They are always found together,
Love and Folly at his side.

THE CHANGEABLE FAIR ONE.

By the same.

If Clara changes, wherefore make a pother ?
She is inconstant not without a plan;
For, if she lives with this, and now with t'other,
No doubt she's looking for a constant man.

DEFENDER OF THE FAITH.

By the same.

DEFENDER of the Faith! the sage must smile,
And sceptic sneer, who hears the pious style.
Defender of the Truth! a style would be
Fit for a king, whose subjects all were free:
But many a royal race shall long have ceased,
E'er such a title's granted by a priest.

EXTEMPORE ON THE LATE PLOUGHBOY POET.

BLOOMFIELD has wove his wreath from Nature's loom,

His work's a harvest and a field of bloom.

REASON FOR CIVILITY.

Jack for a scolding master held the light,

When Tom declar'd his friend was far too civil: Jack smartly cried-" You must allow I'm right Sometimes to hold the candle to the devil !"

ON HEARING THAT SMALL BEER WAS RAISED.

By Thomus Pett, the Miser.

They've raised the price of table drink;
What is the reason, do you think?
The tax on malt, the cause I hear :
But what has malt to do with table-beer?

IMPROMPTU OF MISS CLARA FISHer.

At Fisher astonish'd the people all gaz'd,
" 'Twas wonderful!" still they kept saying;
For my part, I own, I was not much amaz'd
At seeing a little girl playing.

ORIGIN OF A PEN.

Love begg'd and pray'd old Time to stay,
While he and Psyche toy'd together;
Love held his wings-Time tore away,
But in the scuffle dropt a feather.

Love seized the prize, and with his dart Adroitly work'd to trim and shape it, "O, Psyche though 'tis pain to part, "This charm shall make us half escape it.

"Time need not fear to fly too slow,

"When he this useful loss discovers;

"A pen's the only plume I know,

"That wings her pace for absent lovers."

TO A LADY,

Who said that she only liked to sing to her intimate Friends. Had I foster'd a rose, the most fragrant and fair, By Nature embellished, by culture improv'd, I could wish that its fragrance might sweeten the air,

Though I rear'd it alone for the bosom I lov'd.

ON BENJAMIN STOKES, AN ATTORNEY.

The following epigram was written about sixty years ago, on a shabby country pettifogger, long since dead:

When Ben first squeaked, two veterans of the law
Stood sponsors, and his future fame foresaw.
Rightly conceiving lustre would be thrown
Upon his name, each wished to give his own.
"His name is Stiles," says one-" You lie," cries

t'other,

"His name is Nokes."-" Stiles, I say, d-me brother,"

"Dear friends, compound the matter," says the

devil,

"I'll fit you both, provided you are civil;

My right to interfere from hence you'll gather,
You're but his uncles, Sirs, but I'm his father.
Take part of Stiles, and part of Nokes,
And call the happy composition-STOKES."

ON MONEY.

Money 'tis said, is evil's root,

Yet justly we may doubt it ;

Who can expect good thriving fruit
From any stock without it?

THE EMPTY PURSE.

Can man sustain a greater curse,
Than to possess an empty purse ?
Yes with abundance to be blest,
And not enjoy the power to taste.

ON A WINDOW, AT AN INN IN WALES.

Nov. 23d, 1800, Mr. B. stopped the night.

In Scripture we're told,

That Joshua of old,

Stopt the day while he thrashed the Philistines;
Mr. B. stopped the night!

And put Wales in a fright,
While he staid-to refresh his intestines.

ON STARING.

Cries Numps to Will, a friend of Dicks,
66 Zounds, Sir, don't stare at me."
Quoth Richard, " Peace! he's apt to fix
His eye on vacancy.”

THE SAILOR'S BALLAST.

Ben hired a nag, but 'twould stumble of course, And by falling endanger poor Ben

;

Aye, and over her bows, sir, this crazy old horse Would unship, and unship him again.

"Vast! there's nothing like ballast," said Backstay, and laughed,

So he tied to the tail of his steed
A bushel of pebbles to trim her abaft,
And prevent her from pitching ahead.

THE PARSON AND PHYSICIAN.

How D. D. swaggers, M. D. rolls!
I deem them both a brace of noddies;
Old D. D. has the cure of souls,

And M. D. has the care of bodies.

Between them both what treatment rare,
Our souls and bodies must endure
One has the cure without the care,
And one the care without the cure.

LODGINGS TO LET.

As two men of Oxford were walking together, With their mouths full of jokes, and their hearts light as feather,

A paper by chance on a window was set,
And inscribed thereupon, "This house to be let."

They rapp'd at the door, and out came the maid, Who, seeing two gownsmen, felt rather afraid : "Are you to be let with this house, pray?" cried

one;

"No, sir (she replied) I'm to be let alone.”