TO A BAD RIDER. I. WHY, Mr. Rider, why Your nag so ill indorse, man? To make observers cry, You're mounted, but no horseman ? II. With elbows out so far, This thought you can't debar me— Though no Dragoon-HussarYou're surely of the army! III. I hope to turn M. P. You have not any notion, MY SON AND HEIR. I. My mother bids me bind my heir, II. She does not hint the slightest plan, III. What line to choose of likely rise, IV. A Statesman James can never be; V. A Seedsman ?-I'd not have him so; VI. Too many of all trades there be, VII. A Hardware dealer?-that might please, VIII. A Soldier ?-there he has not nerves, A Baker ?-no, a baker serves IX. Dresser of hair ?-that's not the sort; A Churchman?--James is very short, And cannot to a church aspire. X. A Lawyer?-that's a hardish term! XI. A shop for pot, and pan, and cup, XII. A Coppersmith I can't endure- XIII. A Paper-maker?-come he must XIV. A Currier?-that by favour goes- That do not hope to get their living! XV. Three Golden Balls?-I like them not; An Auctioneer I never did— The victim of a slavish lot, Obliged to do as he is bid! XVI. A Broker watching fall and rise XVII. A Cooper?-neither I nor Jem XVIII. A Painter?-long he would not live, XIX. A Glazier?-what if he should smash! XX. Well, something must be done! to look XXI. But what to do?-my temples ache From evening's dew till morning's pearl, What course to take my boy to makeO could I make my boy-a girl! THE POET'S FATE. WHAT is a modern Poet's fate? DECEMBER AND MAY. "Crabbed Age and Youth cannot live together." I. SHAKSPEARE. SAID Nestor, to his pretty wife, quite sorrowful one day, "Why, dearest, will you shed in pearls those lovely eyes away? 9966 You ought to be more fortified; "—" Ah, brute, be quiet, do, I know I'm not so fortyfied, nor fiftyfied, as you! II. "O, men are vile deceivers all, as I have ever heard, You'd die for me, you swore, and I-I took you at your word. I was a tradesman's widow then-a pretty change I've made; To live, and die, the wife of one, a widower by trade!" III. "Come, come, my dear, these flighty airs declare, in sober truth, |