Where with ftrange heats his bofom glows,
And myftic flames the God bestows.
You, who none other flame require
Than a good blazing parlour fire,
Write verfes-to defy the fcorners,
In cake houses, and chimney corners.
Sal found her deep-laid fchemes were vain ;
The cards are cut-come deal again-
No good comes on it when one lingers
I'll play the card comes next my fingers
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When fhe had left it wholly to her.

Well, now, who wins? Why, ftill the fame For Sal has loft another game.

I've done, the mutter'd-I was faying,

It did not argufy my playing.

Some folks will win they cannot chuse;
But think or not think-some must lofe.

I may have won a game, or fo
But then it was an age ago
It ne'er will be my lot again
I won it of a baby then

Give me an ace of trumps, and fee,

Our Ned will beat me with a three.
"Tis all by luck that things are carry'd
He'll fuffer for it when he's marry'd.
Thus Sal, with tears in either eye,
While victor Ned fat tittering by.

Thus I, long envying your fuccefs,
And bent to write, and ftudy lefs,

Sate down and fcribbled in a trice,
Juft what you fee-and you defpife.
You who can frame a tuneful fong,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a sprig of bay ;
Accept the verse, howe'er it flows,
From one, who is your friend in profe.
What is this wreath, fo green! fo fair!
Which many wifh, and few must wear?
Which one man's indolence can gain,
Another's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what muft Sal or Poet fue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verfe? for luck at Loo?
Ah no! 'tis Genius gives you fame,
And Ned thro' skill fecures the game.

}

Written at an INN, on a particular Occasion.

T

O thee, fair Freedom! I retire,

From flattery, feafting, dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in domes much higher
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 browns it at an inn.
D 2

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from Falfhood's fpecious grin;
Freedom I love, and form I hate,

And chufe my lodgings at an inn.

Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win

It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me Freedom, at an inn.

And now once more I fhape my way
Thro' rain or fhine, thro' thick or thin,

Secure to meet, at clofe of day,

With kind reception-at an inn.

Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his various tour has been,
May figh to think how oft he found
His warmeft welcome-at an inn.

I

The PRICE of an EQUIPAGE.

Servum fi potes, Ole, non habere

Et regem potes, Ole, non habere

ASK'D a friend, amidst the throng,

Whofe coach it was that trail'd along :

"The gilded coach there--don't you mind?

"That with the footmen ftuck behind."

O Sir, fays he, what ha'n't ye feen it ?

'Tis Timon's coach, and Timon in it.

MAR

"T

'Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot

Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not?
Your old acquaintance, Timon!" True,
"But faith his equipage is new.

"Blefs me, faid I, where can it end?

"What madness has poffefs'd my friend?
"Four powder'd flaves, and those the tallest!
"Their ftomachs, doubtlefs, not the smallest!
"Can Timon's revenue maintain

"In lace and food, fo large a train ?

« I know his land—each inch o' ground-
"'Tis not a mile to walk it round
"And if his whole eftate can bear
"To keep a lad, and one-horse chair,
"I own 'tis paft my comprehenfion !".
Yes, Sir; but Timon has a penfion.

Thus does a false ambition rule us;
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flickering knaves,

He

grows himfelf the worst of flaves.

txtxtxt tet

F

A

BALL A D.

-Trabit fua quemque voluptas.

VIRG.

ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young squire,

To bring down a wife, whom the fwains might admire :

But, in fpite of whatever the mortal could fay,

The goddess objected the length of the way!

To give up the op'ra, the park and the ball,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country hall:
To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor lace-man to plague in a morning

not fhe!

To relinquish the play-house, 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! fhe fhould faint, fhe fhould die on the road!
To forget the gay fashions and geftures of France,
And to leave dear Augufte in the midft 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 fweet fingers of Ruckholt, Where the citizen-matron regales with her cuckold; But Ranelagh foon would her footsteps recall,

And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux-hall.

To be fure fhe could breathe no where else than in town. Thus fhe talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown: But while honeft Harry despair'd to fucceed, A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

The EXTENT of COOKERY,

W

Aliufque et Idem.

HEN Tom to Cambridge firft was fent,
A plain brown bob he wore ;

Read much, and look'd as tho' he meant

To be a fop no more.

Se