ALL are not false.

LL are not false. I knew a youth who died
For grief, because his Love proved so,

And married with another.

I saw him on the wedding-day,

For he was present in the church that day,
In festive bravery deck'd,

As one that came to grace the ceremony.

I mark'd him when the ring was given,

His countenance never changed;

And when the priest pronounced the marriage blessing,

He put a silent prayer up for the bride,

For so his moving lip interpreted.

He came invited to the marriage feast

With the bride's friends,

And was the merriest of them all that day:

But they, who knew him best, called it feign'd mirth ;

And others said,

He wore a smile like death upon his face.

His presence dash'd all the beholders' mirth,
And he went away in tears.

What followed then?

Oh ! then

He did not, as neglected suitors use,
Affect a life of solitude in shades,
But lived,

In free discourse and sweet society,

Among his friends who knew his gentle nature best. Yet ever when he smiled,

There was a mystery legible in his face,

That whoso saw him said he was a man
Not long for this world.

And true it was, for even then

The silent love was feeding at his heart
Of which he died:

Nor ever spake word of reproach,

Only, he wish'd in death that his remains
Might find a poor grave in some spot, not far
From his mistress' family vault, "being the place
Where one day Anna should herself be laid."

DICK STRYPE; OR, THE FORCE OF HABIT A Tale-By Timothy Bramble

(1801)

HABITS are stubborn things:

And by the time a man is turn'd of forty,
His ruling passion's grown so haughty

There is no clipping of its wings.

The amorous roots have taken earth, and fix
And never shall P-TT leave his juggling tricks,
Till H-Y quits his metre with his pride,
Till WM learns to flatter regicide,
Till hypocrite-enthusiasts cease to vant
And Mister W--E leaves off to cant.
The truth will best be shewn,

By a familiar instance of our own.

Dick Strype

Was a dear friend and lover of the PIPE ;
He us'd to say, one pipe of Kirkman's best
Gave life a zest.

To him 'twas meat, and drink, and physic,

To see the friendly vapour

Curl round his midnight taper,
And the black fume

Clothe all the room,

In clouds as dark as science metaphysic.

So still he smok'd, and drank, and crack'd his joke ; And, had he single tarried

He might have smok'd, and still grown old in smoke: But RICHARD married.

His wife was one, who carried

The cleanly virtues almost to a vice,
She was so nice :

And thrice a week, above, below,

The house was scour'd from top to toe,
And all the floors were rubb'd so bright,
You dar'd not walk upright

For fear of sliding:

But that she took a pride in.

Of all things else REBECCA STRYPE
Could least endure a pipe.

She rail'd upon the filthy herb tobacco,

Protested that the noisome vapour

Had spoilt the best chintz curtains and the paper And cost her many a pound in stucco :

And then she quoted our King James, who saith
"Tobacco is the Devil's breath."

When wives will govern, husbands must obey ;
For many a day

DICK mourn'd and miss'd his favourite tobacco,
And curs'd REBECCA.

At length the day approach'd, his wife must die ;
Imagine now the doleful cry

Of female friends, old aunts and cousins,

Who to the fun'ral came by dozens

The undertaker's men and mutes

Stood at the gate in sable suits

With doleful looks,

Just like so many melancholy rooks.

Now cakes and wine are handed round,

Falks sigh, and drink, and drink, and sigh,

For Grief makes people dry:

But DICK is missing, nowhere to be found
Above, below, about

They searched the house throughout,
Each hole and secret entry,

Quite from the garret to the pantry,

In every corner, cupboard, nook and shelf,
And all concluded he had hang'd himself.

At last they found him-reader, guess you where-
'Twill make you stare--

Perch'd on REBECCA'S Coffin, at his rest,
SMOKING A PIPE OF KIRKMAN'S BEST.

TWO EPITAPHS ON A YOUNG LADY WHO LIVED NEGLECTED AND DIED OBSCURE

(1801 or 1802)

I

Under this cold marble stone
Lie the sad remains of one

Who, when alive, by few or none

Was lov'd, as lov'd she might have been,
If she prosp'rous days had seen,

Or had thriving been, I ween.
Only this cold funeral stone

Tells, she was beloved by one,

Who on the marble graves his moan.

II

A Heart which felt unkindness, yet complained not,
A Tongue which spake the simple Truth, and feigned not :
A Soul as white as the pure marble skin
(The beauteous Mansion it was lodgèd in)
Which, unrespected, could itself respect,

On Earth was all the Portion of a Maid
Who in this common Sanctuary laid,
Sleeps unoffended by the World's neglect,

THE APE

(1806)

An Ape is but a trivial beast,

Men count it light and vain ;

But I would let them have their thoughts,
To have my Ape again.

To love a beast in any sort,

Is no great sign of grace;

But I have loved a flouting Ape's
'Bove any lady's face.

I have known the power of two fair eyes,
In smile, or else in glance,

And how (for I a lover was)
They make the spirits dance ;

But I would give two hundred smiles,
Of them that fairest be,

For one look of my staring Ape,
That used to stare on me.

This beast, this Ape, it had a face----
If face it might be styl'd-
Sometimes it was a staring Ape,
Sometimes a beauteous child-

A Negro flat-a Pagod squat,
Cast in a Chinese mold-
And then it was a Cherub's face,
Made of the beaten gold!

But TIME, that's meddling, meddling still

And always altering things

And, what's already at the best,

To alteration brings

That turns the sweetest buds to flowers,

And chops and changes toys—

That breaks up dreams, and parts old friends,
And still commutes our joys-

Has changed away my Ape at last
And in its place convey'd,

Thinking therewith to cheat my sight,
A fresh and blooming maid!