their plan,—
'Tis such a cleansing thing;
Then out they come with blacker hands
Than when they first went in.
PETER PINDAR AND DR. HARRINGTON.
On seeing a Musical Production by Dr. Harrington, of Bath.
When people borrow, it should be their care
To send things back again-it is but fair;
To gratitude and manners this is due:
Therefore, good doctor, to the god of song
Return his lyre-you've really had it long;
Others must be oblig'd as well as you.
THE RETORT COURTEOUS; OR, INNOCENCE
Dr. Harrington to Peter Pindar, Esq.
A lyre, indeed! he borrow'd no such thing,
But sports a stick, with bladders and a string;
A lousy hedge-nymph's hurdy-gurd;
Sculking about from door to door,
Squalls beggars' ballads by the score,
But not a penny gets as ever yet was heard.
'Twas thieving Pindar, 'tis well known,
Swindled his godship's old Cremone;
But so vamp'd up-he scruples not to show it;
For what with varnish, sound-post, silver string-
'Tis so improv'd-he plays before the king,
In tone so sweet-his godship does not know it.
From the grave, where dead Gripeall, the miser, reposes,
What a villanous smell invades all our noses!
It can't be his body alone in the hole,—
They've certainly buried the usurer's soul.
IMPROMPTU, ON THE SERGEANTS OF THE COMMON PLEAS.
The Sergeants are a grateful race,
And all their actions show it:
Their purple garments come from Tyre,
Their arguments go to it!
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