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STORY, or Song, you have left to

my

choice,
For one I've no Humour, for t'other no Voice;
In attempting a Tune I like Nobody bawl,
And as to a Mimic I'm nothing at all.
The wrinkld-cheek Critic, call's 'Squire Syntaxis,
Pedantical Speaking wou'd bring into practice,
With Classical Gabble may wink and may sneer,
And beg I wou'd make the thing Nothing appear.

For Schoolmasters conjugate derivate stuff,
I speak to be understood, that is enough;
The Phrase of like Nobody they may condemn,
But as I sing nothing, 'tis nothing to them,

Now as to this Nobody I dare to say,
Altho' we see Somebody always in play:
And sometimes that something may somehow beshewn,
Yet Nobody only must many Things own.
The Public is pester'd with many gay forms,
Like Butterflies, springing from Grubs and from

Worms;
Those well-dress'd Necessities daily we view,
In Nobody's bus’ness with nothing to do.
They've nothing to think on, they've nothing to say,
Nobody's all night, and just nothing all day ;
At nothing they laugh, and at nothing they cry,
And Nobody cares how they live or they die.
'Tis Nobody only can guess the Game play'd,
When Nobody's by, betwixt Master and Maid ;
Unless Indiscretion shou'd alter their plan,
Nobody knows nothing 'twixt Mistress and Man.
The Romp too ripe grown, unless gather'd a Spouse,
Will fall, the first shake, from weak Chastity's

boughs ; Dear Captain, she whispers, somebody will hear us, Dear Miss, whispers he, there is Nobody near us. But when she's betray'd by her Passion, to Shame, And Parents and Guardians begin with their blame Who, I Sir?- not. I Sir !--no! Honour forbid it, If I am with Child, it was Nobody did it.

;

The tread of Gallant by Cornuto is heard,
On tiptoe the Lover from rendezvous scar'd;
Who's there? starts the Husband, 'tis Thieves that

I hear,
But Wife pats his cheek, and lisps, Nobody! dear,

Any-body may say, if they please, I am wrong,
Ev'ry-body find Fault, if they please, with my Song;
But careful lest somebody we shou'd offend,
I with Nothing began, and with Nobody end.

WATER.

TUNE.
" The big-belly'd Bottle."

UR Chorus to Bacchus, to Bacchus we'll raise,

Long Corks be my Garland instead of the Bays; With Burgundy's Blessings my Temples anoint, And toast the first Toper who drank a Half-pint.

My Song is to Bacchus, the God of the Vine,
The Engineer Artist to spring Beauty's Mine;
Without him Wit pines, and Love languidly fades,
Cold Water has kept the Nine Muses old Maids.

Quoth Temperance, Water's the Med'cine of health,
And Water, quoth Prudence, will win a man wealth;
Tho' odd it may seem, as the story's not long,
Once Water help'd Bacchus, and thus says the Song.

“ It was when his Harvest rejoic'd the parch'd Earth, “ Beneath the first Vine, Love on Wit begot Mirth; “ Yet Hate rais'd some Rebels who broke from

his sway;

“ And, drunk with his bounty, deny'd to obey.

“ He harness'd his Tygers, he marshall’d his force, " Silenus was Suiler, Lord Pan led the Horse; “ The Ganges they cross'd, came in front of the Foe. “And struck them all dead, without striking a blow...

“ 'Twas Pan did the feat, cast them into a fright, “ He cropt, like a Fox, thro' their camp in the night; “ All the Wine he drew off, while these Ignorants

snor'd, “ And into the Bottles foul Ditch IVater pour’d.

Each Rebel, next morn, rais'd the Flask to his head,
But chill'd the first gulp, in an ague-fit fled;
Fled, trembling, from Monarch to meanest Mechanic,
From hence came the Phrase, to put Men in a Pannic.

MEDIOCRITY.

TUNE.
Attempt to be happy! but how can that be?”

N a neighbourly way, with an honest man's fame,

Attend if you please, if you're pleas’d with a fiame,

Imprimis, let Probity lead.
Be careful to keep on Humility's side,

Nor ever lose Gratitude's view;
Obey not the Envy of Pique nor of Pride,

Nor pilfer from Merit its due.

Be assur'd that Esteem is a noble Estate,

Let not a fond smile make you proud ;
Nor rail at Men merely because they are Great,

Be not dup'd by the Roar of a Crowd.

Shun Flattery's phrase, let not Promise allure,

Nor dangle for Dinners in Taste;
Forget not oid Friends, tho' perhaps they are poor,

Nor make new Acquaintance in haste.
Oh! suffer not Interest, Friendship to wean,

Accept not Servility's treat ;
Nor silently witness Iniquity's scene,

But open at once on Deceit.
Remember Yourself, spare the shame of your Friend,

Nor carry your Wit to excess;
With Spirit the Cause of the Absent defend,

And shrink not your arm from Distress. Oppress not the Low, nor be High People's Slave,

Nor ever despair nor be vain ;
Howe'er inconsistent the World may behavé,

Mediocrity ever maintain.
His views let Ambition extend o'er the State,

Let Avarice gluttonize Wealth ;
No Nabobs I wish for, I wou'd not be great,

I only ask humbly for Health.

How chearful, in Health, will my latter days pass,

Unenvy'd, unenvying live;
With the Friends I have prov'd, and my fav’rite

Lass,
And PRACTICE THE PRECEPTS I GIVE.

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