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'Tis from Nothing young Patriots oft catch at a hint, Thunder out a bold speech, and then get it in print; 'Tis their only misfortune that there is Nothing in't;

Which Nobody can deny.

Of their purses and gold the French have been free
To reward Farinelli-by this we may see
Other climes are as much charm'd with Nothing as we;
Which Nobody can deny.

When Ward without art a fam'd doctor is grown,
When Mapp excels surgeons in setting a bone,
That our doctors and surgeons are Nothing you'll own;
Which Nobody can deny.

Some Wits to the stage will their Nothing commend ;
Full of Nothing they write, and to Nothing they tend;
So beginning with Nothing, in Nothing they end;

Which Nobody can deny.

Mr.

I am just on the verge of becoming an old maid, having entered into my thirty-fifth year, at the expiration of which I look on myself as an absolute old maid. I might put off the evil day longer by denying my age; but instead of that, I have resigned myself to such a state, and wish the rest of my sex would form their desires according to my Wish; which if you will communicate to the public, you will oblige,

Yours,

DEBORAH SPINSTER.

THE OLD MAID'S WISH.

As I grow an old maid, and I find I go down,
Nor ador❜d in the country, nor courted in town,
In country or town let this still be my fate,
Not the jest of the young, nor of aged the hate.

May I govern my passion with absolute sway,
May my wisdom increase as my youth wears away,
And good-nature attend to my very last day.

Beneath an old oak, near a murmuring brook,
Without e'en a sigh on past time may I look;
No love in my head, may I blame no false swain,
Nor lost in despair sing some pitiful strain;

But still govern my passion, &c.

With the young or the old, with the maid or the wife,

Oh may. I enliven the evening of life;

Still gay without pride, and jocose without art,

With some sense in my tongue, and much truth in my heart; May I govern my passion, &c.

May I not have one thought or desire to appear

In parties of pleasure 'mong the young and the fair;
But with grave sober dames all my wishes fulfil,

With three dishes of tea, and three games at quadrille ;
Thus govern my passion, &c.

When grown still more old (as not courted when young),
May I ne'er wish to listen to man's flatt'ring tongue;
And should some young spark for my fortune make love,
With scorn and contempt at his scheme, may I prove
I can govern my passion with absolute sway,
For my wisdom increases as youth wears away,
Though good-nature attends to my very last day.

Without long disease may I gently decay;

And when dead, may the men of the better sort say,
Peace be with her soul, in the grave when she's laid,
Who belov'd was by all, though she died an old maid;
For she govern'd her passion with absolute sway,
Her wisdom increas'd as her youth wore away,
And good nature attended her very last day.

These three poems, with their introductory addresses, are taken from the Universal Spectator, vol. iii. p. 134. 169. and 256.

No. XXVII.

How strange, how curious, is the critic's art!

ANON.

In this curious age, the following letter cannot fail of being an entertainment to the public.

Mr.

Having for twenty years last past been very busily employed, I think it now incumbent on me to acquaint the world what I have been doing: for as every private man takes the liberty of examining the public conduct, most certainly the public has an equal right to be informed how every private man disposes of himself.

You must then know, that, with infinite labour and assiduity, I have been turning over and examining whole cart-loads of comments, expositions, vocabularies, explanatory notes, and indexes, collating manuscripts, and settling their various readings; and all this with an intent to improve the noble art of criticism, and clear up those obscurities in ancient authors, which either length of time, or the negligence of transcribers, has been the cause of. Whereby I have attained such a perfect knowledge in things of this nature,

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that I flatter myself no writer can come amiss to

me.

And having most at heart the honour of my own country, I have employed this skill chiefly to restore such old English authors as are neglected and almost lost for want of being duly understood; and send you, as a specimen, an essay on a little poem, which our forefathers esteemed so highly, that they seldom failed to implant it in the memory of their children so soon as they could speak; though the bard who wrote it, and the age wherein he lived, cannot certainly be found out; but there is good reason to believe it must have been some time between the Conquest and the Reformation.

As this piece has never yet been attempted, though it may move the envy of my brother critics, it will, I doubt not, be greatly useful and entertaining to the world; and according to its success, I shall suppress or publish above 100 volumes, which, with inexpressible pains and equal candour, I have compiled for the service of my country.

Once I was a bachelor, and lived by myself,

And all the victuals that I had I put upon a shelf;
But the rats and the mice they made such a strife,
I was forc'd to go to London to get me a wife.
The streets were so wide, and the lanes were so narrow,
I was fain to bring my wife home in a wheel-barrow :

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