Now Satan exults in his vengeance compleat, With Repentance, his only companion, he lies, On a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, Now you villainous dauber! Old Beelzebub cries, You are paid for your insults to me! But my tender heart it is easy to move If to what I propose you agree; That picture,-be just! the resemblance improve, Make a handsomer portrait, your chains I'll remove, And you shall this instant be free. Overjoyed, the conditions so easy he hears, At morn he arises, composes his look, And proceeds to his work as before; The people beheld him, the culprit they took, They thought that the Painter his prison had broke, And to prison they led him once more. They open the dungeon, behold in his place In the corner old Beelzebub lay. He smirks and he smiles and he leers with a grace, That the Painter might catch all the charms of his face Then vanish'd in lightning away. Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no more, But I'll alter the picture above the Church door, And I must give the Devil his due. On some MODERN IMPROVEMENTS In a celebrated SPOT in GLOUCESTERSHIRE, bh you who these crags in so happy a taste With border and trim palisado have graced ! Push on your improvements; and fail not to block With a neat front of brickwork yon opposite rock, T. B. On Reading MAJOR CARTWRIGHT's APPEAL, &e. By GEORGE DYER. Ah! why should Song, enchanting Song, Give Pride those laurels, that to Truth belong? I hail the man of generous frame, Where Discord hurl'd her torch on high, The blood of gallant Britons shed, Ah! vain the pomp, the imperial sway, And oft, while Poeans rend the skies, Lift high to Catharine's name the strain, And hear the groan from Ismael's tower, |