Or chaunt with plaintive pigs th' expreffive fong,
Or range the turnip-yielding vale along,
Give ear; nor let my verfe in vain be tried
To fave the fertile garden's ufeful pride.
Let not strong grains thy fenfes difcompofe,
Which give an undue freedom to the toes;
Though fancy tempts, nip not the fprouting greens,
And fpare, the lovely crop of peafe and beans:
Revel fecure; be cautious ere you dine,
Nor banquet upon lettuce, plant divine!
Nor rathly through the brittle glaffes peep
To view where cucumbers all flily creep,
Nor yet the ample cauliflower bite,
Nor thriving 'fparagus, nor endive white;
Then, when you raife the breakfast-craving ftrain,
May bran and skimmings quickly eafe your pain;
Or, when repos'd beneath the pig-stye fhade,
May no unwelcome foot thy rest invade;
May thistles ne'er thy peace of mind destroy,
But balmy cabbage-ftalks afford thee joy;
And no rude mouths engage in hungry fight,
When verdant pea-fhells yield thee pure delight.
'Tis mine to comfort thee in fad difgrace;
I bear, like thee, a rueful length of face;
Penn'd up in difmal thoughts, I much repine,
Forfake all company, and taste no wine:
Phoebe, thy miftrefs, that too cruel fair,
Slights all my pains, nor thinks me worth her care ;
Ah! would the gracious to my hopes reply,
And crown me poet of the tuneful ye!"
Who all the various changes can presage,
That influence the breast in early age?
What ftruggles in his fair-one's bofom rofe
The fage hiftorian leaves us to fuppofe :
Suffice it, that thefe lines of comfort came
To raise his tranfport, and to feed his flame:
"O youth! that fing'ft of pigs fo wondrous fine, The litter echo thy melodious line;
To charms averfe where brighter beauties move,
If thy weak choice an artless maid approve,
Who with kind parents takes a duteous part,
Accept of them a welcome from the heart;
And if a journey here be worth thy toil, w
Phoebe fhall lend thee a confenting fmile,"
They wed, were happy;t was an equal flame ;-
In time, the Pig of mighty fize became,
His tides, on rafters hung of chimney vaft,
Oft gave the thought a pang, the mouth a tafte
Till in one plenteous year of peafe 't was heard
His highly flavour'd limbs all difappear'd
And Farmer Dobfon, when long nights prevail,'
Speaks of his merit o'er a mug of ale.tv
THE IMPORTANCE OF FIVE MINUTES, A PROSE STORY VERSIFIED, WITH ADDITIONS. [From the General Evening Poft.]
AT the court of king Francis the First, we are told,
To crack jokes on a lord his buffoon had made hold,
Who fwore by his wife, (let us hope by a good one,)
He'd cut off the head of 'king Francis Jack Pudding.
The buffoon told the king what his lordship had said,
As he firmly believ'd he would cut off his head:
6 Ay, ay," faid the king, between anger and laughter,
"If he does, Jack, I'll hang him up five minutes after."
"You'd oblige me, great Sire," faid the jefter, "much
If you'd hang up his lordship five minutes before!"
THE CHURCHLESS STEEPLE.
[From the Morning Chronicle.]
WHERE'ER a Steeple rofe, full well,
Of old, all knew a Church was there:
There pulpit, altar, font, and bell
That call'd the parish round to pray?r.
Folks now for innovations search,
This Hackney proves-whofe wayward people
Their Steeple left without a Church,
And built a Church without a Steeple.
WHICH IS THE MAN?
WRITTEN BY A+ BABY.
IF there's a man in heart and tongue fincere,
To virtue faithful, and in judgment clear;
Gay, without folly; learn'd, without the fhow 3
Unlike the floven, more unlike the beau ;
Amidt whofe manly features are express'd
The foft emotions of the tender breaft;
To him my freedom gladly I'd refign,
His joys, his forrows, only should be mine.`
THE QUESTION:-AN EPIGRAM.
WHAT's bonefly?" th' Attorney cried,
"What good will it return you?"-
"What's that to you?" the Prieft replied;
I'm fure it don't concern you!"
QWHAT means the word: Entire" at porter-shops ▸ A. Ewire Mundungus, free from malt and hops.
COM AN EPIGRAM.
IMITATED FROM BUCHANAN.
HOW hard's my fate!" a coxcomb cried;
Though good my perfort, fhape, and air,
Oft as I wish to take a bride,
A rival comes, and weds the fair."
"Yet," anfwer'd Stella, "I can prove
Where, unoppos'd, you daily fue
With your own perfon you're in love,
And, troth, without a rival too..
THE FINANCIERW
(From the Morning Poft W
IN theoretic pomp hear Ptty fpeak,
Exhaufting all His metaphyfic fore:-
The boy perhaps may know a little Greek,
But is he certain two and two make four ?
TRANSLATION OF A DUTCH INAUGURATION
WRITTEN BY P. VONDERMAKER, POET-LAUREAT TO HIS BATAVIAN MAJESTY.
BATAVIANS! skip like frogs,
In meadows, towns, and bogs
Be alive, ye heavy dogs!
Fiddlers! fet your tharms a thrumming-
Lo! King Louis now is coming,
In the clouds of the night,
'Midst a blaze of torch-light.
See! the hero advances
To the House in the Wood,
Like a Prince of royal blood,
As each brother, no doubt, of the ruler of France is!
You must own 't is very kind,
(Since poor Schimmelpenninck's blind,).
Of the Emperor to fend
His dear brother and friend,
Our freedom to defend,
And to fretting and faction at once put an end.
Encore, boys! encore!
Young Louis' praises fing,
Of Batavia the new King,
As loud as ye can roar :
Let Amfterdam rejoice,
And Rotterdam be glad
Applaud the Emp'ror's choice,
Who fent us fuch a lad!
He'll make our trade flourish in fpite of our foes,
And we'll juggle,
And fmuggleh dita mocīt
Juft under their nofe.
To add to our joys,
Large orders for toys
From Paris your daily receive, too,
"If daily receive, too, my boys!
Then down with hypocrify,
Down with democracy,
And aristocracy,
Thofe Hateful things
Swear love and loyalty›
Henceforth to Royalty
Long live young Louis, the first of Dutch Kings!!
HEALTH OF THEIR NEW KING, ON THE PLEA OF THEIR NOT BEING THIRSTY.
WE are not thirsty,” Dutchmen cry:-
Not thirty! Gad, you 're very dry!
ANECDOTE OF M. DE VOLTAIRE,
·VERSIFIED BY MRS. Č.
VOLTAIRE with fome wits at a dinner was feated,
And thought with a clafical feaft to be treated;
But how great his chagrin, to hear at this meeting
Not a fentence nor fyllable worthy repeating:
Being afk'd the next day if old Be did not shine,
He replied, nothing good came from him but the wine.
AFTER THE LATIN OF FRANCIS PANIGAROLA.
BY OLD NICKq »itund t
My heart imprison'd, you deny
It freedom for a minute;
And then-you mile-O, may I die,
But there's no justice infit.au LA.
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