Over marshes and bogs, and extensive wide lakes, But yet, after all, cou'd not get over GATES.

ON A QUACK.

DOCTOR M-n's endu'd with so humble a grace,
That the case he durst never express?
But little he says, and, if that you will trace
His knowledge you'll find to be less.

Then sure you must say he's deficient in brain,
Or his head to a still may compare ;

That does little or nothing but simples contain,
And yields them by drops that are rare.

THE SAPIENT ASS.

In all the changes of a state,
The poor are the most fortunate,
Who, save the name of him they call
Their King, can find no odds at all.
The truth of this you now may read-
A fearful old man in a mead,
While leading of his ass about,
Was startled at the sudden shout
Of enemies approaching nigh-
He then advised the ass to fly,
'Lest we be taken in this place ;'
But, loth at all to mend his pace,
"Pray will the conqueror," quoth Jack,
"With double panniers load my back?"
No," said the man, "If that's the thing,"
Cried he, "I care not who is King."

THE INFALLIBLE RECIPE FOR DISAPPOINTED LO B.

ADVISE your friend, grave man of art !—
I find a strange, unusual smart :
'Tis here-fierce symptoms at my heart

Discover.

'Tis pleasure, pain-a mixt degree-
My pulse examine :—Here's your fee.
What, think you, can my sickness be ?—

A Lover.

A lover!-'Tis my case too sure!
O! ease me straight, I'll not endure
Prescribe:-I'll follow close the cure.-

Take Hope.

But if she, spite of speech or pen,
Prove coy, or false with other men,
Ah, Doctor!-what expedient then?—

A Rope.

ON A LADY'S WRITING.

HER even lines her steady temper show;
Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow;
Strong as her judgment, easy as her air;
Correct though free, and regular though fair ;
And the same graces o'er her pen preside
That form her manners and her footsteps guide.

THE MARRIED MAN'S FATE.

Only look how poor Timothy's visage is broken! He's stupid and dull, for this month he's not spoken:

He used to be merry, and jolly, and gay,

He tippled by night, and he giggled by day-
He hunted, he hawked, he danced, and he swore,
He'd all that could make him quite happy, and

more.

But now he's deprived of all these during life-
It serves the fool right—for he's— married a wife !

ON A YOUNG LADY WITH GREY HAIRS.

Mark'd by extremes, Susannah's beauty bears Life's opposites-youth's blossoms and grey hairsMeet signs for one, in whom, combin'd are seen Wisdom's ripe fruit, and roses of fifteen.

KENSINGTON GARDENS.

Written immediately under several very foolish and illiterate inscriptions in Kensington Gardens.

"Here fools indite, and idiots write

Their visits to record;

Their jeu d'esprits upon the trees,
With many an ill-spelt word.

"Ye silly elves! go, spare yourselves,
Your pencils, and your time;
At work, pell-mell, you may excel,
But never will in rhyme !"

GONE FOR A SOLDIER.

With heels quite light and lighter hearted,
Tom tripp'd to church with Nelly Grimston;

Next week, Tom to the wars departed!
"Why?" NITRE he preferr'd to brimstone.

STEPNEY CHURCH.

On the east side of the portico of Stepney Church, Middleser, leading up to the gallery, is a stone with the following singular inscription

on it.

Of Carthage great, I was a stone,
O mortals, read with pity!

Time consumes all; it spareth none,-
Men, mountains, town, or city.

Therefore, O mortals! all bethink
You, whereunto you must,
Since now such stately buildings
Lie buried in the dust.

THE FEATHER.

My Chloe's as fickle and light as a feather, Yet I love her to death; prithee, Dick, should I wed her?

That a feather should teaze you, quoth Dick is not

strange :

T'other day, as I happen'd to pass thro' the grange, I saw that thief Cupid from doves and from spar

rows

A-pilfering feathers, to stick in his arrows.

The urchin first shoots you, then pulls out his dart, And leaves you the feather to tickle your heart.

TO MR. ALDERMAN WHITE, OF WINCHESTER, ON HIS PRESENT, TO MR. WILKES, OF FORTY-FIVE DOZEN

OF CANDLES.

Ne rubeam pingui donatus Munere. Hor.

What Hero, what King,

Sweet Muse, wilt thou sing;
What Alderman venture to handle ?-
No subject so bright

As Alderman White,
And his forty-five dozen of candle.

Mr. Garrick may brag

Of his Warwickshire wag,
And shine both in buskin and sandal;
But I, though no bard,
Must pay due regard

To Alderman White and his candle.

Dr. Morel may scan
Ban-Ban-Caliban,

And Arne set it sweeter than Handel;
But his Ban-Caliban

Was a fool to this man,
With his forty-five dozen of candle.

From him the bright name
Of Freedom shall flame,

And all who that cause understand ill
May see wrong from right,

By the true patriot light

Of forty-five dozen of candle.