What then, here, fhall be their fate?
Think, brave youths, on Sidney's fame,
On Abercromby's mighty name,
And let each stroke in blood proclaim
Equal valour, equal hate.
Soldiers! own a glorious part:
God of battles! feel each heart,
Courage, strength, and fire impart::
Now to our high destiny,

"Fall or conquer."-Blufh, O Sun!
Shouldft thou fee us backward run,
Till the bloody contest's done :

Sound-To DEATH OR VICTORY!

June 15.

SONNET ON CHATTERTON.

CHATTERTON! fair Genius' eldest born!
Thou who, oft ftraying Avon's banks along,
Pour'd forth fo fweet thy wildly warbling fong,
With clouds o'ercaft arofe thy cheerless morn!
Ill couldst thou bear th' ur feeling taunt of Scorn,
The chilly hand of Want :-beneath the darts
Of Obloquy, and Envy's hellifh arts,
Too foon, alas! thy fpirit. funk forlorn!
Thy features wore the pallid hue of care,
Thy blood hot eyeballs ftarting from thine head,
By fits caft round dread Frenzy's vacant glare,
And thy torn heart with throbbing anguish bled.
Rafh youth! the direft wrath of Heaven to dare,
And drink the bitter draught that gave thee to the dead.

TRANSLATION OF A FRENCH EPIGRAM *. ON Sunday I firft faw my fair,

On Monday I courted the dame,

On Tuesday hauteur was her air,, a
On Wednesday mine was the fame;

On Thursday we came to agree,
On Friday our raptures were high,
On Saturday married were we,

And on Sunday a cuckold was I.

LINES

ON THE DEATH OF STEPHEN REMNANT, ESQ. OF WOOLWICH.

[ERE's a remnant of life, and a remnant of death,

HE

Taken off both at once in a remnant of breath.

To mortality this gives a happy release,

What late was the remnant proves now the whole piece.

AMICUS.

THE HONEY MOON.

[From the Courier.]

SERENE and tranquil was the night,

The night that clos'd the fummer day,
And brilliant fhone the moon, and bright,
And foft and tender was her ray.

"How like our loves!" the husband cried,
As on his arm Louifa hung-

Scarce had Louifa been a bride,

And both were fond, and both were young.

"This moon, how like our love, my dear !"
He faid, and clafp'd her round the waift;
"'T is pure, and perfect, and fincere,

Tender, and true, and warm, though chaste.”
Time flew the youthful pair again
Enjoy'd at eve the ftilly vale;

The moon ftill fhone, but in the wane,
Her form lefs round, her face more pale.

"This too is like our love, my queen!
For though lefs radiant and lefs bright,

Yet ftill o'er all this fylvan fcene
She fheds a foft and pleafing light."

Louifa

Louifa bow'd her beauteous head,
And yet a figh efcap'd her breaft;
Perhaps the fair one would have said,
She lik'd the first bright moon the best.
Time linger'd; yet again the pair
The balmy breath of eve imbib'd:
And now lefs perfect, yet ftill fair,
The moon, alas! two horns defcrib'd.
"This too is love," Louifa fays,

"The love, my dear, that life adorns: Perfect at first, it foon decays,

Decays, and ends at laft in horns."

July 22.

EPIGRAM.

"MY wife's fo very bad," quoth Will,

"I fear the ne'er can hold it;

She keeps her bed!"-"Mine 's worfe," cried Phil; "The jade has juft now fold it!"

A. M.

HE

EPITAPH FOR A SHREW.

ER hufband begs you will pafs foftly by,
For, if the hears you fpeak, he'll make reply.

INSCRIBED ON AN ATTORNEY'S GRAVE-STONE, ON WHICH THE INITIALS WERE CUT VERY DEEP.

GOLD is fo ductile, learned chymifts fay,

That half an ounce will reach, a wondrous way;

The metal's bafe, or elfe the chymifts err,
For now-a-days a guinea won't go far.

Mark Lane.

T.D.

EPIGRAM.

As

EPIGRAM.

Sa wag at a ball, to a nymph on each arm

Alternately turning, and thinking to charm, Exclaim'd in these words, of which Quin was the giver— "You're my gizzard, my dear; and, my love, you 're my

liver :"

"Alas!" cried the fair on his left," to what use? For you never faw either ferv'd up with a goofe."

L.M.

TRANSLATION OF A FRENCH EPITAPH.

DRINKING verfus THINKING;

OR A SONG AGAINST THE NEW PHILOSOPHY.

Y

My merrymen all, that drink with glee,'
This fanciful philofophy,

Pray tell me, what good is it?

If ancient Nick fhould come and take
The fame acrofs the Stygian Lake,
I guess we ne'er fhould miss it.

Away, each pale, felf-brooding fpark,
That goes truth-hunting in the dark,
Away from our caroufing!

To Pallas we refign fuch fowls-
Grave birds of wisdom! ye 're but owls,
And all your trade but mousing

My merrymen all, here 's punch and wine,
And fpicy bifhop, drink divine!

Let's

Let's live while we are able.
While Mirth and Senfe fit hand in glove,
This Don Philosophy we 'll shove

Dead drunk beneath the table!

Έστησε.

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

ONCE a tailor of Bagdat—as honeft a wight
As ever in cabbaging cloth took delight,

And a very good Mussulman—out of his Jhop,
With a confcience that was of his virtue the prop-
Dreamt he heard the loud trump at the end of the world,
And faw the broad standard of judgment unfurl'd.
'T was compos'd, in his guilty conceit, of the patches
Of his customers' goods that he 'd laid under hatches.
Of this dreadful phenomenon waking he spoke,
Vowing no more to mutilate tunic or cloak;
Enjoining his journeymenail, fhould they find him
Once relax, of the banner of shreds to remind him!
Ab, the frailty of nature! A week had not past
Ere a yard of pink fick to perdition was caft!
"Mafter, think of your foul," cried the ninth of a man,
"And the flag of all colours-Be juft, if you can."
"I will," faid the taylor, "but this lovely tint
Yes, I fancy I now fee the flag-was not in 't.

}

If I add only this, as becomes me in duty,
Not the rainbow itself can furpafs it in beauty!"

The following Jeu d'Elprit on a Lawyer, who lately wrote a political pamphlet, and teafed all his acquaintances with citations from it, while he was preparing it, is attributed to Mr. Jerningham.

I

THE BARRISTER IN LABOUR.

CHANC'D t' other day in my rambles to meet
That imp of a lawyer fo fwoln with conceit:

He