Ver. The man is studious, well-inform'd, though

young,

No Harpy's smile has he, no flatt'rer's tongue;
Untutor'd in the manners of a Court,

He cannot yet hold decency in sport.
To vice he's neither bending nor polite,
But drags the grey impostor forth to sight,
Whate'er his rank or station, high or low;
He courts no titled friend, he dreads no foe.

Split. Henceforth no sprightly Peer can drink and wench,

No Justice fall asleep upon the bench,*
No Col'nel pimp, no Priest disgrace his gown,
But he shall be placarded through the town!
E'en you, my Lord, so eloquent and grave,
May chance to grow immortal in a stave,
While ev'ry minstrel of the Grub Street Choir
Unaw'd, unshackled, can command the lyre.

Gar. As Brother Splitbrain argues-black is white

And Truth's a lie, and wrong (in Law!) is right. May this bold-fronted libeller of Kings,

* This occurred very recently in the Court of Common Pleas-"Good old Mansfield sometimes nods!"

Who talks of worth, and such discarded things;
This Fanatic, of principles so nice!

Be taught to know the dignity of vice,
When veil'd beneath the splendor of a crown,
A Lordling's ermine, or a Statesman's gown.
Come, Jurymen, dispatch-nay, prithee, pox,
Don't sit a twelvemonth quibbling in the Box!
I'm (Deuce confound your stupid souls, in Styx!)
Engag'd to dine at Carlton House at six.

ECLOGUE VIII.

THE PARTING.

Multi

Committunt eadem diverso crimina fato;

Ille crucem pretium sceleris tulit, hic diadema."

JUV.

CLOSE in those walls, which Frank's* mistaken zeal,
To please a rabble, christen'd the Bastile,
Whose lofty turrets overlook the plains,
Where laughter-loving nymphs and jocund swains
In motley numbers, once a year repair
To hold the ancient rites of Gooseb❜ry Fair!
Close in those walls, which ne'er a rival knew
Till Peter's noisy Rostrum rose to view,
(For Peter, to give Lucifer a rub,

The Sons of Bridewell lectures from his tub):
Two faithful Lovers to a cell retir'd,

Both young alike, and by the Muse inspir'd;
The red-hair'd Thyrsis, and the downcast Ruth,
To whisper vows of constancy and truth:
For now the Transport was equipp'd to sail,

* Sir Francis Burdett.

+ Huntingdon the Coal-heaver.

And only waited for a prosp'rous gale,
To bear young Thyrsis from his Ruth away,
On a septennial trip to Bot'ny Bay:

And thus the couple, full of am'rous pains,
Rehears'd their sorrows in alternate strains.

Ruth. Since cruel fate ordains that we should part, Oh! Thyrsis, hear the feelings of my heart— May I become as odious in thy sight*

As painted Hags at Drawing-rooms by night— Such, and so monstrous, let thy Ruth appear, If e'er her conduct give thee cause for fear.

Hence with thy doubts, for shame! for surely she Deserves reproach from none,—but least from thee.

Thyrsis. Unhappy is the lesser villain's doom, Cut off in fortune's pride, in manhood's bloom! The crafty statesman, favour'd by his King, Obtains a ribbon-but deserves a string; And, thinking it the duty of his station

To cheat the public, and to starve the nation, Leaves Bridewell, Bot'ny Bay, and Tyburn tree, To friendless unprotected rogues like me!

* Immo ego Sardoïs videar tibi amarior herbis, Horridior rusco, projectâ vilior algâ;

Si mihi non hæc lux toto jam longior anno est.

Ruth. I busy was with reading Little's muse, When Cousin Bridget brought the dreadful news: "A pretty joke (she cry'd), your Sweetheart Thyrsis, Who left an honest trade to scribble verses," (And looking fiercely with her arms a-kimbo,) "Has (thank his roguery for it!) got in limbo." The words she utter'd fill'd me with despair, I beat my bosom, and I tore my hair, My face I scarify'd-behold the scars! And wept aloud, and curs'd my evil stars: My mother thought me in hysteric fits, The Doctor said that I had lost my wits; And cry'd (while to his mouth he did present his Long amber-headed cane) "Non compos mentis.”

Thyr. But I must travel far, to climes unknown,* Beneath the scorching or the freezing Zone; Condemn'd, alas! by Law's unjust decree,

My home, my friends, my love! no more to see:-
We all must reap the harvest that we sow,
Good Heav'n! what ills from deeds dishonest flow.

Ruth. Now hear me,Thyrsis, hear the vow I make, To die a faithful virgin for thy sake.

At nos hinc alii sitientes ibimus Afros:

Pars Scythiam, et rapidum Cretæ veniemus Oaxem, &c.