About the second year of the late King's reign, a man of the name of George King was convicted in Dublin of a capital felony. He drew up a memorial to the King, which he forwarded with the following

lines.

George King to King George sends his humble petition,

Hoping King George will pity poor George King's condition;

If King George to George King will grant a long

day,

George King for King George for ever will pray.

The man was pardoned.

ON THE MARRIAGES OF LADY HOWE, and
LADY SLIGO.

By Lord Cranley.

"To Hymen," says Sligo,

My sister and I

go,

We've tried the blind god both already;
Master Phipps she has got,

So I'll take Billy Scott,

And to Hymen we'll always prove steady.

If we don't agree,

*

Phipps will make us all see,

How to live in affection and ease;
And when tired of our lot,

Little big-bellied Scott †

Will divorce us whenever we please.

* Mr. Phipps was an oculist. On his marriage with the Baroness Howe, he changed his name to Sir Watkin Waller,

In Doctors' Commons, where Sir Wm. Scott presided.

ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

"Some demon, sure," says wond'ring Ned, "In Newton's brain has fix'd his station!" "True," Dick replies, "you've rightly said, "I know his name, 'tis demonstration."

TO A LADY WHO ASKED WHY LOVE WAS BLIND.

You bid me tell why Love is blind.
The cause I readily can find ;

For, lady, I can clearly prove

That you have stole the eyes of Love.

ON WOMAN.

The fairest flower in nature's garden plac'd,
Is beauteous woman when with virtue grac'd :
But when fierce passions rule the female mind,
No laws control, no human dictates bind ;
On wild desires her frantic love is built,
Crime follows crime, till murder crowns her guilt.

A PAIR OF PLAGUES.

Between Love and Gout, Sir,
What miseries men find!

For Gout makes them lame, Sir,
And Love makes them blind.

EXTEMPORE LINES,

Written on the Window of an Inn at Wickham, in Hants.

Le monde des sots est touts remplis,
Et pour ne les jamais voir,

Il faut se cacher chez lui,

Et casser son mirroir.

In English.

He that's determin'd ne'er to see an ass,
Must bar his doors and break his looking-glass.

ADDRESS OF POPE, TO THE DUCHESS OF
QUEENSBERRY.

Did Celia's person and her sense agree,
What mortal could behold her and be free?
But nature has, in pity to mankind,
Enrich'd the image, but defaced the mind.

HER ANSWER.

Had Pope a person equal to his mind,
How fatal would it be to womankind;
But nature, who does all things well ordain,
Deform'd the body, but enrich'd the brain.

TO A SPENDTHRIFT.

Thus saith Philosophy amidst her lore,
< There's none so truly happy as the poor;
If so, the fav'ring die of Fortune's cast,
And, Tom, thy happiness increases fast.

THE NEW-BORN BABE.

From the Persian, by Sir W. Jones.

On parent knees a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee smil'd;
So live, that, sinking in my last long sleep,
Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee weep.

THE ACORN.

The lofty oak from a small acorn grows,

And to the heavens ascends with spreading boughs;
As years increase, it shades the extended plain,
Then, big with death and vengeance, ploughs the
main;

Hence rises fame, and safety to our shore,
And from an ACORN springs Britannia's power.

ON THE STATE OF EUROPE.

Tired with repose, unsettled in debate,
Our proud allies, magnanimously great,
At length decide-and o'er each quiet land
Grim war must speed with desolating hand;
The sword must now replace the seal and pin,
Which vainly strove to fix the fate of men ;
While monarchs differ, subjects heads must pay,
The pain and price of every glorious fray.
If custom sanctions, and if honour stings,
Who can resist the sacred call of kings?
Give gold, give men-the children which you gave
Are proudly buried in war's fruitful grave,
Where fame hath shed a living lustre round,
To mark the sod, and consecrate the ground;

Who then would idly wish to save his head,
When kingly honour yields so bright a bed?
War is a royal, a truly noble game,

Which hands the youthful warrior up to fame;
Gains other kingdoms, wipes out old disgrace,
Nurtures the soil, and prunes the human race.
Peace, gentle matron of dull quiet hours,
Let love and plenty bless thy distant bow'rs,
Great men disown thee-happier are they far
In the stern heat of everlasting war,

INSCRIPTION ON A FOUNTAIN.

The following lines are inscribed on a stone, by a cistern of water, on the road side, about a mile and a half north of Newcastle.

The spring is clear,

The cost is free,
Quench thirst here,

And drink less beer.-1800.

THE DEVIL'S RAMBLE ON EARTH.

The late celebrated but unfortunate Professor Porson being once solicited in company to give some jocular proof of his abilities, complied by producing the following lines.

From his brimstone bed at break of day,
The devil's a walking gone :

To visit his snug little farm of the earth,
And see how his stock there goes on.

And over the hill, and over the dale

He rambled, and over the plain :

And backwards and forwards he switch'd his long

tail,

As a gentleman switches his cane.