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ALEXANDER POPE.

So proud, so grand ; of that stupendous air, (You drink by measure, and to minutes eat. Soft and agreeable come never there.

So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. As brings all Brobdingnag before your thought. Between each act the trembling salvers ring, To coinpass this, his building is a town, From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the king. His pond an ocean, his parterre a down : In plenty starving, tantalized in state, Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, And complaisantly helped to all I hate, A puny insect, shivering at a breeze !

Treated, caressed, and tired, I take my leave, Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around ! Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve; The whole, a labored quarry above ground. I curse such lavish cost, and little skill, Two Cupids squirt before : a lake behind And swear no day was ever passed so ill. Improves the keenness of the northern wind. His gardens next your admiration call, On every side you look, behold the wall ! No pleasing intricacies intervene,

THE WOUNDED STAG. No artful wildness to perplex the scene ;

FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT." Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other. DUKE S. Come, shall we go and kill us veni. The suffering eye inverted nature sees,

son ? Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees ; And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, With here a fountain, never to be played ; Being native burghers of this desert city, And there a summer-house, that knows no shade; Should, in their own confines, with forkéd heads Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers; Have their round haunches gored. There gladiators fight, or die in flowers ;

1 LORD.

Indeed, my lord, Unwatered see the drooping sea-horse mourn, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn. And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp

My lord advances with majestic mien, Than doth your brother that hath banished you. Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen ; To-day my lord of Amiens and myself, But soft — by regular approach — not yet — Did steal behind him, as he lay along First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat; Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out And when up ten steep slopes you've dragged Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : your thighs,

To the which place a poor sequestered stag, Just at his study door he 'll bless your eyes. That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,

His study! with what authors is it stored ? Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, In books, not authors, curious is my lord ; The wretched animal heaved forth such groans, To all their dated backs he turns you round ; That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound ! Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good Coursed one another down his innocent nose For all his lordship knows, but they are wood. In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool, For Locke or Milton 't is in vain to look, Much markéd of the melancholy Jaques, These shelves admit not any modern book. Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,

And now the chapel's silver bell you hear, Augmenting it with tears. That summons you to all the pride of prayer : DUKE S.

But what said Jaques ? Light quirks of music, broken and uneven, Did he not moralize this spectacle ! Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.

1 Lord. () yes, into a thousand similes. On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,

First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Lagnerre, “Poordeer," quoth he, “thou mak'sta testament On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,

As wordlings do, giving thy sum of more And bring all paradise before your eye.

To that which had too much": then being there To rest the cushion and soft dean invite,

alone, Who never mentions hell to ears polite.

Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ; But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call ; * 'T is right," quoth he ; “thus misery doth part A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall: The flux of company : anón, a careless herd, The rich buffet well-colored serpents grace, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And gaping Tritons spue to wash your face. And never stays to greet him; “Ay," quoth Is this a dinner ? this a genial room ?

Jaques, No, 't is a temple, and a hecatomb.

“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; A solemn sacrifice, performed in state, "T is just the fashion : wherefore do you look

up,

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM

an

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?” On the poor dumb servants of thy comfort, and Thus most invectively he pierceth through

yet must thou rack them with thy spite ? The body of the country, city, court,

The prodigal heir of creation hath gambled away Yea, and of this our life ; swearing that we

his all, Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, Shall he add torment to the bondage that is galling To fright the animals, and to kill the

his forfeit serfs ? In their assigned and native dwelling-place. The leader in nature's pean himself hath marred

her psaltery, Shall he multiply the din of discord by over

straining all the strings ? HUMANITY.

The rebel hath fortified his stronghold, shutting

in his vassals with him,“THE WINTER WALK AT NOON."

Shall he aggravate the woes of the besieged by I would not enter on my list of friends

oppression from within ? (Though graced with polished manners and fine Thou twice-deformed image of thy Maker, thou sense,

hateful representative of Love, Yet wanting sensibility) the

For very shame be merciful, be kind unto the Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

creatures thou hast ruined ; An inadvertent step may crush the snail Earth and hermillion tribes are cursed forthysake, That crawls at evening in the public path ; Earth and her million tribes still writhe beneath But he that has humanity, forewarned,

thy cruelty : Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. Liveth there but one among the million that shall The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,

not bear witness against thee, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A pensioner of land or air or sea that hath not A visitor unwelcome, into scenes

whereof it will accuse thee? Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, From the elephant toiling at a launch, to the The chamber, or refectory, may die :

shrew-mouse in the harvest-field, A necessary act incurs no blaine.

From the whale which the harpooner hath stricken, Not so when, held within their proper bounds, to the minnow caught upon a pin, And guiltless of offence, they range the air, From the albatross wearied in its flight, to the Or take their pastime in the spacious field :

wren in her covered nest, There they are privileged ; and he that hunts From the death-moth and lace-winged dragon-fly, Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,

to the lady-bird and the gnat, Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,

The verdict of all things is unanimous, finding Who, when she formed, designed them an abode

their master cruel : The sum is this : If man's convenience, health, The dog, thy humble friend, thy trusting, hones Or safety interfere, his rights and claims

friend ; Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.

The ass, thine uncomplaining slave, drudging Else they are all — the meanest things that are — from morn to even ; As free to live, and to enjoy that life,

The lamb, and the timorous hare, and the labor As God was free to form them at the first,

ing ox at plough ; Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.

The speckled trout basking in the shallow, ang Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons the partridge gleaming in the stubble, To love it too.

And the stay at bay, and the worm in thy path

and the wild bird pining in captivity,

And all things that minister alike to thy life an OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

thy comfort and thy pride,

Testify with one sad voice that man is a crue SHAME upon thee, savage monarch-man, proud master.

monopolist of reason ; Shameupon creation's lord, the fierce evsanguined Verily, they are all thine : freely mayst tho despot:

serve thee of them all : What, man ! are there not enough, hunger and They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be use diseases and fatigue,

in all gratitude and kindness ; And yet must thy goad or thy thong add another Gratitule to their God and thine, — their Fathe sorrow to existence ?

and thy Father, What! art thou not content thy sin hath dragged Kindness to them who tvil for thee, and hel dowa suffering and death

thee with their all :

WILLIAM COWPER.

For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying: for | E’er ploughed for him. They too are tempered burden, but with limits of humanity;

high, For luxury, but not through torture : for draught, With hunger stung and wild necessity ; but according to the strength :

Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. For a dog cannot plead his own right, nor render But man, whom Nature formed of milder clay, a reason for exemption,

With every kind emotion in his heart, Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside And taught alone to weep, — while from her lap the undeserved lash;

She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate a And fruits as numerous as the drops of rain moment's respite ;

Or beams that gave them birth, — shall he, fair 'The spent horse hideth his distress, till he panteth form ! out his spirit at the goal ;

Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven, Also, in the winter of life, when worn by constant E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, toil,

And dip his tongue in gore? The beast of prey, If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring Blood-stained, deserves to bleed ; but you, ye them to remembrance ;

flocks, Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear What have ye done ? ye peaceful people, what, standeth in his eye;

To merit death ? you who have given us milk His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat beneath his burden ;

Against the winter's cold ? And the plain ox, His limbs are stiff with age, his sinews have lost That harmless, honest, guileless animal, their vigor,

In what has he offended ? he whose toil, And pain is stamped upon his face, while he Patient and ever-ready, clothes the land wrestleth unequally with toil ;

With all the pomp of harvest, – shall he bleed, Yet once more mutely and meekly endureth he And struggling groan beneath the cruel hand, the crushing blow ;

Even of the clown he feeds ? and that, perhaps, That struggle hath cracked his heart-strings, To swell the riot of the autumnal feast, the generous brute is dead !

Won by his labor ?

JAMES THOMSON. Liveth there no advocate for him ? no judge to

avenge his wrongs? No voice that shall be heard in his defence ? no sentence to be passed on his oppressor ?

DUELLING. Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth patheti

FROM "CONVERSATION," cally for him ; Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indig. The point of honor has been deemed of use, nation at his woes ;

To teach good manners, and to curb abuse ; Yea, all the pity upon earth shall call down a Admit it frue, the consequence is clear, curse upon the cruel ;

Our polished manners are a mask we wear, Yea, the burning malice of the wicked is their And, at the bottom, barbarous still and rude, own exceeding punishment.

We are restrained, indeed, but not subdued. The Angel of Mercy stoppeth not to comfort, but The very remedy, however sure, passeth by on the other side,

Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, And hath no tear to shed, when a cruel man is And savage in its principle appears, damned.

Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.

'T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; That now and then a hero must decease,

That the surviving world may live in peace.
PLEA FOR THE ANIMALS.

Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show
The practice dastardly and mean and low;

That men engage in it compelled by force, ENSANGUINED man And fear, not courage, is its proper source ; Is now become the lion of the plain,

The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold Lest fops shouldcensureus, and fools should sneer;
Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her At least, to trample on our Maker's laws,
milk,

And hazard life for any or no cause,
Nor wore her warming fleece ; nor has the steer, To rush into a fixed eternal state
At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs, Out of the very flames of rage and hate,

FROM

THE SEASONS."

Or send another shivering to the bar

With monstrous promise they delude the mind, With all the guilt of such unnatural war, And thrive on all that tortures human-kind. Whatever Use may urge, or Honor plead,

Void of all honor, avaricious, rash, On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. The daring tribe compound their boasted trash, Am I to set my life upon a throw

Tincture or syrup, lotion, drop or pill ; Because a bear is rude and surly? No,

All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill ; A moral, sensible, and well-bred man

And twenty names of cobblers turned to squires Will not affront me; and no other can.

Aid the bold language of these blushless liars. Were I empowered to regulate the lists, There are among them those who cannot read, They should encounter with well-loaded fists ; And yet they 'll buy a patent, and succeed ; A Trojan combat would be something new, Will dare to promise dying sufferers aid, Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue ; For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid ? Then each might show, to his admiring friends, With cruel avarice still they recommend In honorable bumps his rich amends,

More draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end. And carry, in contusions of his skull,

“ I feel it not." — “Then take it every hour." A satisfactory receipt in full.

“It makes me worse." — “Why, then it shows WILLIAM COWPER.

its power.” I fear to die." “ Let not your spirits sink,

You 're always safe while you believe and drink." GOLD.

How strange to add, in this nefarious trade,

That men of parts are dupes by dunces made : Gold ! gold ! gold! gold !

That creatures nature meant should clean our Bright and yellow, hard and cold,

streets Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ;

Have purchased lands and mansions, parks and Heavy to get, and light to hold ;

seats : Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold,

Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they leave Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled :

Their untaught sons their parents to deceive; Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old

And when they're laid upon their dying bed, To the very verge of the churchyard mould;

No thought of murder comes into their head; Price of many a crime untold : Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold !

And then in many a paper through the year, Good or bad a thousand-fold ! How widely its agencies vary,

Must cures and cases, oaths and proofs, appear;

Men snatched from graves as they were dropping To save,- to ruin,- to curse, to bless, As even its minted coins express,

in,

Their lungs coughed up, their bones pierced Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess,

through their skin ; And now of a Bloody Mary.

THOMAS HOOD.

Their liver all one scirrhus, and the frame
Poisoned with evils which they dare not name ;

Men who spent all upon physicians' fees,
LAW.

Who never slept, nor had a moment's case,

Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk as Laws, as we read in ancient sages,

bees. Have been like cobwebs in all ages. Cobwebs for little flies are spread,

Troubled with something in your bile or blood, And laws for little folks are made ;

You think your doctor does you little good ; But if an insect of renown,

And, grown impatient, you require in laste Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone,

The nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste; Be caught in quest of sport or plunder, It comforts, heals, and strengthens ; nay, you The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.

think
JAMES BEATTIE.

It makes you better every time you drink;
Who tipples brandy will some comfort feel,

But will he to the medicine set his seal ?
QUACK MEDICINES.

No class escapes them -- from the poor man's
THE BOROUGH."

pay But now our Quacks are gamesters, and they The nostrum takes no trifling part away ; play

See ! those square patent bottles from the shop With craft and skill to ruin and betray ; Now decoration to the cupboard's top ;

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And there a favorite hoard you 'll find within,

THE RULING PASSION. Companions meet! the julep and the gin.

MORAL ESSAYS." Suppose the case surpasses human skill, In this one passion man can strength enjoy, There comes a quack to flatter weakness still ; As fits give vigor just when they destroy. What greater evil can a flatterer do,

Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, Than from himself to take the sufferer's view ? Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning Consistent in our follies and our sins, powers,

Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
And rob a sinner of his dying hours ?

Old politicians chew on wisdom past,
Yet this they dare, and, craving to the last, And totter on in business to the last;
In hope's strong bondage hold their victim As weak, as earnest ; and as gravely out,
fast:

As sober Lanesb’row dancing in the gout.
For soul or body no concern have they,

Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace All their inquiry, “ Can the patient pay ? Has made the father of a nameless race, And will he swallow draughts until his dying Shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressed day ?”

By his own son, that passes by unblessed : Observe what ills to nervous females flow, Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, When the heart flutters and the pulse is low; And envies every sparrow that he sees. If once induced these cordial sips to try,

A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate. All feel the ease, and few the danger fly; The doctor called, declares all help too late. For, while obtained, of drams they've all the “Mercy !" cries Helluo, “mercy on my soul ; force,

Isthere no hope ? — Alas !- then bring the jowl." And when denied, then drams are the resource. The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,

Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh, Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end, To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?

Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, Then the good nurse (who, had she borne a For one puff more, and in that puff expires. brain,

“Odious ! in woollen ! 't would a saint proHad sought the cause that made her babe com

voke," plain)

(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;) Has all her efforts, loving soul ! applied “No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace To set the cry, and not the cause, aside ; Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : She gave her powerful sweet without remorse, One would not, sure, be frightful when one's The sleeping cordial, she had tried its force,

dead, Repeating oft ; the infant, freed from pain, And — Betty - give this cheek a little red." Rejected food, but took the dose again,

The courtiersmooth, who forty years had shined Sinking to sleep, while she her joy expressed, An humble servant to all human-kind, That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest. Just brought out this, when scarce his tongne Soon may she spare her cordial ; not a doubt

could stir, Remains but quickly he will rest without. “If-where I'm going - I could serve you, sir ?" What then our hopes ? --- perhaps there may I give and I devise" (old Euclio said, by law

And sighed) “my lands and tenements to Ned." Be method found these pests to curb and awe ; Your money, sir ? “ My money, sir ! what, all ? Yet, in this land of freedom, law is slack Why - if I must — (then wept) I give it Paul.” With any being to commence attack :

The manor, sir? “The manor ! hold," he cried, Then let us trust to science, there are those “Not that, - I cannot part with that," -- and Who can their falsehoods and their frauds dis

died. close, All their vile trash detect, and their low tricks

expose. Perhaps their numbers may in time confound

THE FICKLE MOB. Their arts, as scorpions give themselves the

CORIOLANUS." woand; For when these curers dwell in every place,

Caius Marcius. What would you have, you While of the cured we not a man can trace,

curs, Strong truth may then the public mind persuade, That like not peace, nor war ? the one affrights you, And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade. The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,

Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;

ALEXANDER POPE.

FROM

GEORGE CRABBE.

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