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ON THE SAME.

I.

WHEN Wit and Genius meet their doom

In all-devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,

And bid us fear the same.

II.

O'er Murray's loss the muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,

Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept

His sacred head from harm.

III.

There mem'ry, like the bee, that's fed

From Flora's balmy, store,

The quintessence of all he road

Had treasur'd up before.

IV.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong;

The flow'rs are gone-but still we find The honey on his tongue.

THE

LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED

OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED."

THUS says the prophet of the Turk-
Good musselman, abstain from pork;

There is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
Upon pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.

Much controversy straight arose,

These choose the back, the belly those;

By some 'tis confidently said

He meant not to forbid the head;

While others at that doctrine rail,

And piously prefer the tail.

Thus conscience freed from ev'ry clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.

You laugh-'tis well-The tale applied, May make you laugh on t'other side, Renounce the world-the preacher cries; We do a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards;
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;

Some love a concert or a race;
And others shooting, and the chace,
Revil'd and lov'd, renounc'd and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he :

With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON

THE DEATH OF

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S

BULFINCH.

YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed
O share Maria's grief!
Her fav'rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage ?)
Assassin'd by a thief.

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Where Rhenus strays his vines among,

The egg was laid from which he sprung;

And, though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,

Well taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flagelet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies
When piping winds shall soon arise
To sweep away the dew

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smooth-shaven wood,
Large built and lattic'd well.

Well lattic'd-but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peal'd and dried,
The swains their baskets inake.

Night veil'd the pole; all secm'd secure,
When led by instinct, sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,

A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,
And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent'ring at the study door
Its ample area 'gan explore:

And something in the wind

Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seem'd to view

A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah muse! forbear to speak

Minute the horrors that ensu’d;

His teeth were strong, the cage was wood—
He left poor Bully's beak.

O had he made that too his prey;
That beak, whence issu'd many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.

Maria weeps the muses mourn-
So when by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracean Hebrus' side,
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
His head alone remain'd to tell
The cruel death he died.

THE ROSE.

The Rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r

Which Mary to Anna convey'd,

The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

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