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Then holding the spectacles up to the courtYour lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the bridge of the Nose is; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
Again, would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again)
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),
So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone. Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!
PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ
TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.
ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth,
See! with united wonder cried
Discernment, eloquence, and grace
The praise bestow'd was just and wise;
So the best courser on the plain
ODE TO PEACE.
COME, peace of mind, delightful guest
Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
And pleasure's fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The great, the gay, shall they partake
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
For thee I panted, thee I prized,
Whate'er I loved before;
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say— Farewell! we meet no more?
WEAK and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
But Passion rudely snaps the string,
Some foe to his upright intent
Virtue engages his assent,
But Pleasure wins his heart.
'Tis here the folly of the wise
Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,
But oars alone can ne'er prevail
The breath of Heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.
THE MODERN PATRIOT.
REBELLION is my theme all day;
(As who knows but perhaps it may?)
A little nearer home.
Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
I always held them in the right,
When lawless mobs insult the court,
But O! for him my fancy culls
Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears.
Such civil broils are my delight,
Though some folks can't endure them,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
A rope! I wish we patriots had
Such strings for all who need 'emWhat! hang a man for going mad!
Then farewell British freedom.