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Again, and again, and again Beauty sips;
What feelings their pressures excite?
Then sinks in a sigh of delight
Whilst our glassés we kiss, and we frolick at ease,
Of Happiness ne'er may we miss; May we live as we list, may we kiss whom we please,
And may we still please whom we kiss.
WHILE gentlefolks strut in their silver and sat-
caro, Tho'f I will sing nothing but Bartleme Fair--0. Here first of all, crowds against other crowds driving, Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving; Here's fiddling and fluting, and shouting and shriekirg, Fifes, trumpets, drums, bag-pipes, and barrow
girls squeaking. My rare round and sound, here's choice of fine ware-Tho' all is not sound sold at Bartleme Fair.-0.
Here are drolls, hornpipe-dancing, and shewing of
postures; Plum-porridge, black-puddings, and op’ning of
oysters : The tap-house guests swearing, and gall’ry folks
squawling, With salt-boxes, solus, and mouth-pieces bawling ; Pimps, pick-pockets, strollers, fat landladies, sailors, Bawds, baileys, jilts, jockies, thieves, tumblers, and
Here's Punch's whole play of the gun-powder plot. Sir,
This world's a wide fair, where we ramble 'mong
gay things ; Our passions, like children, aretempted by play-things; By sound and by shew, by trash and by trumpery. The fal-lals of fashion, and Frenchify'd frumpery. Life is but a droll, rather wretched than rare--0, And thus ends the ballad of Bartleme Fair--Ö.
HE dictates of Nature prove school kuow
. ledge weak; “ Does not Instinct beyond all the orators speak ? From their parts of speech we'll not borrow one
part, “ Our lips, without words, find the way to the heart.
Thus as last night I sung, with my lass on my knee,
Repentance (quoth he) won't admit of delays,
hair, Her gown, single pinn'd, burst from closet my fair; There she fled
when the fright first appeared in the
room, Then fell at his feet in the health of Love's bloom.
So graceful she knelt, and so tender her tone,
I left them, and, just as I fancy'd, the churl
Ever since when we wanton in rapt'rous embrace, The reproach-bearing-wretch dares not shew us his
face. May each fond of each, thus enjoyment improve, Be henceforth Repentance a stranger to Love.
That man i
is a monarch for me,
Unenvying, industrious, and free. At night, in high health, from his labour he rests,
His houshold sit round in a row, Wife, children, and servants, domestical guests,
Such circles in town 'can ye shew ? He smiles on his babes,
, as some strive for his knee, And some to their mother's neck cling, While playful the prattlers for place disagree,
The roof with their shrill trebles ring.
The offspring they have dare not own,
To you ye unsocials unknown.
'Twas so with us when we were young: Her hand within his he with gentleness press’d,
While sentiment prompted his tongue. I remember the day of my falling in love,
How fearful I first came to woo;
And our lasses, my dear, took-like-you.
Love gratefully glowing her face,
But, sighing, return'd his embrace.