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16 Do

you

think we have no other business to do “ Than to throw away cash upon beggars like you? “Then away you may walk, without farther de

“ murrage; “ For begging's a thing that I'll never encourage: “ Besides all your trade, both Devils and Masters, “ By nothing can thrive but by other's disasters; “ For what is a Gazeteer but the recorder “ Of Plagues and of Earthquakes, of Battles and

" Murder?'Tis true, my good Masters, a Beggar I am, And would wish you to give somewhat more than a

dram: Yet do me the favour to look all around And you'll soon see that beggars in plenty are found; For no mortal there is, but in some shape or other, Has begg'd, and continues to beg of his brother. And 'tis true that by other men's losses we thrive, Why that too is the case of each mortal alive. The Lawyer by other men's follies is wise, And beg's you would fee him and take his advice. The learned Physician, of consummate skill, Finds that all his good lies in other men's ill: Pill, Bolus, or Julap, he begs you to take; And begs also that you a requital would make. The Parson, who begs you to turn towards Heaven, To repent of your sins, and so be forgiven, Must own that he would not at all be the winner If the parish were purged of every sinner;

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There would then be no need of his reverend pre

scriptions; And Joe MỚg might in vain trudge about for sub

scriptions. And the Ladies-(the Ladies with reverence I

name, Have for ever been playing the very same game: They beg and entice you by all their gay arts, To gain your attention and give them your hearts. And next to the ladies the Beau let me place, So tight and so trim, with a smile on his face; His hand is so soft, and his teeth are so white, His waistcoat all scarlet, his pantaloons tight;He begs you (the summit of all his desire,) That you would but view his sweet self and admire: And though no one's ill be in this understood, Yet at least it is clear that 'tis nobody's good. See WASHINGTON too! The Hero and Sage, The wonder, the glory, and shame, of the age, The fortunate rival of Greece and of Rome, Now begs, and perhaps begs in vain, for a Tomb. But since old eighteen hundred is dead and is

gone, And we usheroin now eighteen hundred and one, We hope the new Æra will work reformation, And banish all begging away from the nation; For of all of these evils, the sages assure us, True modern Philosophy only can cure us. All selfish distinctions shall vanish among us, And none of our neighbours shall e'er try to wrong

US:

Every man shall his aid and assistance impart
To those who most need it with hand and with

heart.
The Lawyer at mention of fees shall cry “Oh no!"
And Physicians shall practise pro publico bono;
And Butchers and Taylors, (God bless 'em,) shall

furnish For inside and outside gratuitous garnish.

Whene'er then this shall be the case he declares He will lay aside begging and all selfish cares, And like all the rest will follow the fashion, And give his work gratis for good of the nation. In the mean time, as begging is rather expedient, To whate'er be your will he remains most obedient.

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SONG.

WHO has robb’d the ocean cave,

To tinge thy lips with coral hue?
Who from India's distant wave,
For thee those pearly treasures drew?

Who, from yonder orient sky,
Stole the morning of thine eye?

Thousand charms, thy form to deck,
From

sea, and earth, and air are torn; Roses bloom upon thy cheek, On thy breath their fragrance borne.

Guard thy bosom from the day,
Lest thy snows should melt away.

But one charm remains behind,

Which mute earth can ne'er impart;
Nor in ocean wilt thou find,
Nor in the circling air a heart.

Fairest! would'st thou perfect be,
Take, oh take that heart from mer

SONNET.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGO CARPIO.

O dulces prendas, por mi mal hallado.' YE blissful moments of departed pleasure,

So sadly dear, so fatally beguiling! My soul doats on the hour when ye were smiling, And

ye shall be my dying heart's last treasure. Who would have thought, when, nuro'd by wanton

leisure, My fond affections listen'd to your wiling,

That now in deepest woe I should be toiling, And ye should heap my misery's flowing measures.

For one short hour hath borne on fleeting pinion
The transient joy by snatches which ye gave me;
Take then these sad regrets which still you leave me,
Nor let me languish in their dark dominion;
Or I shall think I was but made your minion,
In sorrow's bonds the stronger to enslave me.

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