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I scorn the sneaker like a toad,

“ Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries, Who drives his cart the Dover road,

“ To tempt the dang'rous gloom; There, traitor to his country's trade,

For yonder faithless phantom flies Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade :

To lure thee to thy doom. Hence with all such! for you and I

“ Here to the houseless child of want By English wares will live and die.

My door is open suill; Come, draw your chair, and stir the fire :

And though my portion is but scant, Here, boy !-a pot of Thrale's entire !

I give it with good will.
“ Then turn to night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows;

My rashy couch and frugal fare,

My blessing and repose.

“ No flocks that range the valley free

To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,

I learn to pity them :

• But from the mountain's grassy side ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE, AP

A guiltless feast I bring ;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,

And water from the spring. As there is nothing I dislike so much as news

“ Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; paper controversy, particularly upon trifles,

All earth-born cares are wrong: permit me to be as concise as possible in inform- Man wants but little here below, ing a correspondent of yours, that I recommend

Nor wants that little long." ed Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one ; and I thiuk so still. I said, Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first His gentle accents fell: published ; but in that, it seems, I was misin- | The modest stranger lowly bends, formed, and my reading was not extensive

And follows to the cell. enough to set me right.

Far in a wilderness obscure Another correspondent of yours accuses me of The lonely mansion lay; having taken a ballad, I pubiished some time A refuge to the neighbouring poor, ago, from one ' by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I And strangers led astray. do not think that there is any great resemblance No stores beneath its humble thatch between the two pieces in question. If there be

Requir'd a master's care; any, bis ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, some years ago; and he (as we both The wicket, op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair., considered these things as trifles at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next time I saw And now when busy crowds retire him, that he had taken my plan to form the To take their ev'ning rest, fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. The hermit trimm'd his little fire, He then read me bis little cento, if I may so call And cheer'd his pensive guest : it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anec

And spread his vegetable store, dotes as these are scarce worth printing; and were it not for the busy disposition of some of And, skill'd in legendary lore,

And gaily prest, and smil'd; your correspondents, the public should never

The ling'ring bours beguild, have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and Around in sympathetic mirth learning for communications of a much more im

Its tricks the kitten tries; portant pature.

The cricket chirrups in the hearth, sir,

The crackling faggot flies.
yours, &c.

But nothing could a charm impart


To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow,

His rising cares the hermit spy'd, “ Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,

With answ'ring care opprest :
And guide my lonely way,

And whence, unhappy youth,” he cry'd, To where yon taper cheers the vale

“ The sorrows of thy breast ? With hospitable ray.

“ From better habitations spurn’d, " For here forlorn and lost I tread,

Reluctant dost thou rove;
With fainting steps and slow;

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Where wilds, iinmeasurably spread,

Or unregarded love?
Seem length’ning as I go."

6 Alas! the joys that fortune brings 'The Friar of Orders Grey. Reliq. of Anc.

Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things, Poetry, vol. i. p. 243.

More trifling things than they.


I am,

“ And what is friendship but a name,

“But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, A charm that lulls to sleep;

And well my life shall pay; A shade that follows wealth or fame,

I'll seek the solitude he sought, And leaves the wretch to weep?

And stretch me where he lay. « And love is still an emptier sound,

“ And there forlorn, despairing, bid, The modern fair-one's jest :

I'll lay me down and die; On Earth unseen, or only found

'Twas so for me that Edwin did, To warm the turtle's nest.

And so for him will l.” “ Forshame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, “ Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cry'd, And spurn the sex," he said :

And clasp'd her to bis breast : But while he spoke, a rising blush

The wond'ring fair-one turu'd to chide, His love-loro guest betray'd.

'Twas Edwin's self that prest. Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,

“ Turn, Angelina, ever dear, Swift mantling to the view;

My charmer, turn to see Like colours o'er the morning skies,

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, As bright, as transient tou.

Restor’d to love and thee. The bashful look, the rising breast,

“ Thus let me hold thee to my heart, Alternate spread alarms :

And ev'ry care resign: The lovely stranger stands confest

And shall we never, never part, A maid in all her charms.

My life my all that's mine? " And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude,

“No, never, from this hour to part, A wretch forlorn,” she cry'd ;

We'll live and love so true, " Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

The sigh that rends thy constant heart Where Hear'n and you reside.

Shall break thy Edwin's too." « But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. “ My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he:

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.

PUBLISHED IN DR. GOLDSMITH'S VOLUME OF ESSAYS, " To win me from his tender arms

1765. Unnumber'd suitors came, Who prais'd me fur imputed charms,

Secluded from domestic strife, And felt, or feiga'd a fame.

Jack Book-worm led a college life ;

A fellowship’at twenty-five " Each hour a mercenary crowd

Made him the happiest man alive ; With richest proffers strove ;

He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke, Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke. But never talk'd of love.

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care, " In humble, simplest habit clad,

Could any accident impair? No wealth or pow'r had lie;

Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix Wisdom and worth were all he had,

Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six ? But these were all to me.

O had the archer ne'er come down “ And when, beside me in the dale,

To ravage in a country town!

Or Flavia been content to stop
He carrol'd lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,

At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop !
And music to the grove.

O had her eyes forgot to blaze!

Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze. « The blossom op'ning to the day,

0! But let exclamation cease ; The dews of Heav'o refin'd,

Her presence banish'd all his peace; Could nought of purity display

So with decorum all things carried, To emulate his mind,

Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was--mar" The dew, the blossoms of the tree,'

ried. With charms inconstant shine ;

Need we expose to vulgar sight Their charms were his; but, woe to me,

The raptures of the bridal night? Th’inconstancy was mine!

Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,

Or draw the curtains clos'd around? “ For still I try'd each fickle art,

Let it suffice, that each had charms :
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,

He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;

And, though she felt his usage rough, I triumph'd in his pain.

Yet in a man 'twas well enough. “ Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

The honey-moou like lightning flew; He left me to my pride;

The second brought its transports too : And sought a solitude forlorn

A third, a fourth, were not emiss; In secret, where he dy'de

The fifth was friendship mis d with bliss :

Serenely gay, and strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.


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 slighits the giver ?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,

My rivals give-and let 'em ;
If gems or gold impart 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.
l'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.


But when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found all the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind,
That very face had robb'd her mind.

Skill'd in no other arts was she
But dressing, patching, repartee;
And, just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle;
'Tis true she dress'd with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy night-caps wrapt her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
'To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing ?
In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levee :
The 'squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations.
Jack suck'd his pipe, and often bruke
A sigh in suffocating smoke;
While all their hours were past between
Insulting repartee or spleen.

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown :
He fancies ev'ry vice she shows,
Or thins her lip, or points her nose ;
Whenever rage or envy rise,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phyz :
And though her fops are wond'rous ciril,
lie thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravelled noose,
As each a diff'rent way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promis'd to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless pow'r
Withers the beauty's transient flow'r,
Lo! the small-pox, with horrid glare
Levell'd its terrours at the fair ;
And, rilling ev'ry youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright :
Each former art sbe vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her pastes and credins
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And e'en the captain quit the field.

Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old ;
With modesty her cheeks are dy'd,
Humility displaces pride;
Por tawdry finery, is seen
A person ever neatly clean :
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature ev'ry day:


Logicians have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Peason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle 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 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;
Aud that brute beasts are far before 'em,
Deus est anima brutorum.
Who ever knew an honest brote
At law his neighbour prosecute;
Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and pattery?
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;

They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake 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 jugglers, fidlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpocke: s, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupedes;
No single brute his fellow leads;
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes 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, lackeys, 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.

I'm sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.

Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Fill'd with a svake-incircled wand;
By classic authors terin'd caducens,
And highly fam'd for several uses :
To wit-most wond'rously endu'd,
No poppy-water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue's such,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this be drives men's souls to Hell.

Now to apply, begin we then:
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The serpents round about it twin'd
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slayer, venom'd bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike too both conduce to sleep.
This diff'rence only, as the god
Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goose-quill the scribbling elf
Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing :
Well! what of that? out with it-stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he:
But e'en this deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they but senseless stones and blocks?




Sure 'twas by Providence design'd,

Rather in pity than in hate, That he should be, like Cupid, blind,

To save him from Narcissus' fate.





IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. Long had I sought in vain to find A likeness for the scribbling kind; The modern scribbling kind, who write In wit, and sense, and Nature's spite : Till reading, I forget wþat day on, A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon, I think I met with something there, "To suit my purpose to a hair; But let us not proceed so furious, First please to turn to god Mercurius : You'll find him pictur'd at full length In book the second, page the tenth : The stress of all my proofs on bim I lay, And now proceed we to our simile.

Imprimis, pray observe bis hat,
Wings upon either side-mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather?
Why these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right,
With uit that's flighty, learning light;
Such as to modern bards decreed;
A just comparison-proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse,
Wings grow again from both his shoes;
Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft bis godship through the air;
And here my simile unites,
For, in a inodern poet's flights,

Good people all, of ev'ry sort,

Give ear unto iny song ;
And if vou 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 goully race be ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes;
The naked ev'ry day he clari,

When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.
This dug anu man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighboring streets

The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog bad lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

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The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To ev'ry christian eye ;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light,

DR. GOLDSMITH, That show'd the rogues they ly'd ;'

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OT The man recover'd of the bite,

APRIL 3, 1800. The dog it was that dy'd.

E'en have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew,

The budding rose its infant bloom display: THE CLOWN'S REPLY.

When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. Joax Trott was desir'd by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses bad ears?

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, (cheek; “An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'm not given I gaz'd, I sigh’d, I caught the tender flame,

Youth's damask glow just. dawning on her to letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;

Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion

weak. Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your

graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."

Edinburgh, 1753.

I send you a small production of the late Dr.

Goldsmith, which has never been published, and
STANZAS ON WOMAN. which might perhaps have been totally lost, had

I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admira.

ble comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, but Wuen lovely woman stoops to folly,

it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the And finds too late that men betray,

part, did not sing. He sung it himself, priWhat charm can sooth her melancholy,

vate companies, very agreeably. The tune is a What art can wash her guilt away?

pretty Irish air, called, The Humours of BaThe only art her guilt to cover,

jamnagairy, to which he told me he found it To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,

very difficult to adapt words: but he has sucTo give repentance to her lover,

ceeded very happily in these few lines. As I And wring his bosom-is, to die.

could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding

him adien for that season, little apprehending DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S

that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little BED-CHAMBER.

relic, in his own hand writing, with an affectioWhere the Red Lion), staring o'er the way,

nate care, lam, gentlemen, Invites each passing stranger that can pay;

your humble servant,

JAMES BOSWELL, Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black cham

paign, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;

SONG, There in a lonely room, fro:n bailiffs snug, 'The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF rug ; A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;

Au me! when shall I marry me? The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;

Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ;

He, fond youth, that could carry me,

Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; But I will rally and combat the ruiner:
The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover;
And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,

Makes but a penitent and loses a lover.
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scord,

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney

board ;

Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to iningle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures



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