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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 peer
was in a car of state, The tinker forced to trudge it. But Sawney shall receive the praise
His lordship would parade for; One's debtor for his dapple grays,
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.' • Come, bailiffs (cries Doll), (how I'll hamper this
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-F, ON HIS BEING SATIRIZED BY AN IGNORANT PERSON. WHETHER he's worth your spleen or not,
You've ask'd me to determine :
Than that of trampling vermin.
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
i 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
'Twould prove me but a simple bird,