ANOTHER ON THE SAME SUBJECT,

Get all the Ladies that you can,
And let each lady have a man,-
Let them, in a circle placed,
Take their partners round the waist;
Then by slow degrees advance,
Till the walk become a dance,-
Then the twirling, face to face,
Without variety or grace,

Round and round, and never stopping,
Now and then a little hopping.

When you're wrong, to make things worse,
If one couple, so perverse,

Should in the figure be perplex'd,

Let them be thrown down by the next.
"Quicker now!" the ladies cry;

They rise, they twirl, they swing, they fly,
Puffing, blowing, jostling, squeezing;
Very odd, but very pleasing;—
Till every lady plainly shows

(Whatever else she may disclose)
Reserve is not among her faults :--
Reader, this it is to Waltz!

LINES IN IMITATION OF CHAUCER.

Right welle of lerned clerkis it is said,
That womanhood for man his use is made;
But naughtie man liketh not one or soe,
But wisheth aye unthriftilie for moe.
And when by holy church to one he's ty'd
Then for his soul he cannot her abyde:
Thus when a dogge first lighteth on a bone,
His tayle he waggeth, gladde thereof y growne;

M

But if thilke bone unto his tayle you tye,
Pardie, he feareth it, awaie doth flie.

ON DEATH.

From the German.

Many have died in valor's field,
And many a man disease has kill'd;
But lust, and wine, and luxury, call
To death's dark mansion more than all.

Triller.

ANATHEMAS.

I know not if 'twas wise or well
To give all heathens up to hell-
Hadrian-Aurelius-Socrates-
́And others, wise and good as these,
I know not if it is forbid,

But this I know-Christ never did.

Gleim.

POETICAL RECEIPT FOR MAKING AN OATMEAL

PUDDING.

Of oats decorticated take two pound,

And of new milk enough the same to drown'd;
Of raisons of the sun, ston'd, ounces eight;
Of currants, cleanly pick'd, an equal weight;
Of suet, finely sliced, an ounce at least ;
And six eggs, newly taken from the nest;
Season this mixture well, with salt and spice;
"Twill make a pudding far exceeding rice;
And you may safely feed on it like farmers,
For the receipt is learned Doctor Harmer's.

TO MAKE A SACK-POSSET.

From far Barbadoes, on the western main,
Fetch sugar half-a-pound; fetch sack from Spain,
A pint; then fetch from India's fertile coast,
Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.

THE CHURCH AND THE GIBBET.

Occasioned by the new Church of St. Mark's being erected at Ken nington Common, on the identical spot where the Gallows formerly stood.

'Tis strange, and yet true, that a church should arise,

Where thieves have so often been hung!

And yet why in reason should such things surprise, Good deeds should at all times be sung.

Arise, then, St. Mark, in thy glory all bright!
And laurel your Clergy-archieves ;

Keep a look on Churchwardens by day and by night,

And still have an eye on all thieves.

SATIRE.

Of all the ways that wisest men could find
To mend the age and mortify mankind,
Satire well writ has most successful prov'd,
And cures, because the remedy is lov'd.

Duke of Bucks's Essay.

THE SWEETS OF LIFE.

Three things give every charm to life,
And every grief controul—
A mellow vine, a smiling wife,
And an untainted soul.

THE POOR POET.

Ye fettering barriers of vile Poverty,
O how ye clog th' aspiring views of man!
Numb'd by the cold chill blasts of penury,

How few, with Zeal's firm resolution, can
Burst thro' the obstructing bondage which conceals
Beauty, in all her fine forms, from the eye
!
Genius! thou'rt like the primrose, which reveals
Its charms in loneliness, and oft doth die
Ere the mean world puts Reputation's guise
On thy cold sickening numbers. Ah! then fly
Young worshipper of Fancy! shut thine eyes
To all the Muse's well-known flattery :
Ply the strong staff of labour in some shed 1;
Do any thing but spin thy brains for bread!

POPE'S PATRONAGE OF A BROTHER POET.

A needy disciple of the Muses once sent some poems to Pope, which ended with the following lines:

"The most I seriously would hope,

Is just to read the words A. Pope,
Writ, without sneer, or show of banter,
Beneath your friendly imprimantur,"

As soon as Pope had perused the poem, he returned it to the poor bard, with the subscription money for two copies, accompanied with the following couplet:

May these put money in your purse,
For I assure you I've read worse.

THE CARES OF MAN.

From Metastasio.

If ev'ry man's internal care
Were written on his brow,
How many would our pity share,
Who raise our envy now.

The fatal secret, when reveal'd,

Of every aching breast,

Would prove, that only while conceal'd

Their lot appear'd the best.

RETORT FEMININE,

A. P.

Occasioned by the reply, in a ball-room, of an unpolished gentleman, to the question, Why do not you dance ?"—which was,

I see no pretty women in the room.

"So, Sir, you really do declare,

You'll dance with none but ladies fair!
Suppose we women should dispense
Our hands to none but men of sense?"

66

66

Because

Suppose-well Madam,—and what then?"
Why, Sir, you'd never dance again."

NOTHING NEW.

"THERE's nothing new beneath the sun," So ancient wits' decisions run;