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The JUGGLERS.

By GA Y.

As recited by Mr. HENDERSON, at Freemafons Hall.

A

Juggler long through all the town

Had rais'd his fortune and renown; You'd think (fo far his art tranfcends) The devil at his fingers ends

Vice heard his fame, fhe read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,

She fought his booth, and from the crowd.
Defy'd the man of art aloud.

Is this then he fo fam'd for flight?
Can this flow bungler cheat your fight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, 'Tis done.

In fcience I fubmit to none.

Thus faid. The cups and balls he play'd;
By turns, this here, that there, convey'd.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.

His little boxes change the grain :
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shews all fair;
His fingers spread, and nothing there;

Then

Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magic looking-glafs, the cries, (There hand it round) will charm your eyes. Each eager eye the fight defir'd,

And ev'ry man himself admir'd.

Next, to a Senator addressing;

See this bank-note; obferve the bleffing,
Breathe on the Bill. Heigh, pafs! "Tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock fhone.

A fecond puff the magic broke;

The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor ftor'd,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody fwords are there.

A purse she to a Thief expos'd;
At once his ready fingers clos'd.
He

opes his fift the treasure's fled; He fees a halter in its ftead.

She bids Ambition hold a wand; He grafps a hatchet in his hand.

A

A box of charity the shows,

Blow here; and a Church-warden blows.

"Tis vanished with conveyance neat,

And on the table smokes a treat.

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,
And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meagre Rake addrest.
This picture fee; her fhape, her breaft!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her. With furprise,
His hand expos'd a box of pills,

And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.

A counter, in a Miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the fum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
Take ev'ry shape, but Charity;
And not one thing you faw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.

The Juggler now in grief of heart,
With this fubmiffion own'd her art.
Can I fuch matchless flight withstand!
How practice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;

You ev'ry day, and all day long.

ELEGY

E LE GY

TO THE MEMORY OF

AN

UNFORTUNATE LADY.

WHAT

By POPE.

7HAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moon-light
fhade

Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis fhe ;—but why that bleeding bofom gor'd?
Why dimly gleams the vifionary fword?

Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,

Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire ?
Ambition first sprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage;

Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres ;
Like eaftern kings, a lazy ftate they keep,
And clofe confin'd to their own palace, fleep.

From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die}
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,

And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,

Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good, Thou mean deferter of thy brother's blood!

See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,

These cheeks, now fading at the blaft of death;
Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before,
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Juftice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children, fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,

And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates;
There paffengers shall stand, and, pointing, fay,
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way).
Lo! these were they, whose fouls the furies fteel'd,
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs'd the proud away,

The gaze of fools, and pageants of a day!

So

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