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Inflamed and poisoned all my blood
And strove to drown my soul;
'Twas vain true friendship loudly cried,
The goblet's joy forego-
And e'en the fiend himself replied,
"Don't, don't believe me, Jo."

1

Fame, Pleasure, and Intemperance spurned,
Heart-sickened and decayed,
To virtue's path again I turned,
And sought religion's aid;
She smiled, and with a holy tear
Embalmed each wound of wo,

And softly whispered in my ear,
"Believe-believe me, Jo."

Now homeward, as I went my way,
Each toil and duty o'er,
If e'er my wayward fancy stray,

And tell me I am poor:

From Virtue's smile, the truth direct,

Must still for ever flow,

And conscience will the lie detect,

With "Don't believe it, Jo."

ΑΝΤΙΡΑΤTHIES.

On a Burser of a College in Oxford, cutting down the trees near the said College, for his own use.

Indulgent Nature to each creature shows
A secret instinct to discern his foes :

The goose, a silly bird, avoids the fox;

Lambs fly from wolves, and sailors steer from

rocks;

The thief a gallows, as his fate foresees,
And bears the like antipathies to trees.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.

To-day man's dress'd in gold and silver bright, Wrapt in a shroud before to-morrow night; To-day he's feeding on delicious food, To-morrow dead, unable to do good! To-day he's nice, and scorns to feed on crums, To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms; To-day he's honour'd, and in vast esteem, To-morrow not a beggar values him ; To-day he rises from a velvet bed, To-morrow lies in one that's made of lead; To-day his house, tho' large, he thinks but small, To-morrow no command, no house at all; To-day has forty servants at his gate, To-morrow scorn'd, not one of them will wait! To-day perfum'd, as sweet as any rose, To-morrow stinks in every body's nose; To-day he's grand, majestic, all delight, • Ghastful and pale before to-morrow night; True as the Scripture says, "man's life's a span," The present moment is the life of man.

CURIOUS SHOP-BILL.

The following is a genuine copy of the Bill of a dealer in Marine. Stores, now living.

L. WORMS,

62, S-t J-n S-t, St. S-p-le-r's.

This is the shop to sell your rags,
Iron, roping, and old bags;

Pewter, copper, lead and brass,
Bottles, phials, and flint glass;
Silver-lace, likewise gold,
Flocks and feathers bought and sold;
Buttons either gilt or plated,
At the most money here is rated ;
Old books waste paper, and horse-hair,
How much you bring I do not care.

N. B. Tailor's Shops cleared.

TO DUN.

A Parody.

To dun? or not to dun? that's the question !
Whether 'tis better that the purse should suffer
For lack of cash, by baneful emptiness
Or by a gentle dun to fill it up ?

To dun to be denied-denied with "call again;"
Ah! there's the rub!-for in that "call again"
What evils come-what disappointment sore-
Chagrin and woe; what time is wasted?
What shoes are worn, in consequence,

Must give us pain.

'Tis this that makes so many debts not worth col

lecting;

'Tis this which sickens business to despair,

And keeps from honest labour its reward!

While thus in language of complaint we speak,
We don't forget our many many friends;

To them our gratitude we owe,

To them our gratitude we freely pay;

Buoyed by their kindness, still our bark shall sail,

Enjoy the pleasing calm

Nor dread the boist'rous gale.

ON WITNESSING A SHIPWRECK.

By the late B. Thompson, Esq.

Against the rock the foaming billows dash, Wider and wider spreads the gloom profound: Save when illumin'd by the forky flash,

While peals of thunder 'mong the cliffs resound.

TEMPUS EDAX RERUM *.

In the celebrated ruins of Reculvens, in the Isle of Thanci, are the following curious lines, inscribed on a stone on the walls.

Tempus edax rerum,

Observe these walls and fear 'em,
For should you come too near 'em,
These walls, for want of serum,
Will bury you inter 'em,
And prove to those who're near 'ein,
That Tempus edax rerum.

A RADICAL CURE.

Dick's wife was sick, and pos'd the doctors skill, Who differ'd how to cure the invet'rate ill. Purging the one prescrib'd; no quoth another, That will do neither good nor harm, my brother;

Bleeding's the only way-'twas quick reply'd, 2

That's certain death-but, since we differ wide,
'Tis fit the husband chuse by whom to abide.
'Ise no great skill, quo' Richard by the rood,
But Ise think bleeding's like to do most good.'

* Time swallows all things.

}

THE FARMER'S CENTENARY CONTRASTED.

Illustrative of the causes of Agricultural Distress.

1724.

in 1824.

The man to the Plough, | Best Man-Tally-ho,

The Wife to the Cow,

And Miss-Piano, [tin,

[blocks in formation]

How swift the pinions Time puts on,

To urge his flight away!

To-day's soon yesterday; anon,

To-morrow is to-day!

Thus days, and weeks, and months, and years,

Depart from mortal view;

As sadly, through this "Vale of Tears,"
Our journey we pursue !

Yet grieve not, Man, that thus he flies,
He hastes thee to thy rest;

The drooping wretch that soonest dies,
Is soonest with the blest!

MOULTING.

"You've scarce a rag upon your back""I'm moulting, Sir," replies poor Jack.

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