And had most piously drawn in
Poor Ned and all his nearest kin.
The greedy fools laid out their gold,
And bought the very stock he sold ;
Thus the kind knave convey'd their pelf,
By hocus pocus, to himself;

And, to secure the spoils he got,
Form'd this contrivance of the pot.
Here every night and every morn,
Devout as any monk new shorn,
The prostrate hypocrite implores
Just Heaven to bless his hidden stores:
But when he saw dear mammon flown,
The plunder'd hive, the honey gone,
No jilted bully, no bilk'd hack,
No thief when beadles flay his back,
No losing rook, no carted whore,
No sailor when the billows roar,

With such a grace e'er cursed and swore:
Then as he pored upon the ground,
And turn'd his haggard eyes around,

The halter at his feet he spied,

And is this all that's left? (he cried)
Am I thus paid for all my cares,
My lectures, repetitions, prayers?
"Tis well-there's something saved at least,
Welcome, thou faithful friendly guest;

If I must hang, now all is lost,
'Tis cheaper at another's cost;
To do it at my own expense
Would be downright extravagance.'
Thus comforted, without a tear
He fix'd the noose beneath his ear,
To the next bough the rope he tied
And most heroically died.

Ned, who behind a spreading tree
Beheld this tragi-comedy,
With hearty curses rung his knell,
And bid him thus his last farewell:
• Was it not, uncle, very kind
In me to leave the rope behind?
A legacy so well bestow'd,
For all the gratitude I owed.
Adieu, Sir Tim; by Heaven's decree
Soon may thy brethren follow thee,
In the same glorious manner swing,
Without one friend to cut the string;
That hence rapacious knaves may know,
Justice is always sure, though slow.'

A PADLOCK FOR THE MOUTH.

JACK DIMPLE was a merry blade,
Young, amorous, witty, and well made;
'Discreet?'-Hold, sir,-nay, as I live,
My friend, you're too inquisitive:
Discretion, all men must agree,
Is a most shining quality,

Which, like leaf-gold, makes a great show,
And thinly spread, sets off a beau:

But, sir, to put you out of pain,
Our younker had not half a grain;
A leaky blab, rash, faithless, vain.
The victories his eyes had won,
As soon as ere obtain'd, were known;
For trophies rear'd the deed proclaim,
Spoils hung on high expose the dame,
And love is sacrificed to fame.

Such insolence the sex alarms,

The female world is up in arms;
The' outrageous bacchanals combine,
And brandish'd tongues in concert join.
Unhappy youth! where wilt thou go
To' escape so terrible a foe?

Seek shelter on the Libyan shore,
Where tigers and where lions roar?
Sleep on the borders of the Nile,
And trust the wily crocodile?
'Tis vain to shun a woman's hate,
Heavy the blow, and sure as fate.
Phyllis appear'd among the crowd,
But not so talkative and loud,
With silence and with care suppress'd
The glowing vengeance in her breast,
Resolved by stratagem and art
To make the saucy villain smart.
The cunning baggage had prepared
Pomatum of the finest lard,

With strong astringents mix'd the mess,
Alum, and vitriol, q. s.

Arsenic, and bole: but I want time

To turn all Quincy into rhyme;

"Twould make my diction too sublime.
Her grandame this receipt had taught,
Which Bendo from Grand Cairo brought,
An able styptic (as 'tis said)

To soder a crack'd maidenhead.
This ointment being duly made,
The jilt upon her toilet laid:

The sauntering cully soon appears,
As usual, vows, protests, and swears;

Careless an opera-tune he hums,

Plunders her patchbox, breaks her combs.

As up and down the monkey play'd,
His hand upon the box he laid,

The fatal box pleased with her wiles,
The treacherous Pandora smiles.

'What's this?' cries Jack.-'That box! (says she) Pomatum; what else should it be?'

But here 'tis fit my reader knows

'Twas March, when blustering Boreas blows,
Stern enemy to belles and beaux.

His lips were sore; rough, pointed, torn,
The coral bristled like a thorn.
Pleased with a cure so apropos,
Nor jealous of so fair a foe,

The healing ointment thick he spread,
And every gaping cranny fed.

His chops begin to glow and shoot;

He strove to speak, but, oh! was mute,
Mute as a fish: all he could strain,

Were some hoarse gutturals forced with pain.
He stamps, he raves, he sobs, he sighs,
The tears ran trickling from his eyes;
He thought but could not speak a curse;
His lips were drawn into a purse.
Madam no longer could contain,
Triumphant joy bursts out amain;

She laughs, she screams, the house is raised,
Through all the street the' affair is blazed:
In shoals now all the neighbours come,
Laugh out, and press into the room.
Sir Harry Tawdry and his bride,
Miss Tulip, deck'd in all her pride;
Wise madam Froth, and widow Babble,
Coquettes and prudes, a mighty rabble :
So great a concourse ne'er was known
At Smithfield, when a monster's shown,

When bears dance jigs with comely mien,
When witty Punch adorns the scene,
Or frolic Pug plays Harlequin.

In vain he strives to hide his head,
In vain he creeps behind the bed,
Ferreted thence, exposed to view,
The crowd their clamorous shouts renew:
A thousand taunts, a thousand jeers,
Stark dumb, the passive creature hears.
No perjur'd villain nail'd on high,
And pelted in the pillory,

His face besmear'd, his eyes, his chops,
With rotten eggs and turnip-tops,
Was ere so maul'd. Phyllis, at last,
To pay him for offences past,
With sneering malice in her face
Thus spoke, and gave the coup de grace:
'Lard! how demure and how precise
He looks; silence becomes the wise.
Vile tongue! its master to betray,
But now the prisoner must obey,
I've lock'd the door, and keep the key.
Learn hence, what angry woman can,
When wrong'd by that false traitor, man;
Who boasts our favours, soon or late
The treacherous blab shall feel our hate.'

THE WISE BUILDER.

WISE Socrates had built a farm,
Little, convenient, snug, and warm,
Secured from rain and wind:
A gallant whisper'd in his ear,
'Shall the great Socrates live here,
To this mean cell confined?'.