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ON THE SAME.

I.

WHEN wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,
And bid us fear the same.

II.

Over MURRAY's loss the muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,

Yet blessed the guardian care, that kept
His sacred head from harm.

MII.

There memory, like the bee, that's fed

From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all he read

Had treasured up before.

IV.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong;

The flowers are gone-but still we find The honey on his tongue.

THE

LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;

OR,

HYPOCRISY DETECTED*.

THUS says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whatever his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part expressid,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard,
From the whole hog to be debarred;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind,

* It may be proper to inform the reader that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way,, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, inte the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.

Much controversy straight arose,

These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said

He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.

Thus conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh'tis well-The tale applied May make you laugh on t'other side. Renounce the world-the preacher cries. We do a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards

A snug and friendly game at cards;

And one, whatever you may say,

Can see no evil in a play;.

Some love a concert, or a race;

And others shooting, and the chase.

Reviled and loved, renounced and followed, Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallowed; Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, Yet likes a slice as well as he:

With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON

THE DEATH

OF

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S

BULFINCH.

YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O share Maria's grief!

Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassined by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,
And though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flagelet or flute...

The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise
To sweep up all the dew.

LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike to bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large-built and latticed well.

On

Well-latticed-but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peeled and dried,
The swains their baskets make.

Night veiled the pole. All seemed secure.
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,

223

A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-backed, long-tailed, with whiskered snout,
And badger-coloured hide.

He, entering at the study-door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind

Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impressed,
A dream disturbed poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seemed to view

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