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النشر الإلكتروني

Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store,
And want goes smiling from my door.
Will forty shillings warm the breast
Of worth, or industry distress'd ?
This sum I cheerfully impart;
'Tis four-score pleasures to my heart :
And you may make, by means like these,
Five talents ten whene'er you please.
'Tis true my little purse grows light;
But then I sleep so sweet at night!
This grand specific will prevail,
When all the doctor's opiates fail.

You ask what party I pursue ?
Perhaps you mean "whose fool are you?”
The names of party I detest,
Badges of slavery at best!
I've too much grace to play the knave,
And too much pride to turn a slave.

I love my country from my soul,
And grieve when knaves or fools control.
I'm pleas'd, when vice or folly smart,
Or at the gibbet or the cart:
Yet always pity, where I can,
Abhor the guilt, but mourn the man.

Weekly Amusement. SONG.

Sweet are the charms of her I love,

More fragrant than the damask rose, Soft as the down of turtle-dove,

Gentle as winds when zephyr blows, Refreshing as descending rains To sup-burnt climes and thirsty plains.

True as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the sun, Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon ; From ev'ry other charmer free, My life and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flow'ry thyme devours,

The dam the tender kid pursues, Sweet Philomel, in shady bow'rs

Of verdant spring, her notes renews ; All follow what they most admire, As I pursue my soul's desire.

Nature must change her beauteous face,

And vary as the seasons rise ;
As winter to the spring gives place,

Summer th' approach of autumn flies :
No change in love the seasons bring,
Love only knows perpetual spring.

Devouring time, with stealing pace,

Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
And marble tow'rs, and walls of brass,

In his rude march he levels low :
But time, destroying far and wide,
Love from the soul can ne'er divide.js

Death, only, with his cruel dart

The gentle godhead can remove,
And drive him from the bleeding heart,

To mingle with the blest above ;
Where, known to all his kindred train,
He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the Soul,

Twin-born, from heav'n together came; Love will the universe control,

When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his pow'r, When time and death shall be no more.

Booth. SONG,

Banisa'd by your severe command,

I make an awful, sad retreat, To some more bospitable land,

But shall I then my fair forget?

No, there I'll charm the list’ning throng,

With repetitions of your name; My passion tell in plaintive song,

And, sadly pensive, sooth my flame.

With inbred sighs, the grateful swains

My tale will beg me to renew ; Sweetly appeas’d, beguile their pains,

Transported when I speak of you.

But, should some curious youth demand

Why from my beauteous theme I stray, With what confusion should I stand,

What wou'd my charmer have me say?

THE QUEEN OF FRANCE TO HER

CHILDREN,

JUST BEFORE HER EXECUTION.

From my prison with joy could I go,

And with smiles meet the savage decree,
Were it only to sleep from my woe,
Since the

grave

holds no terrors for me.

But from you, O my children, to part !

Oh! a coward, I melt at my doom; Ye draw me to earth, and my heart

Sighs for life, and shrinks back from the tomb.

List, list not to calumny’s lie,

For I know not of guilt or its fears; And when at my fate ye will sigh,

My ghost shall rejoice in your tears.

In blessings, ah! take my last breath!

Dear babes of my bosom, adieu !
May the cloud be dispers’d by my death,
And open a sunshine for you.

Peter Pindar.

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