But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,....
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she lived a twelvemonth more..... She had not dy'd to-day.
IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.
LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotles and Smiglesius,
By ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo est ratione preditum ;
But for my soul I cannot credit 'em.
And must in spite of them maintain.
That man and all his ways are vain:
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature.
That instinct is a surer guide,
Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;
And that brute beasts are far bofore 'em
Deus est anima brutorum.
Who ever knew an honest brute,
At law his neighbour prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friends beguile with lies and flattery
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics disturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court;
They never to the levee go
To treat as dearest friend, a foe :
Nor even cringe to men in place:
They never importune his Grace,
Nor understand a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob,
Fraught with invective they ne'er go,
To folks at Pater-Noster Row:
No judges, fiddlers, dancing masters,
No pickpockets, or poetesters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds,
No single brute his fellow leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd the ape
Come nearest us in human shape,
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion :
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the minister of state:
View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors:
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators,
At court, the porters, lacquies, waiters
Their masters manners still contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape all.
TO IRIS, IN BOW-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual off'ring shall I make
Expressive of my duty?
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry fair-one prize
The gift, who slights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give....and let 'em,
If gems or gold import a joy,
I'll give them....when I get 'em.
I'll give....but not the full blown-rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion;
Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose
A transitory passion.
I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil:
I'll give thee....ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee....to the devil.
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart: Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voices, And quells the raptures which from pleasure start,
O Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe, Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow: Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigor fled,
And saw thee fall with joy pronouncing eyes : Yet they shall know thou conquerest though dead Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
GOOD people all, of ev'ry sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wond'rous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
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