When gracious Anne became our queen,
The church of England's glory,
Another face of things were seen,
And I became a tory:
Occasional conformists base,

I damn'd their moderation;
And thought the church in danger was
By such prevarication.

When George in pudding time came o'er,
And moderate men look'd big, sir ;
I turn'd a cat-in-pan once more,
And so became a whig, sir;
And thus preferment I procur'd
From our new faith's defender;
And almost every day abjur'd
The pope and the pretender,

The illustrious house of Hanover,
And protestant succession;
To these I do allegiance swear—
While they can keep possession:
For in my faith and loyalty,

I never more will faulter,
And George my lawful king shall be-
Until the times do alter,

Tom Starboard.

TOM Starboard was a lover true,
As brave a tar as ever sail'd;

'The duties ablest seamen do

Tom did, and never yet had fail'd.

But wreck'd as he was homeward bound, Within a league of England's coast, Love sav'd him sure from being drown'd, For all the crew but Tom was lost.

His strength restor'd, Tom hied with speed,
True to his love as e'er was man ;
Nought had he sav'd nought did he need,
Rich be in thought of lovely Nan:
But scarce five miles poor Tom had gain'd,
When he was press'd; he heav'd a sigh,
And said, though cruel was his lot,
Ere flinch from duty he would die.

In fight Tom Starboard knew no fear,
Nay, when he'd lost an arm, resign'd,
Said, love for Nan, his only dear,

Had sav'd his life, and fate was kind.
The war being ended, Tom return'd,
His lost limb serv'd him for a joke,
For still his manly bosom burn'd

With love; his heart was heart of oak.

"

Ashore, in haste, Tom nimbly ran
To cheer his love, his destin'd bride,
But false report had brought to Nan,
Six months before, that Tom had died.
With grief she daily pin'd away,
No remedy her life could save,
And Tom arriv'd the very day
They laid his Nancy in her grave,

Aristippus.

LET care be a stranger to each jovial souľ

Who, Aristippus like, can his passions controul; Of wisest philosophers wisest was he,

Who, attentive to ease, let his mind still be free; The prince, peer, or peasant to him were the same, For pleas'd, he was pleasing to all where he came, But still turn'd his back on contention and strife,Resolving to live all the days of his life.

A Friend to mankind, all mankind was his friendAnd the peace of his mind was his ultimate end; He found fault with none, if none found fault with him,

If his friend had a humour, he humour'd his whim; If wine was the word, why he bumper'd his glassIf love was the topic, he toasted his lass;

But still turn'd his back on contention and strife, Resolving to live all the days of his life.

If councils disputed, if councils agreed,

He found fault with neither; for this was his creed,
That-let them be guided by folly or sense,
"Twould be semper eadem an hundred years hence.
He thought 'twas unsocial to be malcontent,
If the tide went with him, with the tide too he went,
But still turn'd his back on contention and strife,
Resolving to live all the days of his life.

Was the nation at war, he wish'd well to the sword;
If a peace was concluded, a peace was his word;
Disquiet to him, of body or mind,

Was the longitude only he never could find.

The philosopher's stone was but gravel and pain, And all who had sought it, had sought it in vain ; He still turn'd his back on contention and strife, Resolving to live all the days of his life.

Then let us all follow Aristippus's rules,
And deem his opponents both asses and mules;
Let those not contented to lead or to drive,
By the bees of their sects be drove out of their hive;
Expell'd from the mansions of Quiet and Ease,
May they never find out the blest art how to please;
While our friends and ourselves—not forgetting our
wives,

By those maxims may live all the days of our lives,

Past Twelve o'clock.

ONE evening Good Humour took Wit as his guest, Resolv'd to indulge in a sensible feast;

Their liquor was claret, and Friendship their host, And mirth, song, and sentiment, garnish'd each

toast.

Derry down, &c.

But while like true bucks, they enjoy'd their design, For the joy of a buck lies in love, wit, and wine; Alarm'd, they all heard at the door a loud knock, And the watchman, hoarse, bellow'd, ""Twas past twelve o'clock."

D

Thy nimbly ran down, the disturbing dog found, And up stairs they dragg'd the impertinent hound; When brought to the light, how much they were pleas'd

To see 'twas the grey glutton Time they had seiz'd.

His glass as his lanthorne, his scythe as his pole, And his single lock dangl'd adown his smooth scull; My friends," quoth he, coughing, I thought fit

66

to knock,

66

And bid you be gone, for 'tis past twelve o'clock."

Said the venom'd-tooth sagé, "on this advice fix, "Tho' Nature strikes twelve, Folly still points to six"

He longer had preach'd, but no longer they'd bear it, So hid him at once in a hogshead of claret.

"This is right!" call'd out Wit, "while you're yet in your prime,

There's nothing like claret for killing of Time." "Huzza!" reply'd Love," now no more can he knock,

Or impertinent, tell us-'tis past twelve o'clock.”

Since Time is confin'd to our wine, let us think
By this maxim we're sure of our Time when we

drink;

With bumpers, my lads! let our glasses be prim'd, Now we're certain our drinking is always well-tim❜d,