LIFE'S ASSURANCE.

Saw you that aged man, whose tottering feet
Could scarce support him to the office door?
He was a LIFE ASSURER ;-and, though poor,
Deposits from his pittance made, to meet
His offspring's need. O happiness complete,
When man so dies! The miser's store

May serve some idle spendthrift !—seldom more;
But competency thus acquir'd is sweet!
Sweet 'tis to him who, providently kind,

Protects his wife and children from the blast
Of poverty;-and oh, how sweet they find
The succour it affords !-such joys will last!-
Who blames me, then, for keeping Life's Assurance?
Thro' DEATH, you see, Life may be worth endurance.

THE ANTIQUARY.

What wild illusions mock their sight,

When ANTIQUARIES pore

O'er mouldering relics, day and night,

With patient, plodding lore!— Life's meant for rational enjoyment;

And if, while here below,

Man seeks not--finds not-wise employment,

To Davy let him go!

THE EPILOGUE.

THE CHAMPION.

O mourn not for prize-fighting kiddies inglorious;
Lament not the fate of those swells of "the Ring :"
The Championship's mine! for I'm ever victorious,
And fam'd Boxiana my prowess shall sing!
Then hoist the black fogle-let marrow-bones rattle-
And push round the skulls which with claret o'er-

flow;

Drink, drink to the CHAMPION, who, fairly in battle, The famed men of muscle for ever laid low!

THE BACCHANALIANS.

Tho' BACCHANALS boast of their ivy-crowned god, And sing of the bright sparkling glass,

With the juice of the grape, how they hiccup and nod,

How it likens a man to an ass!

The balm of the bottle, they say, lightens care,—
But far more it lightens the purse;

While it brings to its vot'ry a load of despair,
It brings, too, his heaviest curse-

The groans

of the parent, the child, or the wife,

Who famish while Bacchanals swill!

Then say, can you blame me for taking the life

Of such as so recklessly kill?

THE WARRIOR.

With martial port the WARRIOR seeks the field,
Where waves Destruction's banner in the wind,
And, though in combat wounded, scorns to yield,
For "love and glory" fire his ardent mind:
Now, see, he proudly mounts the blood-stain'd car,
And leads his squadrons to the fierce affray;
His gallant bearing turns the tide of war-
The adverse army recreant flee away;
But, oh! when just within his grasp the prize,
His life-blood flows-a film o'erspreads his
He faints and in the hour of vict'ry dies!

eyes

THE GLUTTON.

No matter what-flesh, fowl, or fish—
If man become a GLUTTON;

With goût he feeds from ev'ry dish—
Veal, ven'son, beef, or mutton.

Eating-drinking-panting-puffing!
O the dear delights of stuffing!

But when the greedy Epicure
A god thus makes his belly,
I mix some poison-slow, but sure-
gravy, soup, or jelly.

In

On the couch, then, see him lying!

Writhing-groaning-gasping-dying!

THE HUNTER.

The fearless HUNTER took his dangerous leap; For though I warn'd, he held my warning cheap. At length he fell-another fill'd his place,

And, like him, heedless, follows in the chase.

THE ALCHYMIST.

His time and health the ALCHYMIST destroys,
In vain pursuit of visionary joys!

What if he find the rare and hidden treasure,

More pain his golden prize would bring than pleasure. Gold! Gold! thou bane of life! thou fancied good! Thy use to Man, how little understood!

ACADEMIC HONOURS.

Should I the MARTYR STUDENT's portrait draw, And show that genius, with each good combin'd,That virtue, and that nobleness of mind,

Were his-without a blemish or a flaw

You'd blame me for my act ;-and yet 'twas kind: For well I knew that, maugre worth and merit, Posthumous fame was all that he'd inherit;

And those, indeed, who court fame ought to know, That DEATH alone can lasting fame bestow.

THE EMPIRIC.

The QUACK kill'd his patient, and I kill'd the Quack; Thus a fool and a knave were got rid of at once;

1

But tho' I contriv'd to lay him on his back, Behind he's left many a death-dealing dunce!

THE MISER.

The wretch who hoards, while others pine
In want, and pain, and woe,
Content must be at Pluto's shine

Penance to undergo;

For though he hold the lucre fast,
And hoard up every shilling,
To Pluto he must go at last,
And there expect a grilling.

THE PHAETON.

Behold, my love, how fine the day!

Cried Charles, as he the PHAETON mounted;

His heart was light, his spirits gay,

And tales of love the youth recounted.

But false as fair the syren he

That day had honour'd with his name;

And I resolv'd to set him free

From private grief and public shame.

DEATH'S REGIster.

An ancient worthy, when of MAN he wrote,
Permitted me his REGISTER to quote ;