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Your EQUAL-RIGHT gentry I ne'er could abide
That all are born equal, by me is denied:
And Barlow and Paine shall preach it in vain ;
Look even at Brutes, and you 'll see it.confest
That some are intended to manage the rest ;
Yon' dog of the manger, how stately he struts!
You may swear him well-born, from the size of his

guts ;
Not a better-born whelp ever snapped at his foes,
All he wants, is a GLASS TO BE STUCK ON HIS nose:
And then my dear Sue, between me and you,
He would look like the gemman whose name I forget
Who lives in a castle and never pays debt.'

My dear (answered Susan) 'tis said, in reproach, That you climb like a bear when you get in a coach: Now, your nobles that spring from the nobles of old, Your earls and your knights, and your barons so

bold, From Nature inherit so handsome an air They are noblemen born, at first glance we may

Sweal': But you, that have cobbled, and I that hare spun, 'Tis wrong for our noddles on TITLES to run: Moreover, you know, that to make a fine show, Your people of note, of arms get a coat; A boot or a shoe would but sneakingly do, And would certainly prove our nobility new.' •No matter (said Sampson) a coach shall be bought: Tho' the low-born may chatter, I care not a groat; Around it a group of devices shall shine, And mottos and emblems--to prove it is mine ; Fair Liberty's CAP, and a star, and a STRAP ; A DAGGER, that somewhat resembles an AWL, A pumpkin-faced GODDESS supporting a staLL: All these shall be there-how people will stare! And Envy herself, that our TITLE would blast May şinile at the motto-the first shall be LAST.'



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*Come down you toad,' cried Susan to a spider, High on the gilded cornice a proud rider',

And wanton swinging by his silken rope; “I'll teach thee to spin cobwebs round the room ; • You're now upon some murder, I presume:

I'll bless thce; if I don't, say I'm no Pope.'
Then Susan brandished her long brush
Determined on a fatal push,
To bring the rope-dancer to the ground,
And all his schemes of death confound,
The Spider blest with oratory grace,
Slipped down and staring Susan in the face,

• Fie, Susan! lurks there murder in that heart? • O barb'rous lovely Susan! I'm amazed ! • 0! can that form on which so oft I've gazed,

• Possess of cruelty the slightest part? Al! can that swelling bosom of delight, . On which I've peeped with wonder many a night,

Nay, with these fingers touched too, let mc say, • Contain a heart of cruelty !

-10, no! • That bosom which exceeds the new-fallen snow,

• All softness, sweetness, one eternal May.' • How ! Susan screeched as with disordered brain, • How, impudence! repeat those words again:

Come, come, confess with honesty-speak, speak, • Say, did you really crawl upon my neck?' • Susan by all the licavenly charms, I did ;

I saw thee sleeping by the taper's light; • Thy cheek so blushful, and thy breast so white: I could not stand it, and so down I slid.' • You did, sweet Mr. Spider? so you saw!' • Yes, Susan! nature is a powerful law,





Ar'n't you a murderer?' gravely Susan cries;

Ar'n't you for ever busy with that claw, • Killing poor little unoffending little flies,

Merely to satisfy your nasty maw.' • But, Susan, don't you feed on gentle lamb? • Don't you on pretty little pigeon cram?

• Dont you on harmless fishes often dine!' • That's very true quoth Susan true indeed ; • Lord! with what eloquence these spiders plead! • This little rascal beats a grave

divine. • It was no snake, I verily believe, • But a sly spider that seduced poor Eve. • But then you are so ugly'-'Ah! sweet Sue,

• I did not make myself, you know too well: • Could I have made myself, I had been you,

• And killed with envy every beauteous belle.' • Heavens! to this Spider!—what a witching tongue • Well go about thy business-go along;

All animals indeed their food must get: • And hear me-shouldst thou look with longing

eyes, • At any time on young fat luscious flies,

• I'll drive the little rascals to thy net. Lord! then how blind I've been to form and feature: • I think a Spider, now, a comely creature!


AN EPIGRAM, Honest Teague, when return'd from a trip to the

North, For to Lapland ’t was said he had been; Was questioned-lf during his cold wintry birth,

Whether any Rein Deer he had seen?' • When,' says he, .by my sowle, as truth I regard,

• I was station'd there almost a year ; And sometimes, in the summer, it rain'd very hard,

• But I never once saw it rain Deer?'


(rixdan.) Economy's a very useful broom ; Yet sliould not ceaseless hunt about the room

To catch each straggling pin to make a plum. Too oft economy's an iron vice, That squeezes e'en the little guts of mice,

That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb. Proper economy 's a comely thing; Good in a subject--better in a king ;

Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling, Most easily inclined to make folks mean ; Inclines them, too, to villany to lean,

To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing. E’en when the heart should only think of grief, It creeps into the bosom like a thief, And swallows up the affections all so mild-Witness the Jewess and her only child. Poor Mistress Levi lad a luckless son,

Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat,

In imitation of th' ambitious great,
High from the gallery, ere the play begun,

He fell all plump into the pit,

Dead in a minute as a nit: In short he broke his pretty Hebrew neck; Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck! The mother was distracted, raving, wild: Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her

child ; Afflicted every heart with grief around, Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past, And moderately calm th' hysteric blast,

She cast about her eyes in thought profound ; And being with a saving knowledge blessed, She thus the play-house manager addressed:

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Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, • Dat meet mishfartin here so bad“Sher, I muss baf de shilling back, you know, • Ass Moses haf nat see de show.'


Come, Madam Muse, new nib thy pen,

And put on thy best graces ;
To sing, in merry, jocund strain,

The joys of Epsom Races.
Curricles, coaches, chaises, gigs,

Beaux, bloods, and men of trade,
Black-legs, nobles, peers, and prigs,

All join the cavalcade.
The young, the old, the brown, the fair,

Of pleasure take their fill;
The mania spreads, froin Berkley-square,

As far as Fislı-street-bill!
Miss Drugget cries--- My sweet papa,

Let's go to Epsom pray ;
There's you, and I, and dear mamma,

Will fill a one-horse chaise.
In order to go safe and slow,

By day-break we'll set off ;
The ride will do you good I know,

And cure your nasty cough.
I doates upon the country now;

How sweet the wernal breezes!
We 'll take our dinner too I wow,

And dine beneath the treezes.'
Old Drugget shook his cranium wise,

But madam cricd--I legs!

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