SHE.

"Don't go away, for fear I should fall!"

HE.

"I have examined it every nook,

And what you see here is a sample of all.
Come, wheel round,

The dirt we have found

Would be an estate at a farthing a pound."

IX.

Now, sister Anne, the guitar you must take,
Set it, and sing it, and make it a song ;
I have varied the verse for variety's sake,
And cut it off short, because it was long.
'Tis hobbling and lame,

Which critics wont blame,

For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same.

SWEET MEAT HAS SOUR SAUCE;

OR, THE SLAVE-TRADE IN THE DUMPS.

A TRADER I am to the African shore,

But since that my trading is like to be o'er,

I'll sing you a song that you ne'er heard before,

Which nobody can deny, deny,

Which nobody can deny.

When I first heard the news it gave me a shock,
Much like what they call an electrical knock,
And now I am going to sell off my stock,
Which nobody, &c.

"Tis a curious assortment of dainty regales,
To tickle the negroes with when the ship sails,
Fine chains for the neck, and a cat with nine tails,
Which nobody, &c.

Here's supple-jack plenty, and store of rat-tan,
That will wind itself round the sides of a man,
As close as a hoop round a bucket or can,

Which nobody, &c.

Here's padlocks and bolts, and screws for the thumbs,

That
squeeze them so lovingly, till the blood comes;
They sweeten the temper like comfits or plums,
Which nobody, &c.

When a negro his head from his victuals withdraws,

And clenches his teeth and thrusts out his paws, Here's a notable engine to open his jaws,

Which nobody, &c.

Thus going to market, we kindly prepare

A pretty black cargo of African ware,

For what they must meet with when they get

there,

Which nobody, &c.

'Twould do your heart good to see 'em below
Lie flat on their backs all the way as we go,
Like sprats on a gridiron, scores in a row,
Which nobody, &c

But ah! if in vain I have studied an art
So gainful to me, all boasting apart,

I think it will break my compassionate heart,
Which nobody, &c.

For oh! how it enters my soul like an awl!
This pity, which some people self-pity call,
Is sure the most heart-piercing pity of all,
Which nobody, &c.

So this is my song, as I told you before;
Come, buy off my stock, for I must no more
Carry Cæsars and Pompeys to sugar-cane shore,
Which nobody, &c.

MOTTO FOR A CLOCK.1

QUAE lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora! Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!

Slow comes the hour; its passing speed how great! Waiting to seize it, —vigilantly wait!

1 Written for the king's clock, at the request of Mr. Bacon, who designed the embellishments. The translation is by Hayley.

ON THE RECEIPT OF A HAMPER.1

IN THE MANNER OF HOMER.

THE straw-stuffed hamper with his ruthless steel He opened, cutting sheer the inserted cords, Which bound the lid and lip secure.

Forth came

The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat,
Or oats, or barley; next a bottle green

Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distilled
Drop after drop odorous, by the art

Of the fair mother of his friend, — the Rose.

ON THE NEGLECT OF HOMER.

COULD Homer come himself, distressed and poor, And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,

The rich old vixen would exclaim, (I fear,)

66

Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here"

INSCRIPTION FOR A MOSS-HOUSE IN THE SHRUBBERY AT WESTON.

HERE, free from riot's hated noise,

Be mine the calmer, purer joys

A book or friend bestows;

Far from the storms that shake the great,
Contentment's gale shall fan my seat,

And sweeten my repose.

1 From a letter to Mr. Rose.

ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY

FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789.

O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd

For undisputed sway,

Wherever o'er yon gulf profound
Her navies wing their way,

With juster claim she builds at length

Her empire on the sea,

And well may boast the waves her strength
Which strength restored to thee.

ADDRESSED TO MISS MACARTNEY ON READING THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.1

AND dwells there in a female heart,

By bounteous heaven design'd,

The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refined-

Dwells there a wish in such a breast

Its nature to forego,

To smother in ignoble rest

At once both bliss and woe!

1 For the Ode referred to, see Annual Register, vol. v

p. 202.