Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee, feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
THE SLEEPING WATCHMAN.
Sound sleeps yon guardian of the night,
The hours uncall'd-youth rests not sweeter ;
"I thought he was a watch"-" you're right-
But a stop watch, not a repeater.
Ah! poor old Phillis, strive to wound no more,
Thy days of execution long are o'er :
With those dim eyes to try to pierce a heart,
Is threat'ning with a bow without a dart.
Serene and mild, we view the evening air,
The pleasing picture of the smiling fair:
A thousand charms our several senses meet,
Cooling the breeze with fragrant odours sweet.
But sudden, if the sable clouds deform
The azure sky, I dread the coming storm;
Hasty we flee, 'ere yet the thunder roar;
And dread what we so much admired before.
TO A FRIEND WHO HAD MARRIED A
CROOKED WOMAN.
The God of love,
Well pleased to prove
How he esteems you, Joe,
Instead of wife,
To vex your life,
Presents you with his bow.
On asking a Gentleman how long he would love her.
It is not, Celia, in our power
To say how long our love shall last;
It may be, we, within this hour,
May lose those joys we now do taste;
The blessed that immortal be,
From change in love are only free.
Then, since we mortal lovers are,
Ask not how long our love shall last, But, while it does, let us take care, Each minute be with pleasure past : Were it not madness to deny
To live, because we're sure to die!
Cornelius knows his ugly wife,
Has fortified his head;
But, to avoid domestic strife,
He's silent as the dead.
In this he's surely not to blame;
Why make a needless fuss!
Henceforward, therefore, be his name
Cornelius Tacitus.
TO A LADY WITH A BLOOD-SHOT EYE.
Oh! be not afraid, though your eye is all red,
While your cheeks, my dear Sal are so ruddy;
For so many die by the stroke of that eye,
No wonder the weapon is bloody.
White as her hand, fair Julia threw
A ball of silver snow;
The frozen globe fir'd as it flew,
My bosom felt it glow.
Strange pow'r of love! whose great command
Can thus a snow-ball arm!
When sent, fair Julia from thy hand,
E'en snow itself can warm.
A witty divine received an invitation to dinner, written on the ten of hearts, by a young lady of great beauty, merit, und fortune. This the gentleman thought a good opportunity of giving the lady a distant hint of his hopes; he wrote therefore the following lines on the same card, and returned it by her own servant :
Your compliments, lady, I pray now forbear,
For old English service is much more sincere ;
You've sent me ten hearts, but the tythe's only nine,
So give me one heart, and take back t'other nine.
"When the glad slave shall lay down
His broken chain-the tyrant lord his crown-
The priest his book—the conquerer his wreath :—
When, from the lips of truth, one mighty breath
Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze
The whole dark pile of human mockeries ;
Then shall the reign of mind commence on earth;
And, starting fresh, as from a second birth,
Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring,
Shall walk transparent like some holy thing."
THE PAINTED FAIR ONE.
As blooming Harriet mov'd along,
The fairest of the beauteous throng,
The beaux gaz'd on with admiration,
Avow'd by many an exclamation!
What form! what naivete! what grace!
What roses deck that Grecian face!
"Nay," Dashwood cries," that bloom's not Harriet's; 'Twas bought at Reynold's, More's, or Marriott's; And though you vow her face untainted,
I swear, by G-, your Beauty's painted."
A wager instantly was laid,
And Ranger sought the lovely maid;
The pending bet he soon reveal'd,
Nor e'en th' impious oath conceal'd.
Confus'd, her cheek bore witness true ;—
By turns the roses came and flew.
"Your bet," she said, " is rudely odd-
But I am painted, Sir-by God."
THE DOCTOR AND UNDERTAKers.
At Highgate, by salubrious air,
Had thriven butchers, bakers;
But since a doctor settled there,
None thrive but undertakers.
BLUEBEARD, AND THE HORSES, AT THE THEATRE-
ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.
Now new performers grace our royal boards,
Fresh entertainment" Bluebeard" now affords;
Oh! what a great, what an enlightened age?
For dogs, and horses now have trod the stage.
Why now should Richard cry until he's hoarse,
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
Away with Shakespeare! Rowe and Otway hence !
For folly triumphs over common sense.
The younger Coleman's nonsense supersedes,
Supported by a troop of well-taught steeds.
For ages past, a tow'ring oak had stood,
The pride and beauty of a neighb'ring wood;
The ivy round its trunk was fast entwin'd,
Together ev'ry day fresh branches bind.
On earth, being felled, the oak constrain'd to lie,
The ivy also seemed to droop and die ;
Its branches torn and with'ring, for awhile
Nothing appeared its loss to reconcile.
But grief subsides, and after some few days
The ivy seems its drooping head to raise;
Then stretch'd afar, behold it in its pride,
It finds another oak, and climbs its side.
Ah! who can tell the pangs of those
Who truly love?—Their heartfelt woes;
Their tender sorrows; ceaseless sighs;
Their transports, which immortalize?
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