With his goose-quill the scribbling elf, And here my simile almost tript, THE CLOWN'S REPLY. JOHN TROT was desired by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears. 'A'nt please you,'quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be sav'd, without thinking on AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. GOOD people all, of every sort, In Islington there was a man, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends, But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. Around from all the neighbouring streets, The wound it seem'd both sore and sad, And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, STANZAS ON WOMAN. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE, A TRAGEDY. IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore The distant climates, and the savage shore; And quit for Venus many a brighter here; With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden, He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading; Yet, ere he lands, has order'd me before Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost? This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast. thunder; seen 'em [Pit. Here trees of stately size, and billing turtles in 'em [Balconies. Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground: [Tasting them. The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear: I heard a hissing-there are serpents here! His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure: lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample? SONG. O MEMORY, thou fond deceiver, And turning all the past to pain ! Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing, |