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Lord! how the chattering tribe admire,
Not that he's wiser, but he's higher:
All long to try the vent'rous thing,
(For powers but to have one's swing,)
From side to side he springs, he spurns,
And bangs his foes and friends by turns.
Thus as in giddy freaks he bounces,
Crack goes the twig, and in he flounces:
Down the swift stream the wretch is born,
Never-Ah never to return!

ds what a fall had our dear brother,
Morblew! Cries one, and damme! t'other.
The nations give a general screech,

None cocks his tail, none claws his breech :
Each trembles for the public weal,

And for a while forgets to steal.
A while all eyes intent and steady,
Pursue him whirling down the eddy;
But, out of mind, when out of view,
Some other mounts the twig a-new.
And business on each monkey shore,
Runs the same track it went before.

The celebrated author of the Dissertation on Dumpling seems to have forgot one material embellishment to his elaborate essay, which he is desired to prefix to his next edition, by way of appendix.

When as King Henry rul'd this land,

He ruled like a King,

He stole three pecks of barley meal,
To make a bag pudding.

A bag pudding this King did make,
And stuff'd it full of plumbs,

With gobs of suet put therein,

As big as both my thumbs.

The King and Queen did eat full sore,

The nobles eke beside,

And what that night they cou'dn't devour,

Next morning it was fry'd.

N. B. This was taken from a manuscript in the Cotton Library, and is set to music by the learned Count Heydaker, to be sung in Masquerade on Seigniora Faustina's benefit night.

On the Death of Dr. Young.

Hic saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere.

Ah, fatal hour! at last we must resign;
Farewell, blest Poet, Satyrist, Divine!
For ever shall remain thy sacred name,
Nor envy's tongue pollute thy spotless fame.
From this sad world thy blessed soul is flown,
To live in regions properly its own;
Immortal glories all thy time employ,

Eternal pleasures, everlasting joy.

Methinks I hear thee tune thy pleasing lyre

In that blest place, where angels lead the choir.

Hail, happy saint! thine is eternal day,
When this low world shall pass with time away.
Lo! holy angels sing with one accord,
Welcome good shepherd, meet thy gracious Lord.

CLERICUS.

Last week the following new invented politic scheme for getting a dram, was practised upon a grocer on the Blind Quay. A woman desired a quart of brandy might be put into a bottle which she brought with her; but on trial there being

near half a pint more than it would hold, she drank the overplus, and pretending business a little farther, left the bottle in the shop till her return, when she was to pay for the quart, which for prudential reasons, no doubt, she has postponed, having not as yet made her second appearance; and the bottle on examination was found to be a cracked one.

An Elegy written in Bartholomew Fair.

Dull is the scene of ancient feats of wit,
Where mimic mirth its gambols play'd around;
And dull the place where many a vacant cit

An hour's relief from care and business found.

Flockton no more shall dance his puppet ring,

The swagg'ring giant fill the room no more, No more the monkey on the rope shall swing, Nor grin portentous at the ale-house door.

The round-about its wheel no more shall ply, (Sure emblem of the giddy round of life) Nor Andrew's self his merry tricks shall try

To raise amid the crowd the curious strife.

Old Momus' sons, and Thespis' merry boys,

In joint exclusion curse their wayward doom;
"Genius," they cry, "must yield to gilded toys,
And wit to plums and apples must give room!"

And now, so City Magistrates ordain,

In oysters may we spend our sober pence,
Or eat the sausage on th' extended plain !—
Alas! that City Magistrates have sense!

M.

Anecdote. When James the Second attempted to introduce the Roman Catholic religion and arbitrary power into Great Britain, he had an army encamped on Hounslow Heath to terrify the people. Seven bishops were seized upon and sent to the Tower; but they appealed to the laws of their country, and were set at liberty. When this news reached the camp, the shouts of joy were so great that they re-echoed in the Royal Palace. This, however, did not quite convince the king of the aversion of the soldiers to be the instruments of oppression against their fellow subjects; he, therefore, made another trial, he ordered the guards to be drawn up, and the word was given, that those who did not choose to support the king's measures should ground their arms. When, behold, to his utter confusion, and their eternal honour-the whole body grounded their

arms.

A grave writer on the laws of England says, that "when a Jury of Matrons is impannelled, the fore-man ought to be a woman of known and good repute !"

The underwritten Lines are copied from the original will of the late Nathaniel Lloyd, Esq. who died a few weeks since at his seat at Twickenham, in Middlesex, by inserting which you will oblige your constant reader, TOM TELL-TRUTH.

What I am going to bequeath,

When this frail part submits to death;

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But still I hope the spark divine,
With its congenial stars shall shine;
My good executors fulfil,

I pray ye, fairly my last will,
With first and second codicil!

And first I give to dear Lord Hinton,
At Twyford school now, not at Winton,
One hundred guineas for a ring,

Or some such memorandum thing;
And truly much I should have blund'red,
Had I not given another hundred

To Vere, Earl Poulett's second son,
Who dearly loves a little fun.

Unto my nephew, Robert Longdon,
Of whom none says he e'er has wrong done,
Tho' civil law he loves to hash,

I give two hundred pounds in cash.

One hundred pounds to my niece Tuder, (With loving eyes one Matthew view'd her) And to her children just among 'em,

A hundred more, and not to wrong

In equal shares I freely give it,

'em,

Not doubting but they will receive it.

To Sally Crouch and Mary Lee,

If they with Lady Poulett be;

Because they round the year did dwell
In Twick'nham-house, and serv'd full well,
When lord and lady both did stray,
Over the hills and far away;

The first ten pounds, the other twenty,
And, girls, I hope that will content ye.
In seventeen hundred sixty-nine,
This with my hand I write and sign;
The sixteenth day of fair October,
In merry mood, but sound and sober,

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