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An artless grace the conscious heart bestows, And on the generous cheek a tincture glows, More lovely than the bloom that paints the ver
The lofty pyramid shall cease to live, Fleeting the praise such monuments can give! But Charity, by tyrant Time revered, Sweet Charity, amidst his ruins spared, Secures her yotaries unblasted fame, And in celestial annals saves their name.
A MEMBER of the modern great
Pass'd Sawney with his budget,
The tinker forced to trudge it.
His lordship would parade for;
And the other's shoes are paid for.
To Wasteall,whose eyes were just closing in death,
Doll counted the chalks on the door ; [breath, • In peace (cried the wretch) let me give up my
And Fate will soon rub out my score.'
Let the law be no longer delay’d, [cheat!) I never once heard of that fellow call’d Fate,
And, by God, he shan't die till I'm paid.'
APOLLO_TO MR. C-FON HIS BEING SATIRIZED BY AN IGNORANT PERSON. WHETHER he's worth your spleen or not,
You've ask'd me to determine: I wish
friend a nobler lot
Unless that we'd befriend him :
I'll pay what you may lend him.
ON MR. CHURCHILL'S DEATH.
Says Tom to Richard, Churchill's dead:'
Says Richard, Tom, you lie; Old Rancour the report hath spread,
But Genius cannot die.'
The torture, the plague of his life!
And hang up his brazenfaced wife.
Could Kate for Dick compose the gordian string,
ON SEEING J. C. C-FT, ESQ.
ABUSED IN A NEWSPAPER.
WHEN a wretch to public notice,
Would a man of worth defame; Wit, as threadbare as his coat is,
Only shows his want of shame.
Vilest of the venal crews !
Hang yourself and paltry Muse.
Should for hunger hang or drown:
Send the scribbler half a crown.
SHED roses in the sprightly juice,
Ourselves, with rosy chaplets bound, Shall sing, and set the goblet round.
Thee, ever gentle Rose, we greet,
The Cupids and the Graces fair
Bring us more sweets ere these expire, And reach me that harmonious lyre: Gay Bacchus, Jove's convivial son, Shall lead us to his favourite ton: Among the sporting youths and maids, Beneath the vine's auspicious shades, For ever young-for ever gay, We'll dance the jovial hours away.
• Tell me (said I), my beauteous dove
Ambrosial sweets thy pinions shed. As in the quivering breeze they spread!
A message (says the bird) I bear
• Me, for a hymn or amorous ode,
Through the soft air he bade me glide (See, to my wing his billet's tied), And told me 'twas his kind decree, When I return'd, to set me free.
« 'Twould prove me but a simple bird, To take Anacreon at his word: Why should I hide me in the wood, Or search for my precarious food, When I've my master's leave to stand Cooing upon his friendly hand; When I can be profusely fed With crumbs of his ambrosial bread, And, welcomed to his nectar bowl, Sip the rich drops that fire the soul; Till in fantastic rounds I spread My fluttering pinions o'er his head: