REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE.

COWPER.

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 belongs

So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;
While Chief Baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning.

In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,

And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind.

Then holding the spectacles up to the court-
Your lordship observes they are made with a
straddle,

As wide as the ridge of the nose is; in short,
Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

Again would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) That a visage or countenance had not a Nose,

Pray who would, or who could wear spectacles then.

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.

When shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how)
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes:
But what were his arguments few people know,

For the court did not think they were equally wise.

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!

THE PETIT-MAITRE AND THE MAN ON THE WHEEL.

PINDAR.

AT Paris, some time since, a murd'ring man,
A German, and a most unlucky chap,
Sad, stumbling at the threshold of his plan,
Fell into Madam Justice's strong trap.

The bungler was condemn'd to grace the wheel,
On which the dullest fibres learn to feel;

His limbs secundum artem to be broke,
Amid ten thousand people, perhaps, or more.
Whenever Monsieur Ketch apply'd a stroke,
The culprit, like a bullock, made a roar.

A flippant Petit-maitre, skipping by,

Stepp'd up to him, and check'd him for his cry; "Boh!" quoth the German; "an't I 'pon de wheel? "D'ye tink my nerfs, and blood, and bones, can't feel?"

"Sir," quoth the beau, "don't, don't be in a pas6.6 sion,

"I've nought to say about your situation;、

"But making such a hideous noise in France, Fellow, is contrary to Bienséance."

AS Tom Bowling was prowling the streets with his gang,

Such fellows to press as would otherwise hang;

He spy'd one he thought who would answer his end, And, slapping his shoulder, cry'd, What ship, my

"friend?"

"You mistake," said the man, "sir, you cannot "take me!

J

"I can prove how I live; so by law I am free." "Your law," said rough Tom, "I am not very apt

❝ in ;

"That's a thing which we leave to the reg'lating "Captain;

"But this I know well, that whate'er you can say, "I've a warrant to press, and so you must away.' Then straight with their prey, they set off to the boat, And his children and wife left to sink or to float. A Frenchman, attentive, observ'd all that past," And thus to his friends, he broke silence at last: "Now sir, pray you tell me, en verité,

"Vat vas, you tink now, of your grand liberté ? "You make de great joke of de lettre de cachet; "Ma foi, de press-varrant vill very vell match it."

OBSCUREST night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,

When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went;
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent:

He lov'd them both, but both in vain;
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the 'whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;

Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away:

But wag'd with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.

He shouted;-nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course;
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless, perforce,

They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford;
And such as storms allow,

The cask, the coup, the floated cord
Delay'd not to bestow :

But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn;
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;

Yet bitter felt it still to die,
Deserted, and his friends so nigh!

He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self upheld:

And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell'd:

And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried-" Adieu!"