"Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And lov'd a timely joke,
And thus unto the callender

In merry strains he spoke.

"I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,

My hat and wig will foon be here,
They are upon the road.'

"The callender right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a fingle word,
But to the house went in.

"Whence ftrait he came with hat and wig,
A wig that droop'd behind,

A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

"He held them up, and in his turn
Thus fhow'd his ready wit-
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.

"But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs about your face :
And ftop and eat-for well you may
Be in a hungry cafe.'

"Said John, It is my wedding-day,
And folks would gape and ftare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.'

"Then, fpeaking to his horse, he said,
I am in hafte to dine:

"'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You fhall go back for mine.'

"Ah! luckless word, and bootless boast,
For which he paid full dear;
For while he spoke, a braying afs
Did fing moft loud and clear.

"Whereat his horfe did fnort, as if
He heard a lion roar,

And gallop'd off with all his might,
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin,—and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig;
He loft them fooner than at firft:
For why? They were too big.
0 2

" Now

"Now Gilpin's wife, when the had seen

Her husband posting down

Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half a crown:

"And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell,

This fhall be yours when you bring back
My husband safe and well.'

"The youth did ride, and foon they met;
He tried to ftop John's horse,
By feizing faft the flowing rein,
But only made things worse :
"For not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
He thereby frighted Gilpin's horse,
And made him fafter run.

"Away went Gilpin,-and away
Went poft-boy at his heels;
The poft-boy's horfe right glad to miss
The lumber of the wheels.

"Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus feeing Gilpin fly,

With poft-boy fcamp'ring in the rear,
They rais'd the hue-and-cry.

"Stop thief!-ftop thief!-a highwayman!"
Not one of them was mute;
So they, and all that pafs'd that way,
Soon joined in the pursuit.

"But all the turnpike gates again
Flew open in fhort space,
The men ftill thinking as before
That Gilpin rode a race.

"And fo he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town,

Nor ftopp'd till where he first got up
He did again get down.

"Now let us fing-Long live the king,

And Gilpin long live he;

And when he next does ride abroad,
May I be there to fee!"

От

On the Marriage of the Honourable Mifs ELIZ. SACKVILLE to COLONEL HERBERT. -By RICHARD CUMBERLAND, Esq.

E folemn pedagogues, who teach

YE

A language by eight parts of fpeech,
And with the arm of flesh drive down,
By force of birch, your noun pronoun;
Can any of you all impart

A rule to conjugate the heart;
To fhew its prefent, perfect, future;
Its active, paffive, and its neuter?
Grammarians, did you ever try
To conftrue and expound the eye?
And, from the fyntax of the face,
Decline its gender and its cafe?
What faid the nuptial tear that fell
From fair Eliza-can you tell?
And yet it spoke upon her cheek
As eloquent as tear could speak;
Not audibly, by word of mouth,
As Prifcian would, or Bifhop Lowth;
Not fyllables by Dych e'er fpelt,
Not language heard, but language felt:
"Here, at God's altar as I ftand,
To plight my faith and yield my hand,
With faltering tongue whilft I proclaim
The ceffion of my virgin name;
Whilft in my ears is read at large
The Rubric's ftern unfoften'd charge,
Spare me," the filent pleader cries,
"O fpare me, ye furrounding eyes!
Surrounded by a blaze of light,
While here I pafs in folemn fight,
Or, kneeling by a father's fide,
Renounce the daughter for the bride.
Ye fifters, to my foul fo dear,
Say, can I check the rifing tear?
When at this awful hour I caft
My memory back on time that's past,
Ungrateful were I to forbear
This tribute to a father's care;
For all he fuffer'd, all he taught,
Is there not due fome tender thought?
And may not one fond prayer be given
To a dear faint who rests in heaven?

And you, to whom I now betroth,

In fight of Heaven, my nuptial oath;
Who to nobility of birth

True honour join, and native worth,
If my recording bofom draws
One figh, mifconftrue not the cause ;
Truft me, though weeping, I rejoice,
And, blushing, glory in my choice."

RACES. A Ballad. By the late Sir JOHN MOORE, Bart.

But firft prepare yourself for raptures;

o paint this charming, heavenly fair,

And paint her well, would ask whole chapters.

Fine creatures I've viewed many a one,

With lovely shapes and angel faces;

But I have seen them all outdone,

By this fweet maid, at

Races.

Lords, commoners, alike the rules,

Takes all who view her by surprise,
Makes e'en the wifeft look like fools,

Nay more, makes fox-hunters look wife.
Her fhape-'tis elegance and eafe,
Unfpoil'd by art, or modern drefs,
But gently tapering by degrees,
And finely," beautifully lefs."
Her foot-it was fo wond'rous small,
So thin, fo round, fo flim, fo neat,
The buckle fairly hid it all,

And feem'd to fink it with the weight.

And just above the fpangled fhoe,

Where many an eye did often glance,

Sweetly retiring from the view,

And feen by ftealth, and feen by chance;

Two flender ankles peeping out,

Stood like Love's heralds, to declare

That all within the petticoat

Was firm, and full, "and round, and fair."

And then the dances-better far

Than heart can think, or tongue can tell,

Not Heinel, Banti, or Guimar,

E'er mov'd fo graceful, and so well.

So eafy glide her beauteous limbs,
True as the echo to the found,

She seems, as through the dance she skims,
To tread on air, and scorn the ground.

And there is lightning in her eye,
One glance alone might well inspire
The clay-cold breaft of Apathy,

Or bid the frozen heart catch fire.

And Zephyr on her lovely lips

Has fpread his choiceft, fweeteft rofes;
And there his heavenly nectar fips,

And there in breathing fweets repofes.
And there's fuch mufic when she speaks,
You may believe me, when I tell ye,
I'd rather hear her, than the fqueaks
Or far-fam'd fqualls of Gabrielli.
And sparkling wit, and fteady sense,
In that fair form with beauty vie;
But ting'd with virgin diffidence,
And the foft bluth of modefty.

Had I the treasures of the world,

All the fun views, or the feas borrow (Elfe may I to the devil be hurl'd) I'd lay them at her feet to-morrow.

But as we bards reap only bays,

Nor much of that, though nought grows on it; I'll beat my brains to found her praife,

And hammer them into a fonnet.

And if the deign one charming smile,
The bleft reward of all my labours;

I'll never grudge my pains, or toil,

But pity the dull 'fquires, my neighbours.

And