Say, you the healing art effay'd,
And piddled in the doctor's trade;
At least you'd earn us good provisions,
And better this than scribbling visions.
A due regard to me, or self,

Wou'd always make you dream of pelf;
And when you dreamt your nights away,
You'd realize your dreams by day.

Hence far fuperior gains wou'd rife,
And I be fat and you be wife.

But, Madge, tho' I applaud your scheme,
You'd wish my patients still to dream!

Waking they'd laugh at my vocation,

Or disapprove my education;

And they deteft

your

folemn hob,

Or take me for profeffor L

Equipt with powder and with pill,

He takes his licence out to kill.

Practis'd in all a doctor's airs,

To Batfon's fenate he repairs,

Drefs'd in his flowing wig of knowledge,
To greet his brethren of the college;

Takes

Takes up the papers of the day,
Perhaps for want of what to fay;
Thro' ev'ry column he pursues,
Alike advertisements and news;

O'er lifts of cures with rapture runs,
Wrought by Apollo's natural fons;
Admires the rich Hibernian stock
Of doctors, Henry, Ward, and Rock.
He dwells on each illuftrious name,
And fighs at once for fees and fame.
Now, like the doctors of to-day,
Retains his puffers too in pay.
Around his reputation flew,

His practice with his credit grew.
At length the court receives the fage,
And lordlings in his caufe engage.

He dupes, befide plebeian fowls,

The whole nobility of owls.

Thus ev'ry where he gains renown,

And fills his purfe, and thins the town.

Addreffed to a young LADY, whofe favourite Bird was almoft killed by a fall from her Finger.

A

S Tiney, in a wanton mood,

Upon his Lucy's finger stood,

Ambitious to be free;

With breaft elate he eager tries,

By flight to reach the distant skies,
And gain his liberty.

Ah! luckless bird, what tho' carefs'd,
And fondled in the fair one's breaft,

Taught e'en by her to fing;

Know that to check thy temper wild,
And make thy manners soft and mild,
Thy mistress cut thy wing.

The feather'd tribe, who cleave the air,
Their weights by equal plumage bear,

And quick escape our pow'r;

Not fo with Tiney, dear delight,

His fhorten'd wing reprefs'd his flight,

And threw him on the floor.

Stunn'd

Stunn'd with the fall, he feem'd to die,

For quickly clos'd his sparkling eye,

Scarce heav'd his pretty breaft;

Alarmed for her favourite care,

Lucy affumes a penfive air,

And is at heart diftreft.

The ftoic foul, in gravest strain,

May call these feelings light and vain,

Which thus from fondness flow;

Yet, if the bard arightly deems,

'Tis nature's fount which feeds the ftreams That pureft joys bestow.

So, fhou'd it be fair Lucy's fate,

Whene'er fhe wills a change of state,

To boast a mother's name;

These feelings then, thou charming maid,
In brighteft lines fhall be display'd,

And praise uncenfur'd claim.

RIDDLES.

RIDDLE S.

F

ROM the dark caverns of the earth

Our family derive their birth;

By nature we appear to view
A rugged and a stubborn crew.
But Vulcan's brawny fons, by art,
Soften the hardness of our heart;
Give to a flender shape its grace,
And a bright polish to our face.

Thus education makes us mild,

Pliant and ductile as a child.

Survey the attire of man, you'll trace Our friendship for the human race.

We love mankind, indeed we do,

Our actions prove our fpeeches true.
But what is wondrous ftrange to name,

The aged female is our flame.

When