The dinner comes, and down they sit :
Were e'er such hungry folk?
There's little talking, and no wit;
It is no time to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,

Yet, not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull
And lumpish still as ever;

Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,
'Come, neighbours, we must wag.'-
The money chinks, down drop their chins,
Each lugging out his bag.

One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail,

And one of pigs that he has lost
By maggots at the tail.

Quoth one, A rarer man than you
In pulpit none shall hear;

But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You sell it plaguy dear.'

O why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine?

A kick, that scarce would move a horse,
May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;
"Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay.

ON THE

QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,

THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH MARCH, 1789.

WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne,
George took his scat again,

By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign.

Then, Loyalty, with all his lamps
New-trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.

"Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares, Which form'd the chief display, These most resembling cluster'd stars,

Those the long milky way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,

And rockets flew, self-driven,

To hang their momentary fires

Amid the vault of heaven.

So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
To express unwieldy joy.

Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,

And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd;

For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat,

Where, George recover'd made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove, A witness undescried,

How much the object of her love

Was loved by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er

In aid of her design——

Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before

To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,
Resolved to be unknown,

And gratify no curious eyes

That night, except her own.

Arrived, a night like noon she sees, And hears the million hum;

As all by instinct, like the bees, Had known their sovereign come.

Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd
On many a splendid wall,
Emblems of health and heavenly aid,
And George the theme of all.

Unlike the enigmatic line,

So difficult to spell,

Which shook Belshazzar at his wine

The night his city fell.

Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,

But with a joyful tear,

None else, except in prayer for him, George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in every part
Like those in fable feign'd,
And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain'd.

But other magic there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,

To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.