An adjudged law case not to be found in any of the Books. In vain, recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future age: Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's new, The flame extinct, he views the roving fireThere goes my lady, and there goes the squire, There goes the parson, oh! illustrious spark, And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk! REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND I. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose— The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong. An adjudged law case, not to be found in any of the Books. II. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, Then holding the spectacles up to the court- Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose An adjudged Law Case, &c. VI. On the whole, it appears-and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. VII. Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how) But what were his arguments few people know, So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or but That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should be shut. A Mob is without Discretion. ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY, TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. BY THE MOB, IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780. And MURRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift, And many a treasure more, The well-judged purchase and the gift That grac'd his letter'd store. III. Their pages mangled, burnt and torn, The loss was his alone; But ages yet to come shall mourn, The burning of his own. A Mob is without Discretion. 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. O'er MURRAY's loss the muses wept, They felt the rude alarm, Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept His sacred head from harm. III. There mem'ry, like the bee that's fed From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all he read Had treasur'd up before. IV. The lawless herd, with fury blind, Have done him cruel wrong, The flow'rs are gone-but still we find, The honey on his tongue. |