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TO ONE WHO PUBLISHED IN PRINT

WHAT HAD BEEN ENTRUSTED TO HIM

BY MY FIRESIDE. TWO things hast thou made known to half the

nation, My secrets and my want of penetration : For O! far more than all which thou hast penn'd It shames me to have call’d a wretch like thee my

friend!

Obscuri sub luce maligna.Virg. SCARCE any scandal, but has a handle ;

In truth most falsehoods have their rise ; Truth first unlocks Pandora's box,

And out there fly a host of lies.
Malignant light, by cloudy night,

To precipices it decoys one !
One nectar-drop from Jove's own shop

Will flavour a whole cup of poison.

*

HOW seldom, friend ! a good great man in

herits Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains ! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits If any man obtain that which he merits Or any

merit that which he obtains.

* This and the reply to it were reprinted in The Friend, Dec. 28, 1809.

REPLY TO THE ABOVE.

FOR shame, dear friend, renounce this canting

strain ! What would'st thou have a good great man obtain ? Place? titles ? salary? a gilded chain ? Or throne of corses which his sword had slain ? Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man ? three treasures, Love, and

LIGHT, And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath : And three firm friends, more sure than day and

night, HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL DEATH!

OLD HARPY jeers at castles in the air,
And thanks his stars, whenever Edmund

speaks,
That such a dupe as that is not his heir-

But know, old Harpy! that these fancy freaks Though vain and light, as floating gossamer, Always amuse, and sometimes mend the heart :

A young man's idlest hopes are still his pleasures, And fetch a higher price in Wisdom's mart

Than all the unenjoying Miser's treasures.

TO A VAIN YOUNG LADY.

DIDST thou think less of thy dear self

Far more would others think of thee!

Sweet Anne ! the knowledge of thy wealth

Reduces thee to poverty.
Boon Nature gave wit, beauty, health,

On thee as on her darling pitching ;
Couldst thou forget thou’rt thus enrich'd

That moment would'st thou become rich in ! And wert thou not so self-bewitch'd,

Sweet Anne ! thou wert, indeed, bewitching.

FROM me, Aurelia ! you desired

Your proper praise to know;
Well ! you're the Fair by all admired-

Some twenty years ago.

FOR A HOUSE-DOG'S COLLAR. WHEN thieves come, I bark: when gallants, I

am stillSo perform both my master's and mistress's will.

IN N vain I praise thee, Zoilus !

In vain thou rail'st at me !
Me no one credits Zoilus !

And no one credits thee !

EPITAPH ON A MERCENARY MISER. A POOR benighted Pedlar knock’d

One night at Sell-all's door,

The same who saved old Sell-all's life

'Twas but the year before ! And Sell-all rose and let him in,

Not utterly unwilling,
But first he bargain'd with the man,

And took his only shilling!
That night he dreamt he'd given away his pelf,
Walk'd in his sleep, and sleeping hung himself!
And now his soul and body rest below;

And here they say his punishment and fate is To lie awake and every hour to know

How many people read his tombstone GRATIS.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN AN AUTHOR

AND HIS FRIEND.

Author. Come; your opinion of my manuscript !
Friend. Dear Joe ! I would almost as soon be whipt.
Author. But I will have it!
Friend. If it must be hadhesitating)
You write so ill, I scarce could read the hand-
Author. A mere evasion !
Friend. And you spell so bad,
That what I read I could not understand.

Mwpooropa, OR WISDOM IN FOLLY. TOM SLOTHFUL talks, as slothful Tom

beseems, What he shall shortly gain and what be doing,

Then drops asleep, and so prolongs his dreams And thus enjoys at once what half the world are

wooing

EACH Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf!

He shews his clothes ! Alas ! he shows himself. O that they knew, these overdrest self-lovers, What hides the body oft the mind discovers.

FROM AN OLD GERMAN POET. THAT France has put us oft to rout

With powder, which ourselves found out; And laughs at us for fools in print Of which our genius was the mint; All this I easily admit, For we have genius, France has wit. But 'tis too bad, that blind and mad To Frenchmen's wives each travelling German goes,

Expands his manly vigour by their sides, Becomes the father of his country's foes

And turns their warriors oft to parricides.

ON THE CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE

THAT IN THE GERMAN LANGUAGE THE SUN IS

FEMININE AND THE MOON MASCULINE.

OUR
UR English poets, bad and good, agree
To make the Sun a male, the Moon a she.

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