The Fiend Corruption, first brought forth
Dust-licking Adulation;

A second Dæmon harrass'd Earth,
With Party's altercation.

The Hag Deceit a Reptile bred,
Call'd Infamy, the Pander;
A third and fourth were brought-to-bed
Of Insolence and Slander.

So fertile were th' Infernal Race,
Each day new monsters prowling,
Base Perjury with rank Grimace,
And Envy ever howling;
Servility with worthless Pride,
Debauch with poison'd Diet,
Swoln Gluttony by Scurvy's Side,
A Faction form'd for Riot.

A while these Implings croak'd about,
'Till startl'ing Madam Circe,
She order'd all the Vermin out,

Nor to her own shew'd mercy.

Absurdity with Malice went,
Ingratitude with Lewdness,
Scurrility with Discontent,

And Ridicule with Rudeness.

Their bastard brood the Dæmons bore,
Along the mid-air flitting,

And found at last a welcome shore,
Where Bribery was sitting.
Ambition hail'd them on their way,
And gave them his directions;
His Agents took them into pay,

Then sent them to ELECTIONS.

I

Wonder, quoth Dame, as her Spouse she embraces, How Strumpets can look, how they dare shew their faces,

And those wicked Wives who from Husband's arms fly,

Lord! where do they think they must go when they die?

But next day, by Husband, with 'Prentice Boy caught,

When she from the bed was to Toilet-glass brought, Her Head he held up, with this gentle RebukeMy Dear! you was wishing to know how Whores

look!

Turn your eyes to that table, at once you will see
What Faces Jades wear; then, my Dear, behold me
Your Features confess the Adulteress clear,
My visage exhibits how Cuckolds appear.

You ask'd where bad Wives go? why, really, my
Chick,

You must, with the rest of them, go to Old Nick! Yet Beelzebub don't such damn'd Tenants disown, For bad Wives, he knows, make a Hell of their own.

All the World wou'd be wed, if the Clergy cou'd shew

Any rule in the service to change I for 0:

How happy the Union of Marriage wou'd prove,
Not long as we Live join'd, but long as we Love.

At his feet she sunk down, Sorrow lent her such
Moans

That Resentment was gagg'd by her Tears and her Tones.

What cou'd Hubby do then? what cou'd then Hubby do?

But Sympathy struck, as she cry'd, he cry'd too.

Oh! Corregio! cou'd I Sigismunda design,
Or exhibit a Magdalen, Guido, like thine,

I wou'd paint the fond Look which the Penitent stole,
That pierc'd her soft Partner, and sunk to his Soul.

Transported to doating! he rais'd the Distress'd,
And tenderly held her long time to his Breast;
On the Bed gently laid her, by her gently laid,
And the Breach there was clos'd the same way it was
made.

Kings, Homer

says, dress'd their own Messes:

Achilles, the hot,

Always hung on the Pot,

Patroclus he garnish'd the Dishes.

By the Poets of old,
Apicius we're told

Was an Eater among the Antiques;
Tho' his Taste it was fine,

Yet like us cou'd not dine,

For no Griskins were cook'd 'mong the Greeks.

'Mong the Greeks? well I know, man, Apicius was Roman,

So no Critic's rod am I risking;

Not of Roman, nor Greek,

But of Britons I speak,

And Britons who boast of their Griskin.

Trimalchio's Stuff,

And the French Dartineuf,

Had almost good Eating abolish'd;
Sardanap'lus was great,

And Lucullus cou'd treat,

Yet never a Griskin demolish'd

One Emp'ror took pains

To make Ragouts of Brains,

But how were those Dishes compounded?
It was done long ago,

For at present I know,

Our Cooks wou'd be greatly confounded.

Come! Lads, hark away,

Hunt the Bottle To-day,

At Night, Boys, to Beauty high over;

Be this understood,

May our Griskins prove good,

When, as Grisks, we leap into Love's Cover.

JACK TAR's SONG.

TUNE.

"A Begging we will go."

NOME bustle, bustle, drink about,
be,

COME
And let us merry

Our Cann is full, we'll pump it out,
And then all Hands to Sea..

And a Sailing we will go.

Fine Miss at Dancing-school is taught,
The Minuet to tread,

But we go better when we've brought
The Fore Tack to Cat Head.

The Jockey's call'd to Horse, to Horse,
And swiftly rides the Race,

But swifter far we shape our course
When we are giving Chace.