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In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,

And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,

Which amounts to possession time out of mind. Then holding the spectacles up to the court

Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,

Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose

('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,

Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? On the whole it appears, and my argument shews,

With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,

And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes :
But what were his arguments few people know,

For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,

Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,

By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!

ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD's

LIBRARY, TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB, IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780.

So then the Vandals of our isle,

Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile

Than ever Roman saw !
And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift,

And many a treasure more,
The well-judg'd purchase and the gift

That graced his letter'd store.

Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,

The loss was his alone;
But ages yet to come shall inourn

The burning of his own.

ON THE SAME.

WHEN wit and genius meet their doom

In all-devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,

And bid us fear the same.

O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept,

They felt the rude alarm,
Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept

His sacred head from harm.

There Memory, like the bee that's {cd

From Flora's balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read

Had treasured up before.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone-but still we find

The honey on his tongue.

THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED; OR. HYPOCRISY DETECTED.

*

Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in every swine
No friend nor follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,

And thus he left the point at large. It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.

L

Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind
Much controversy straight arose ;
These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said
He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh-'tis well— The tale applied
May make you laugh on t'other side.
Renounce the world—the preacher cries ;
We do-a multitude replies.
While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards:
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;
Some love a concert, or a race;
And others shooting and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he;
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON THE DEATH OF LADY THROCKMORTON'S

BULFINCH.
YE nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,

O share Maria's grief!
Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage !)

Assassin'd by a thief.

181

LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;

And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle bless'd,
Well taught, he all the sounds expressid

Of flageolet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mo.e;

His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,

To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,

No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
on props of smoothest shaven wood,

Large built, and latticed well.
Well-latticed—but the grate, alas !
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,

For Bully’s plumage sake.
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peeld and dried,

The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure:
When led by instinct sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout,

And badger-colourd hide.
He, entering at the study door,
Its ample area 'gan t'explore;

And something in the wind
Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,

Food chiefly for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest ;

'Tis then I feel myself a wife,

And press thy wedded side, Resolv'd a union form'd for life

Death never shall divide.

But oh! if fickle and unchaste

(Forgive a transient thought) Thou couldst become unkind at last,

And scorn thy present lot.
No need of lightnings from on high,

Or kites with cruel beak;
Denied the ndearments

This widow'd heart would break.

.

thine eye,

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird,

Soft as the passing wind; And I recorded what I heard,

A lesson for mankind.

A FABLE.
A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same),
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day;
'Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call'd it May.
But suddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter sky,
Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush'd together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ra.ph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe

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