Yet 'midst the vast variety in life,

Where good and evil wage perpetual strife;
Where things are not precisely what they seem,
And all that pleases passes like a dream .;-
Man may with heedless gaiety of heart
Outstep discretion, and from truth depart;
In one short moment sully all his fame,
And give to grinning infamy his name.
Since then so much of prudence it requires
To expel, or check inordinate desires;
Since frailty clings so closely to mankind,
That few, or none, possess a blameless mind;—
Let me that mark'd integrity embrace
Which WHYTE hath cherish'd with peculiar grace;
Let me, like him, through every varying state,
Perform my best, nor fear the frowns of fate;
And keep, regardless of Utopian dreams,
A happy medium 'twixt the two extremes.

J. H. COLLS.

SWAFFHAM.

SONG,

BY OSMUND BEAUVOIR, LL.D.

JULY 1, 1743.

WHEN, all charms as thou art,
Thou first woundedst my heart,

At those lips, at those breasts, when my fancy ran wild,
"I'm convinced," I cried, as I felt deep the dart,
"True Love is of Beauty the child.”

Now that maxim I own

Was too rashly laid down,

Since on fancy's fair canvas those quick-piercing eyes
By Memory's frail pencil but faintly are shown,
Yet for Chloe, tho' absent, I sigh.

If when absent the fire

Of true passion grows higher,

To her name, while th' enraptured glass sparkles high, We must own Beauty lights but the torch of desire; 'Tis for reason, for sense, that we die.

WHEN Bacchus first broke from old Jupiter's thigh,
And rode down triumphant to earth on a cask,
A set of stout fellows, facetious and dry,

Would his Highness's favour and patronage ask:

So they penn'd a petition which ran at this odd rate;— We your Godship's petitioners jovial and trusty, 'Can gauge, roar a catch, and have passions so mod❜rate, 'That tho' always dry, yet we never were crusty.

"Your Godship's fine stomach, so healthy and round, 'We've endeavour'd to copy at luncheon and feast; But so perfect a stomach can never be found;

And so we've ten thousand times said to the priest.

However we would on your Godship attend,

Fill your glass, furnish toasts, and the corkscrew 'keep clean;

We may hope with your noble example to mend,

And procure us a stomach that's fit to be seen.'

This Petition when Bacchus had read, from his cask He nodded sublime;-and with majesty spoke; Ye thirsty old spirits, ye born for the flask,

Oh, sweet shall ye roll midst your flagons of oak.

"Sure Nature has fashion'd those mouths for the bowl;
Philosophy says, she made nothing in vain;
And the wine shall your stomachs so neatly console,
That your feet by your eyes shall no longer be seen.

But come, my brave boys :-hark, I hear the Brown
Stout!-

We'll see before morning old Carefulness dead; And if cousin Di must her candle put out,

The flame on our noses shell light us to bed!'

PROLOGUE,

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY EDMUND SWIFT, ESQ.

AT THE OPENING OF LORD TRIMLESTON'S
THEATRE, AT ROEBUCK, NEAR DUBLIN,
JULY 10, 1795.

FORC'D by Rebellion's more than Gothic rage
From the chaste elegance of Gallia's stage,
This night a Stranger Muse your smile implores,
A suppliant exile from her native shores.-
'Twas there, till Violence usurp'd controul,
Her mild dominion sway'd the willing soul;
Her moving art the moral page refin'd,

And her wide empire stretch'd to half mankind.-
There the full shower of Pity's streaming eye
Wept o'er the scene where Heroes rush'd to die:-
As Virtue bled, or triumph'd o'er her foes,
With honest transport each proud bosom rose;
Or, wak'd to woe, the soft infection ran,
And tears untutor'd dignified the Man.-
There loudly peal'd the comic laugh around,
Mirth rising caught the magic of the sound;