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Again, and again, and again Beauty sips;

What feelings their pressures excite?
When fleeting life's stopp'd by a Kiss of the lips,

Then sinks in a sigh of delight

MORAL.

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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.

BARTLEME FAIR.

TUNE.
“ Young Strephon he went tother day to the Wake."

WHILE gentlefolks strut in their silver and sat-
We poor folks are tramping in straw hats and pattens.
As merrily Old English ballads can sing--0,
As they at their opperores outlandish ling--0;
Calling out, bravo, encoro,

and

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

taylors.

Here's Punch's whole play of the gun-powder plot. Sir,
Wild beasts all-alive, and pease-porridge hot, Sir;
Fine sausages fry'd, and the Black on the wire ;
The whole court of France, and nice pig at the fire.
The ups-and-downs, who'll take a seat in the chair -0,
There are more ups and downs than at Bartleme Fair-o.
Here's Whittington's cat, and the tall dromedary,
The chaise without horses, and Queen of Hungary;
The merry-go-rounds, come who rides, come who

rides;
Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fire-eating besides ;
The fam'd learned dog that can tell all his letters,
And some men, as scholars are not much his betters,

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.

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THE

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,
Methought one below, hoarse enquired for me;
Welisten'dand heard him, his breathing seem'd scant,
And up stairs he stepp'd with asthmatical pant.
The door op'ning wide, solus enter'd the sprite,
Black and all black his dress, sable emblem of Night.
His livid lips quiver'd, pronouncing my name,
And, head and staff shaking declar'd me to blame.

Repentance (quoth he) won't admit of delays,
I insist, from this moment, you alter your ways.
As I star'd at him, slily, my bottle I híd,
Then punct'ally promis’d to do as he bid.
With unkerchief'd neck, sparkling eyes, and loose

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,
Then she sent such a look, Silver-beard was her own.
I saw his eye twinkle, blood flatter'd his face,
He fondly, tho’ feebly, essay'd an embrace.

I left them, and, just as I fancy'd, the churl
Made a strengthless attempt to be rude with my girl.
She shriek’d, I rush'd in as he strove to escape,
And the Watch took Repentance away for a rape.

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.

RURAL FELICITY.

TUNE.
“ On Market-day last, i remember the time."

That man i

L
ET court lovers pay adoration to crowns,

is a monarch for me,
Who chearful improves the few acres he owns,

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.
Those Cynics who brood o'er a single life's spleen,

The offspring they have dare not own,
But happy-wed pairs can enjoy the fond scene

To you ye unsocials unknown.
His dame the good man of the house thus address'd:-

'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;
I hope that these boys will as true-hearted prove.

And our lasses, my dear, took-like-you.
A tear of joy starting, he kiss'd from her cheek,

Love gratefully glowing her face,
Too full her fond heart, not a word cou'd she speak,

But, sighing, return'd his embrace.

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