Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, | Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose :
With characters and figures dire inscribed, But if a slumber haply does invade
Grievous to mortal eyes, (ye gods, avert

My weary limbs, my fancy, still awake, Such plagues from righteous men !) Behind him Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, stalks

Tipples imaginary pots of ale ; Another monster, not unlike itself,

In vain ; -- awake I find the settled thirst Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar called

| Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse. A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred, With force incredible, and magic charms, Vor taste he fruits that the sun's genial rays First have endued : if he his ample palm Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach, Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay

Nor walnut in rough-furrowed coat secure, Of debtor, straight his body to the touch

Vor medlar fruit delicious in decay ; Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont) Afflictions great! yet greater still remain. To some enchanted castle is conveyed,

My galligaskins, that have long withstood Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, The winter's fury and encroaching frosts, In durance strict detain him, till, in form By time subdued, (what will not time subdue !) Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.

An horrid chasm disclose with orifice Beware, ye debtors ! when ye walk, beware, Wide, discontinuous ; at which the winds Be circumspect ; oft with insidious ken

Eurus and Auster and the dreadful force The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft

Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave,

Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, With his unhallowed touch. So (poets sing) Long sails secure, or through the Ægean deep, Grimalkin to domestic vermin sworn

Or the Ionian, till cruising near An everlasting foe, with watchful eye

· The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,

On Scylla or Charybdis (dangerous rocks) Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice She strikes rebounding ; whence the shattereri Sure ruin. So her disembowelled web Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads

So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Obvious to vagrant flies : she secret stands Admits the sea. In at the gaping side Within her woven cell ; the humming prey, The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Resistless, overwhelming ; horrors seize Inextricable, nor will aught avail

| The mariners ; Death in their eyes appears, Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue. | They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, ļ they pray : And butterfly proud of expanded wings

(Vain efforts !) still the battering waves rush in, Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Implacable, till, deluged by the foam, Useless resistance make ; with eager strides, The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss. She towering flies to her expected spoils :

JOHN PHILIPS Then with envenomed jaws the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades This world envelop, and the inclement air

Good people all, of every sort,
Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts

Give ear unto my song ;
With pleasant wines and crackling blaze of wood, And if you find it wondrous short,
Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light

It cannot hold you long.
Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk
Of loving friend, delights ; distressed, forlorn, In Islington there was a man
Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,

Of whom the world might say,
Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts That still a godly race he ran -
My anxious mind ; or soinetimes mournful verse Whene'er he went to pray.
Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,
Or desperate lady near a purling stream,

A kind and gentle heart he had,
Or lover pendent on a willow-tree.

To confort friends and foes : Meanwhile I labor with eternal drought,

The naked every day he clad And restless wish, and rave ; my parched throat When he put on his clothes.

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As he passed through Cold-Bath Fields, he looked 'There

th Fields, he looked There, while the one was shaving, At a solitary cell ;

I Would he the song begin ; And he was well pleased, for it gave him a hint

mnt And the other, when he heard it at breakfast, For improving the prisons of hell.

In ready accord join in. He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands

So each would help the other, With a cordial tug and jerk ;

Two heads being better than one ; “Nimbly," quoth he, “a man's fingers move

And the phrase and conceit When his heart is in his work."

Would in unison meet,

And so with glee the verse flow free He saw the same turnkey unfettering a man

In ding-dong chime of sing-song rhyme,
With little expedition ;

Till the whole were merrily done.
And he chuckled to think of his dear slave-trade,
And the long debates and delays that were made
Concerning its abolition.

And because it was set to the razor,

Not to the lute or harp, At this good news, so great

Therefore it was that the fancy
The Devil's pleasure grew,

Should be bright, and the wit be sharp
That with a joyful swish he rent
The hole where his tail came through. “But then," said Satan to himself,

“As for that said beginner,
" After this I was in a vision, having the angel of God near me,
and saw Satan walking leisurely into London." - BROTHERS'
Prophecies, Part 1. p. 41.

| There is no greater sinner.

“ He hath put me in ugly ballads

With libellous pictures for sale ; He hath scoffed at my hoofs and my horns,

And has made very free with my tail.

“ But this Mister Poet shall find

I am not a safe subject for whim ; For I'll set up a school of my own,

And my poets shall set upon him."

As he went along the Strand

Between three in the morning and four, He observed a queer-looking person *

Who staggered from Perry's door.

And he thought that all the world over

In vain for a man you might seek, Who could drink more like a Trojan,

Or talk more like a Greek.


FROM “THE DEVIL'S PROGRESS." The Devil sits in his easy-chair, Sipping his sulphur tea, And gazing out, with a pensive air, O'er the broad bitumen sea ; Lulled into sentimental mood By the spirits' far-off wail, That sweetly, o'er the burning flood, Floats on the brimstone gale! The Devil, who can be sad at times, In spite of all his mumery, And grave, - though not so prosy quite As drawn by his friend Montgomery, The Devil to-day has a dreaming air, And his eye is raised, and his throat is bare. His musings are of many things, That - good or ill — befell, Since Adam's sons macadamized The highways into hell : -And the Devil -- whose mirth is never loud – Laughs with a quiet mirth, As he thinks how well his serpent-tricks Have been mimicked upon earth ; Of Eden and of England, soiled And darkened by the foot Of those who preach with adder-tongues, And those who eat the fruit ; Of creeping things, that drag their slime Into God's chosen places, And knowledge leading into crime, Before the angels' faces; Of lands - from Nineveh to Spain That have bowed beneath his sway, And men who did his work, -- from Cain To Viscount Castlereagh !


The Devil then he prophesied
It would one day be matter of talk,

That with wine when smitten,
And with wit moreover being happily bitten,
This erudite bibber was he who had written

The story of this walk.

“A pretty mistake,” quoth the Devil ;

* A pretty mistake, I opine! I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth ;

He will never put good ones in mine."

Now the morning air was cold for him,

Who was used to a warm abode ; And yet he did not immediately wish

To set out on his homeward road.

For he had some morning calls to make

Before he went back to hell ; So,” thought he, “I'll step into a gaming

* house, And that will do as well ;”. But just before he could get to the door

A wonderful chance befell.

THE NOSE AND THE EYES. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose ;

The spectacles set them, unhappily, wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,

To whom the said spectacles onght to belong.

For all on a sudden, in a dark place,
He came upon General -—_'s burning face ;

And it struck him with such consternation,
That home in a hurry his way did he take,
Because he thought by a slight mistake
'T was the general conflagration.


So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of

learning, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,

So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

“In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear (And your lordship,” he said, “ will undoubt

edly find)

Porson, the Greek scholar.


That the Nome has the spectacles always to wear, 1 O’a' the numerous human dools,
Which amounts to possession, time out of 11 har’sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,

Or worthy friends raked i' the mools,

Sad sight to see ! Then, holding the spectacles up to the court,

The tricks o' knaves or fash o' fools, “Your lordship observes, they are made with

Thou bear'st the gree. a straddle, As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short,

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, “Again, would your lordship a moment suppose

And ranked plagues their numbers tell, ('T is a case that has happened, and may hap

In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, Toothache, surely bear’st the bell, pen again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,

Among them a'; Pray, who would, or who could, wear spectacles

O thou grim mischief-making chiel, then ?

That gars the notes of discord squeal, “On the whole, it appears, and my argument

Till daft mankind aft dance a reel shows,

In gore a shoe-thick !With a reasoning the court will never condemn,

Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
That the spectacles, plainly, were made for the

A fowmond's Toothache!

ROBERT BURNS. And the Nose was, as plainly, intended for them."

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how,

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes :
But what were his arguments, few people know,

For the court did not think them equally wise. NEEDY knife-grinder! whither are you going?

Rough is the road ; your wheel is out of order. So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn

| Bleak blows the blast ; --- your hat has got a hole tone,

in 't; Decisive and clear, without one if or but,

So have your breeches ! That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight, - Eyes should be Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, shut.

| Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike. Road, what hard work 't is crying all day,

Knives and

Scissors to grind O!!
My curse upon thy venomed stang,
That shoots my tortured gums alang ;

| Tell me, knife-grinder, how came you to grind An' through my lugs gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance !

Did some rich man tyrannically use you? Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Was it the squire ? or parson of the parish ? Like racking engines.

Or the attorney? When fevers burn, or agne freezes,

Was it the squire for killing of his game ! or Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ;

Covetous parson for his tithes distraining? Our neighbor's sympathy may ease us, Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little Wi' pitying moan ;

All in a lawsuit ?
But thee, – thou hell o' a' diseases,
Aye mocks our groan.

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom

Paine ?) Adown my beard the slavers trickle ;

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, Ready to fall as soon as you have told your As round the fire the giglets keckle

Pitiful story.
To see me loup;
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle

A burlesque upon the humanitarian sentiments of Southey in

his younger days, as well as of the Sapphic stanzas in which he Wore in their doup.

sometimes embodied them



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