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O Thou whose visionary bills unpaid,

Long as thy measure, o'er my slumber stream; Whose goose, hot hissing through the midnight

shade, Disturbs the transport of each softer dream! Why do imaginary needles wound?

Why do thy shears cut short my fleeting joys? Oh! why, emerging from thy hell profound,

The ghost of shreds and patches, awful rise? Once more look up, nor droop thy hanging head;

The liberal linings of that breast unfold ; Be smiles, far brighter than thy buttons, spread;

And nobly scorn the vulgar lust of gold.

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Though doom'd by Fortune, since remotest time,

No meaner coin of moderate date to use, Lo! I can well reward with sterling rhyme,

Stamp'd by the sacred mintage of the Muse.

Why mourn thy folly, why deplore thy fate,

Why call on every Power in sore dismay? Thy warmest orisons, alas! are late :

Reflect-didst thou e'er know a poet pay?

Vain from thy shopboard the eternal sigh;

Vain thy devotions from that sable shrine: Can guineas from the vacant pocket fly?

Can sorrow fill this empty purse of mine?

Ah me! so long with dire consumption pined,

When shall that purse ill omen'd proudly swell Full as the sail that holds the favouring wind ?

Mysterious ministers of Money, tell! Fond man! while pausing o'er that gloomy page

That tells thee what thou art in terms too plain, O'er the capacious ledger lose thy rage,

Nor of unsettled debts again be vain. There lords and dukes and mighty princes lie,

Nor on them canst thou for prompt payment call. Why starts the big drop in thine anguish'd eye!

One honest genuine bard is worth them all. A common garment such as mortals wear

(Dull sons of clay, the ready price who give), Thou madest, and lo! it lasted one short year;

But in my garment thou shalt ever live. Time ne'er shall rip one consecrated seam

Of cloth, from Fancy's loom all superfine; Nor shall I cruel haunt thy softer dream,

E'en when I dress thee in a suit divine.

Let sage philosophy thy soul inform

With strength heroic every ill to bear: Not better broadcloth braves the angry storm;

And constant patience is delightful wear. Be patient then, and wise, nor meanly shrink

Beneath Despondency's tumultuous blast: The reckoning day may come when least you think, A joyful day, though miracles are pass’d.



TIZZY; OR JUDICIOUS PRECAUTION. COLONEL Patrick O'Blarney, as honest a teague As ever took snuff to repel pest or plague, Having got a French snuff-box of papier machée, Which to open required much pains, do you see, Always kept a bent sixpence at hand in his

pocket, And call'd it his key by the which to unlock it; As, by niggling and wedging it under the lid, He came at his rappee, which was under it hid. But one day, when he wanted a pinch for a friend, He search'd for his tester, but all to no end, Till at last’twixt the pocket and lining he found it; When in rage he cried, ‘Arrah, the devil con

found it ! I'll engage you don't serve me the same trick again, For to make me be after thus hunting in vain.' So opening the lid by the help of the tizzy, And feaking nose till his noddle grew dizzy, He chuck'd in the coin, and exclaim’d, with a shrug,

[snug! While right went the rim down, “So there you lie And, my hide and seek friend, I beg leave to re

[find you.' That the next time I want ye I'll know where to


mind you,


WHEN Euclio a snug fuddle chose,

For want of better conversation, His man was call’d (the story goes)

To share a tête-à-tête potation.


By the mere force of grave hob-noh,

Bumpers flew faster still and faster; 'Master, my service!~ Thank ye, Bob!—

Here's to ye, Robert!—Thank ye, master! Such business, follow'd up so close,

Soon brought them to the end o'the tether; They pass'd their day; they took their dose;

Stared, stutter'd, stagger’d, snored together. Thus bout, at home, succeeded bout;

For there was no restraint before 'em; But when occasion call’d them out,

'Twas proper to preserve decorum: And therefore they agreed to make

A bona fide stipulation,
Strict turn and turn, abroad, to take,

One drunk, one sober, in rotation,
The first day was the master's right,

And each perform'd the part decreed him; The squire was reeling ripe by night,

And Robert cool enough to lead him. Soon after, Robert's day came round,

When to a neighbouring peer's they sallied; Whose tap so free, whose ale so sound,

With Robert's taste exactly tallied :But in the pith of all his pride,

A summons from his master caught him, Who took him cunningly aside,

And thus in soothing style besought him : • Robert, I've had my day, I know;

And this, I know, to thee is due for't; But wouldst thou now thy claim forego,

Hereafter I'll allow thee two for't.'

« 'Tis hard,' quoth Robert,“ to deny,

And from my soul I pity you, sir; But what you ask is more than I,

"Tis more than fate itself can do, sir. " Though mild as mother's milk it be,

His lordship’s stingo's wondrous heady :The day is three parts spent, you see, And I am three parts gone already!




Addressed to a Girl in the Temple.


WHILE the calescent sanguine flood,
By vile Vulgarity call'd blood,

Pervades this mortal frame;
Amazed at your translucid charms,
You I solicit to these arms,

Though of procacious name!
When in your dim nocturnal rounds,
Erratic from the Temple's bounds

Through devious lanes you stray,
With friendly auscultation deign
To audit amatorial pain

Subvected in this lay.

Satellite of the Paphian dame,
Whose rays, though darken'd by thy fame,

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