II.

From the centre A. at the distance A. B.

Describe the circle B. C. D.

At the distance B. A. from B. the centre The round A. C. E. to describe boldly venture. (Third postulate see.)

And from the point C.

In which the circles make a pother
Cutting and slashing one another,

Bid the straight lines a journeying go.

C. A. C. B. those lines will show

To the points, which by A. B. are reckon'd,
And postulate the second

For Authority ye know.

A. B. C.
Triumphant shall be

An Equilateral Triangle,

Not Peter Pindar carp, nor Zoilus can wrangle.

III.

Because the point A. is the centre`

Of the circular B. C. D.

And because the point B. is the centre
Of the circular A. C. E.

A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A.

Harmoniously equal for ever must stay;
Then C. A. and B. C.

Both extend the kind hand

To the basis A. B,

Unambitiously join'd in Equality's Band.

But to the same powers, when two powers are equal,
My mind forebodes the sequel;

My mind does some celestial impulse teach,
And equalizes each to each.

Thus C. A. with B. C. strikes the same sure al

liance,

That C. A. and B. C. had with A. B. before;
And in mutual affiance

None attempting to soar
Above another,

The unanimous three

C. A. and B. C. and A. B.

All are equal, each to his brother,

Preserving the balance of power so true: Ah! the like would the proud Autocratix' do! At taxes impending not Britain would tremble, Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble; Nor the Mah'met-sprung wight

The great Mussulman

Would stain his Divan

With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.

IV.

But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine! Should Empires bloat the scientific line? Or with dishevell'd hair all madly do ye run For transport that your task is done?

1 Empress of Russia.

For done it is-the cause is tried!

And Proposition, gentle maid,

Who soothly ask'd stern Demonstration's aid,
Has prov'd her right, and A. B. C.
Of Angles three

Is shown to be of equal side;

And now our weary steed to rest in fine, 'Tis raised upon A. B. the straight, the given line.

THE NOSE.

YE souls unus'd to lofty verse,

Who sweep
Like sand before the blast disperse-

the earth with lowly wing,

A Nose! a mighty Nose I sing!
As erst Prometheus stole from heaven the fire
To animate the wonder of his hand;

Thus with unhallow'd hands, O muse, aspire,
And from my subject snatch a burning brand!
So like the Nose I sing-my verse shall glow-
Like Phlegethon my verse in waves of fire shall flow!

Light of this once all darksome spot

Where now their glad course mortals run, First-born of Sirius begot

Upon the focus of the sun

I'll call thee

for such thy earthly name

What name so high, but what too low must be?

Comets, when most they drink the solar flame
Are but faint types and images of thee!
Burn madly Fire! o'er earth in ravage run,
Then blush for shame more red by fiercer
outdone!

I saw when from the turtle feast

The thick dark smoke in volumes rose ! I saw the darkness of the mist

Encircle thee, O Nose!

Shorn of thy rays thou shott'st a fearful gleam (The turtle quiver'd with prophetic fright) Gloomy and sullen thro' the night of steam :

So Satan's Nose when Dunstan urg'd to flight, Glowing from gripe of red hot pincers dread Athwart the smokes of Hell disastrous twilight shed!

The furies to madness my brain devote―
In robes of ice my body wrap!
On billowy flames of fire I float,

Hear ye, my entrails how they snap?
Some power unseen forbids my lungs to breathe!
What fire-clad meteors round me whizzing fly!
I vitrify thy torrid zone beneath

Proboscis fierce! I am calein'd! I die!

Thus, like great Pliny, in Vesuvius' fire,

I perish in the blaze while I the blaze admire.

1789.

MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE.

O MUSE who sangest late another's pain,
To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!
With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go,
Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe:
Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed,
And let the melancholy dirge complain, [run)
(While Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling
The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone !
Your cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets cease!
Let songs of grief your alter'd minds engage!
For he who sang responsive to your lay,
What time the joyous bubbles 'gan to play,
The sooty swain has felt the fire's fierce rage;-
Yes he is gone, and all my woes increase;

I heard the Water issuing from the Wound— No more the Tea shall pour its flagrant steams around!

O Goddess best beloved, delightful Tea! [vine? With thee compar'd what yields the madd'ning Sweet power! who know'st to spread the calm delight,

And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! Ah! must I all thy varied sweets resign? Enfolded close in grief thy form I see; No more wilt thou extend thy willing arms, Receive the fervent Jove and yield him all thy charms!