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And how does miss and madam do,

- The little boy and all ?' * All tight and well. And how do you,

Good Mr. What-d'ye-call ?'

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.'

Oh, 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, 1 dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum,

Without the clowns that pay.

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On his emphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of

Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lo.ds.

CowPER,whose silver voice, tasked sometimes hard,

Legends prolix delivers in the ears (Attentive when thou readest) of England's peers,

Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard,

Expending late on all that length of plea Thy generous powers, but silence honoured thee Mute as e'er gazed on Orator or Bard. Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head, and could'st with music

sweet Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, , Like thy renowned forefathers, far and wide

Thy fame diffuse, praised, not for utterance meet Of others' speech, but magic of thy own.

LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN,

AUTHOR OF

" THE BOTANIC GARDEN."

Two Poets *, (poets, by report,

Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court!

Conspire to honour Thee.

They best can judge a poet's worth,

Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth

By labours of their own.

We therefore pleased extol thy song,

Though various yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong,

And learned as 'tis sweet.

* Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied

this.

No envy mingles with our praise,

Though, could our hearts repine
At any poet's happier lays,

They would—they must at thine.

But we, in mutual bondage knit

Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit

With an unjaundiced eye;

And deem the bard, whoe'er he be,

And howsoever known,
Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,

Unworthy of his own.

ON MRS. MONTAGU'S

FEATHER-HANGINGS.'

The Birds put off their every hue
To dress a room for Montagu.......

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