Some wonderful folks make a wonderful rout,
While some blunder in other folks blunder out,
We wonder what Blunderers can be about.

One Side says the Times are so good they are glad; The Times, says the other side, ne'er were so bad: No Wonder if this Side or that Side is mad.

For the Times, I some Patriot Changes propose,
That our Taxes be less, and we wear plainer cloaths;
And that ev'ry wearer may pay what he owes.
Imprimis,-reflect on the Taxes on Wheels,
On Cards, and the Claret we waste at our meals ;
These grievances each party equally feels.
To be sure we must own 'tis cursed provoking,
To see how some people their vices are cloaking,
While Virtuebut, neighbours, don't think I am

For my Grandfather said, and his name's rever'd,
That his Father's Father had often times heard,
How Virtue, when he was a school-boy, appear'd.

She fled without leaving behind her directions, 'Twas in vain she observ'd to oppose such con

nexions, As Turtle-feasts, Cuckoldoms, Cards, and Elections,

may think me severe, but indeed you

think wrong, I promis's a Wonder at first in my Song, And the Wonder is-How could you listen so long?

Which nobody can deny. .


“While others strive by pompous Phrase."


Here, independent, we rejoice;
We look, we like, we meet, we part,
As Instinct prompts the feeling heart.
While many Groups miscallid the great,
Surrounded by insipid State,

The Health of Peace abuse.
In Party's tumult, Pomp's fatigue,
Place, Popularity's intrigue,

Life's social scenes they lose.

The Danglers at a Birth-night's glare,
As Toyshop Figures, fin'ry wear,
Like winnow'd chaff shift to and fro',
In all the fuss and farce of shew.
As flies to Sunshine spread their wings,
So up and down these idle things,

In courtly Sunbeams play.
The Nobles smile to see the train,
Which, with a blush, they must maintain,

To garnish Grandeur's day. Daughters of Dignity and Grace, Ye high-bred Dames of haughty Race, What think you, 'midst your Di'mond blaze, Your crouded Routs, and Gala days ? Tho' sordid Flatt'ry's servile grin Extols your forms, is all within

Fit for Contentment's dome ? Sisters of Fashion laugh and love, Tho'round you all the Graces move,

Yet how are things at Home?

Your stucco'd Ceilings, emboss'd Plate,
Your Carpets, Robes, and Beds of State,
Where Gold and Silver Cupids wove,
Exhibit artificial Love.-
Can Down, or fring's Embroidery's art,
Affection win or warm the Heart,

Or strengthen Vigour's stores ?
Perhaps, 'midst all the waste of Pride,
The Fribble yawns at Beauty's side,

Or sottish Husband snores.

While we, as marry'd folks shou'd do,
On neat unvarnish'd Love fall to.
Satiety ne'er bids us roam,
We find Fruition's feast at home;
Beyond all mercenary charms,
Pure Inclination

her arms.

Give Cesar Cesar's due.
May Friendship fill the manly breast,
And Gratitude be Beauty's guest,

And each to each be true.


• Ah ! Chloe ! transported, I cry'd."

NE Ev'ning alone in the Grove,

Miss sat on the side of the Green,
She wonder'd at what they call Love,

And what it was marry'd folks mean. " All night how I tumble and toss,

6. Yet neither want manner nor means; 6. Alas! must I live to my Loss,

“ And wither away in my Teens ?"

Young Rhodophil ran up the slope,

, As if he some Sport had in view; She trembl’d, betwixt Fear and Hope,

Irresolute what she shou'd do. She saw him advance to her seat,

She saw him, but cou'd not away ; Love fixʼd a large weight to her feet,

Curiosity told her to stay.

Desire gave grace to his tongue,

As Lovers to Lovers will speak; Enamour'd, he over her hung,

Then bow'd down his Lips to her Cheek. He knelt, she attempted to rise, Tho' 'twas but a feeble

essay ; The wildness he wore in his eyes,

So scar'd her she fainted away.


" How foolish weak Women believe,

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weak is the Wisdom of Man ?

How foolish the fancy of Taste ?
Admitting that Life's but a Span,

That Span must we wantonly waste ?
About we dissatisfy'd move,
And ramble from climate to clime

; Yet neither enjoy nor improve,

But only, alas! to kill Time.

Ye Husbands, rash Dupes to Excess,

Pretend to live damn'd honest lives,
Ingrates to the good ye possess,
You abuse both your Time and your

Wives. At midnight inebriate reel,

A prey to foul Prostitute's lure,
O! think what Affection must feel,

What delicate Wives may endure ?

The Gun-loaded 'Squire will toil

All day with keen Industry's care, Incessantly anxious to spoil,

The innocent Tenants of Air. Or after the Fox bursts away,

Swift down the wind gallops along; The Mischiefs that chance in the Day,

At Night furnish Fun for a Song.

At Toilets how Beauties appear,

Like Fowlers they arm and take aim; High charg'd with Curls, tier over tier,

And animal Man is their Game. Sometimes with less dangerous arts

The fair, Dissipations pursue, If Trifles did not take their parts,

With horrid Time what cou'd they do ?

When fine Women do as they please,

They hear not the Nursery's din; No Husband's absurdities teaze,

They fly such dull Scenes to cut in. Dear Bragg, Hazard, Loo, and Quadrille,

Delightful! extatic! immense ! With them each Reflection they kill,

And escape all the trouble of Sense.

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