There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, That dimly showed the state in which he lay; With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored, THE CLOWN'S REPLY. JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers, "An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to letters, Edinburgh, 1753. 64 AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islingtown there was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went inad, and bit the man. Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wit To bite so good a man, The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad, But soon a wonder came to light, AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. Good people all, with one accord, The needy seldom passed her door, She strove the neighbourhood to please, At church, in silks and satins new, She never slumbered in her pew But when she shut her eyes. Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; But now her wealth and finery fled, The doctors found, when she was dead Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent-street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more She had not died to-day. ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING. IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. SURE 'twas by Providence designed, THE GIFT. TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN, SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes, Should I at once deliver, Say, would the angry fair one prize A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, I'll give-but not the full-blown rose, I'll give thee something yet unpaid, STANZAS ON WOMAN. FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, 1 These verses appear to be imitated from the French of Grecourt, a witty, but grossly indecent writer. |