Alas! they were dished, unrepining they fell,
And too poor for a coffin, each had but a shell!

THE BLUE RIBBON.

On Sir Robert Walpole's being translated from the Order of the Bath to that of the Garter.

Sir Robert, his merit and interest to shew,

Pulls off the red ribbon, and puts on the blue :
To two strings already the knight's been preferr'd ;
Odd numbers are lucky,- -I wish him a third.

ON HEAVENLY LOVE.

On our Saviour's answer, thut in heaven-“ neque nubent, neque

nubentur

Plurimus in cœlis amor est, connubia nulla;
Conjugia in terris plurima, nullus amor.

Owen's Epigrams, lib. ii. p. 208.

Translation.

In Heaven, they love, but do not marry;
On earth, we wed ;-our dreams of love miscarry.

LINES

Worked on a Hearth-rug.

Fair one, take heed how you advance,
Nor tempt your own undoing:
If you're too forward, fearful chance!
A spark may prove your ruin.

* They neither marry nor are given in marriage.

INVITATION TO TEA.

A Young lady named Taswell returned the annexed reply to an invitation to "Teu and Cards."

Your kind invitation I hail'd with much glee,

Will be true to the hour, ne'er doubt it;
Play a rubber at whist; but as for the T,
I should surely be AS-WELL without it.

LATIN-ENGLISH VERSES.

(Copied from an ancient AIS.)

There was a man, whose name was semper idem
And by his trade he was mercator quidem,
He had a wife, who was not tall nor brevis,
But by her actions she was counted levis,
He, to content her, gave her all things satis :
She, to requite him, made him a cuckold gratis.

THE RETORT COURTEOUS.

Robert complained in bitter terms one day,
That John had ta'en his character away.

"I take your character," said John-" why zounds I would not have it for ten thousand pounds!"

A CLOWN'S REPLY.

John Trot was desired by two witty peers,
To tell them the reason why asses had ears.

An't please you,' quoth John, I'm not given to letters,

Nor dare I pretend to know, more than my betters ; Howe'er for this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hop'd to be sav'd, without thinking on asses.'

Goldsmith.

ON A GIANT ANGLING.

His angle-rod, made of a sturdy oak,
His line a cable, which in storms ne'er broke ;
His hook he baited with a dragon's tail,
And sat upon a rock, and bobb'd for whale.

A CURE FOR LOVE.

"You who to raging pains give ready ease, Who have a remedy for each disease,

Who with choice salves the deadliest wounds can

heal,

One secret of your art to me reveal

'Mongst your Receipts, which so successful prove,
I find no remedy prescribed for Love:
That's a distemper, sure, above all art,

Physic nor herbs can reach the Lover's heart.
No, my dear maid, I see 'tis all in vain,
To seek with healing salves to ease my pain,
But 'tis in you my remedy is found,

For you can only heal, who gave the wound."

ON PETER WILSON, WHO WAS Drowned.

Peter was in the ocean drowned,

A careless, hapless creature!

And when his lifeless trunk was found,

It was become salt-Peter!

ON SIR WALTER SCOTT'S POEM OF WATERLOO,

By Lord Erskine.

On Waterloo's ensanguin'd plain,
Full many a gallant man lies slain ;
But none by bullet, or by shot,
Fell half so flat as WALTER SCOTT.

ON A FAT GENTLEMAN OF OXFORD.

When T

walks the streets, the paviors cry,

"God bless you, Sir !" and lay their rammers by.

ON SUICIDE.

From Martial.

When Fate in angry mood has frown'd,
And gather'd all her storms around,
The sturdy Romans cry,

The great who'd be releas'd from pain,
Fall on his sword, or opes a vein,
And barely dares to die.

But know beneath life's heavy load,
In sharp affliction's thorny road,

'Midst thousand ills that grieve;
Where dangers threaten, cares infest,
Where friends forsake and foes molest,
'Tis braver far to live.

LOSS OF TEMPER.

Says Jack to Will, the other night,
'My wife has lost her temper quite.'
Says Will to Jack, 'how glad I'd be,
Were such at home the case with me.'

SHERIDAN AND HIS SON.

A father and son, much addicted to drink,
Sat each quaffing his grog with high glee;
Said the parent,
Why, Tom, thou dost drink

66

mighty deep,

Tho' you'll say that you take after me."

"No, father," cried Tom, "I will never say so,
Nor do so, I hope, by St. Paul;

For 'tis certain that if I did take after you, *
I should drink scarcely any at all!”

THE CREDITOR OUTWITTEd.

So 'twould please you, dear Emma, instead of your cash,

Which is all gone and spent, to take five pounds of

flesh,

Selecting, like Shylock, that soft tender part,

Those five precious pounds that lie next to my heart.

Be it so-but, before you begin, I make known, That instead of my flesh, you must cut off your

own;