Nor abfent he-well skilled in tripping tricks,
Carlife! the blooming beau of-forty-six,.
A fmart debater, and a pretty vote,
Graceful to turn a fentence, or a coat,
Great judge of reasons, greater ftill of lace,
Great of the colours that become his face,
Exact to feafons, and to fashion true,

He chang'd his friends to change his ribbon's hue.
Such are thy triumphs! fuch thy envied boaft!

115

O, may thefe offerings foothe thy grinning ghost! 120 'Till hungry fubalterns with Richmond dine, 'Till Beaufoy's brewage fhall be quaft for wine,

NOTES.

narvon is the name by which this moft illuftrious Jacobin Alarmist, is hailed by his admiring fellow-citizens? It is faid, that when he was only Baron Porchetter, he went to dine with the fociety of Friends of the People, affociated for the Reform of Parliament, and approving highly of the objects thofe gentlemen proposed to themfelves by their affociation, only expreffed an apprehenfion, that they would stop at half-meafures, and not go far enough to fatisfy men fo fincere in the cause as himself. The fecret of his anxiety is now come out. If the affociation had taken his advice, probably he would have been a marquis, or an archbishop-Who knows?

Ver. 110.] Tommy Tyrrwhitt. An eminent feceder from the Whig Club. There were many others who could not bear to fit in the fame company with thofe determined Jacobins the Duke of Portland, Earl Fitzwilliam, &c. &e.

Ver. 112.] Carlile. This nobleman cannot be accused of a vulgar preference to "folid pudding," over "empty praife," after his very wife remark on the Duke of Devonshire's blue ribbon; which he affirmed, with no fmall exultation, was the only fubftantial thing the whigs had obtained for themselves by the Marquis of Rockingham's administration in 1782.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 112.] Originally thus:

From Fox to Pitt the change was green to blue
And the whole difference in his ribbons hue.

IMITATIONS.

Such are thy triumphs

Till hungry fubalterns.

Ver. 119 to 128.]

Hac tibi femper erint

Du juga montis aper, &c.

Semper bones, nomenque tuum, laudefque manebunt.

"Till Shuckborough's visage shall be less uncouth,
'Till Lincoln's bishop fhall be trapp'd in truth,
'Till felf-conceit in Pybus fhall be cur'd,
'Till Hardinge's jokes fhall be awake endur'd,
Or brainless Rollo's weight of fcull furpafs'd,
Thy praife, thy honours, and thy name fhall laft!

BURGESS.

125

What gifts, sweet Rofe, are to thy numbers due?
O, smooth in fong, as in thy budgets true! 103
What mortal meed fhall match these heavenly strains?
Take-take this German faufage for thy pains.
But foft-my Herriott whispers at the door,
Marat farewell! for I can fing no more-
The printer's devil chides my long delay,
Scarce have I writ one ufeful fib to-day;
Reft thou in death, for I my prefs muft mind,
Duft be to duft, and lead to lead configned!

Ver. 129.

IMITATIONS.

What gifts, fweet Rose!

Quæ tibi, quæ tali reddam pro carmine dona?

VOTES.

Ver. 129.] What gifts—are to thy numbers due?
Another pun!-

135

At first we were rather at a lofs to account for our poet's frequent recourfe to this fpecies of wit; but there is now every reafon to think he does it to compliment his new correfpondent Sir Richard Hill, Bart. whofe various poetical compofitions difperfed about his pleasure grounds at Hawkftone, fuch as witty infcriptions on a pair of croffed whalebones, pathetic lamentations on half-devoured rabbits, and above all, that elegant address to Neptune's Whim (by which name the facetious member for Shropfhire has been pleafed to distinguish a certain very useful building on his premifes) have lately made a diftinguifhed appearance in the under-fecretary's favourite news-paper. Such indeed is the charming fimplicity of this laft little poem, that we should confider ourselves highly to blame did we withhold it from our readers.

"Neptune! thy province is to swim,

Not to regard this little whim;

Art thou with water difcontent,

That thou haft chang'd thy element ?”

We requeft the learned will favour us with their comments on thefe, as well as the rest of the worthy baronet's ftanzas.

Ver. 133.] Herriott-an obfcure paragraph writer.

COM

THE GIPSY's SONG.

OME, crofs my hand! my art furpaffes
All that did ever mortal know:
Come, maidens, come! my magic glaffes
Your future husband's form can fhow.
For 'tis to me the power is given

Unclos'd the book of fate to fee;
To read the fix'd refolves of heaven,
And dive into futurity.

I guide the pale moon's filver waggon;

The winds in magic bonds I hold;

I charm to fleep the crimfon dragon,

Who loves to watch o'er buried gold,
Fenc'd round with fpells, unhurt I venture,
Their fabbath ftrange where witches keep;
Fearless the forcerer's circle enter,

And woundless tread on snakes asleep.
Lo! here are charms of mighty power!
This makes fecure an hufband's truth;
And this, compos'd at midnight hour,
Will force to love the coldeft youth.
If any maid too much has granted,
Her lofs this philtre will repair;
This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,
And this will make a brown girl fair.
Then filent hear, while I difcover
While I in fortune's mirror view;
And each, when many a year is over,
Shall own the gipfy's faying true.

*Though this article paffed to the prefent collection through the medium of a newspaper, it is understood to have been taken in the first from Mr. Lewis's Novel, The Monk.

FINIS.