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Where with strange heats his bosom glows,
Sal found her deep-laid fchemes were vain ;
Well, now, who wins ? Why, still the same
I've done, the mutter'd- I was saying,
Thus 1, long envying your faceefs,
Sate down and scribbled in a trice,
You who can frame a tuneful song,
What is this wreath, fo green ! fo fair!
Written at an INN, on a particular Occasion.
O thee, fair Freedom! I retire,
From flattery, feasting, dice, and din ;
Than the low cot, or humble inn. 'Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champain';
For Freedom drowiis it at an inn.
I Ay from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from Falshood's fpecious grin ;
And chufe my lodgings at an inn.
It buys me Freedom, at an inn.
Thro' rain or shine, thro' thick or thin,
With kind reception-at an inn.
Where'er his various tour has been,
His warmest welcome--at an inn.
ASK'D a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along: “ The gilded coach there--don't
mind! " That with the footmen stuck behind.”
O Sir, says he, what ha'n't ye seen it? 'Tis Timon's coach, and Timon in it.
Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot
Thus does a false ambition rule us;
grows himfeif the worst of slaves.
Trabit fua quemque voluptas. ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young squire,
To bring down a wife, whom the fwains might admire : But, in spite of whatever the mortal could say, The goddess objected the length of the way! D 3'
To give up the op'ra, the park and the ball, For to view the stag's horns in an
country hall: To have neither China nor India to see! Nor lace-man to plague in a morning
not she! To relinquish the play.houfe, Quin, Garrick, and Clive, Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive ; To forego the full box for his lonesome abode ! O Heav'ns! she should faint, she should die on the road!
To forget the gay fashions and gestures of France, And to leave dear Augufte in the midst of the dance ; And Harlequin too! 'Twas in vain to require it And the wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it!
She might yield to refign the sweet fingers of Ruckholt, Where the citizen-matron regales with her cuckold ; But Ranelagh foon would her footsteps recall, And the music, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux-hall.
To be sure she could breathe no where else than in town, Thus she talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown ; But while honest Harry despair'd to succeed, A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.
The Extent of COOKERY.
Aliufque et Idem.
A plain brown bob he wore ;
To be a fop no more,