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ON THE

BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S

LIBRARY,

TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS.,

BY THE MOB IN THE MONTH OF JỤNE, 1780,

So then—the Vandals of our isle,

Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile,

Than ever Roman saw!

II.

And MURRAY sighs o’er Pope and Swift,

And many a treasure more,
The well-judg'd 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.

ON THE SAME.

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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.

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 ev'ry swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet’s mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part express’d,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr’d;
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 it's way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into 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 ev'ry 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.
Revild and lov’d, renounc'd and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
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 fav'rites shed,

O share Maria’s grief! Her fav’rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage?)

. Assassin'd 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.

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