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النشر الإلكتروني

As fine as five-pence is her mein,
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are,
Methinks I taste them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words,
Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips,

Clean as a penny drest;
Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,
Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king :
Good L-d! how all men envied me!
She lov'd like any thing.

But false as hell, she like the wind, Chang'd, as her sex must do; Though seeming as the turtle kind, And like the gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree,
Let who would take Peru!
Great as an emperor should I be,
And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,
I'm dull as any post;
Let us like burs together stick,
And warm as any toast.

You'll know me truer than a die, And wish me better sped; Flat as a flounder when I lie, And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear And sigh, perhaps, and wish, When I am rotten as a pear, And mute as any fish.

MISCELLANIES.

ELEGY ON A LAP DOG.

SHOCK's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more : Ye Muses! mourn; ye chambermaids! deplore. Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy Fair, Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care. Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck, And tie the favourite ribbon round his neck; No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy hair, And comb the wavings of his pendent ear. Yet cease thy flowing grief forsaken maid! All mortal pleasures in a moment fade: Our surest hope is in an hour destroy'd, And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd. Methinks I see her frantic with despair, Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing hair; Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow, And her torn fan gives real signs of woe. Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest, That haunts with fancied fears the coward breast; No dread events upon this fate attend, Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend. Though certain omens oft forewarn a state, And dying lions show the monarch's fate, Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise? For when a lap-dog falls, no lover dies.

Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears, Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares: In man you'll find a more substantial bliss, More grateful toying, and a sweeter kiss.

He's dead. Oh! lay him gently in the ground! And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd; 'Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, • Who fawn'd like man, but neʼer like man betray'd."

THE QUIDNUNKIS.

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF THE DUKE REGENT OF

FRANCE.

How vain are mortal man's endeavours!.
(Said, at Dame Elliot's,* Master Travers)
Good Orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard:
Oh! may all statesmen die prepar'd!
I do foresee (and for foreseeing
He equals any man in being)
The army ne'er can be disbanded.
-I wish the King were safely landed.
Ah, friends! great changes threat the land,
All France and England at a stand!
There's Meroweis-mark! strange work!
And there's the Czar, and there's the Turk;
The Pope'-an Indian merchant by,
Cut short the speech with this reply:

'All at a stand? you see great changes?
Ah, sir! you never saw the Ganges:
There dwell the nations of Quidnunkis,
(So Monomotapa calls monkies).
On their bank, from bough to bough,
They meet and chat, as we may now.
Whispers go round, they grin, they shrug,
They bow, they snarl, they scratch, they hug:
And, just as chance or whim provoke them,
They either bite their friends, or stroke them.
'There have I seen some active prig,

To show his parts, bestride a twig;

* A coffee-house at that time near St. James's,

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