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The Pig set up a dismal yelling:
Who like a fool had built it ʼmidst a bramble:
And ’midst the bushes now began to scramble.
He drove the Magpie, tore his nest to rags,
But ere he from the brambles came, alack !
He could not count ten hairs upon his back.
ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN;
OR, THE ROSE AND STRAWBERRY.
YOUNG women! don't be fond of killing,
Too well I know your hearts unwilling To hide beneath the vail a charm
Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll,
And with a neck to thrill the soul Of every swain with love's alarm.
Yet, yet, if prudence be not near
The dimple smile, and pouting lip,
Where little Cupids nectar sip, Are very pretty lures I own:
But, ah! if prudence be not nigh,
Those lips where all the Cupids lie, May give a passage to a groan.
A Rose, in all the pride of bloom,
Flinging around her rich perfume, Her form to public notice pushing,
Amid the summer's golden glow,
Peeped on a Strawberry below, Beneath a leaf, in secret blushing.
" Miss Strawberry," exclaimed the Rose,
“What's beauty that no mortal knows? What is a charm, if never seen ?
You really are a pretty creature:
Then wherefore hide each blooming feature ? Come
up, and show your modest mien."
"Miss Rose," the Strawberry replied,
"I never did possess a pride That wished to dash the public eye:
Indeed, I own that I'm afraid
I think there's safety in the shade, Ambition causes many a sigh.”
"Go, simple child," the Rose rejoined,
"See how I wanton in the wind : I feel no danger's dread alarms :
And then observe the god of day,
How amorous with his golden ray, To pay his visits to my charms!”
No sooner said, but with a scream
She started from her favorite themeA clown had on her fixed his pat.
In vain she screeched-Hob did but smile;
Rubbed with her leaves his nose awhile, Then bluntly stuck her in his hat.
Economy's a very useful broom;
To catch each straggling pin to make a plumb:
That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb.
Proper Economy's a comely thing-
Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feelingMost easily inclined to make folks mean; Inclines them too, to villainy to lean,
To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing.
Even when the heart should only think of grief,
THE JEWESS AND HER SON.
Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son,
Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat,
In imitation of th' ambitious great,
He fell all plump into the pit,
Dead in a minute as a nit:
The mother was distracted, raving, wild-
Afflicted every heart with grief around:
She cast about her eyes in thought profound :
“Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew laul,
But as for Avarice, 'tis the very devil;
The cancer of the heart-the worst of ills:
Like aconite, where'er it spreads, it kills.
In every soil behold the poison spring!
The mighty Marlborough pilfered cloth and bread;
So says that gentle satirist Squire Pope;
Affords us little room to hope,
Peter lasbeth the Ladies.-He turneth Story-teller.--Peter grieveth.
ALTHOUGH the ladies with such beauty blaze,
Passing amidst the Exhibition crowd,
I heard some damsels fashionably loud; And thus I give the dialogue that pass'd.
"Oh! the dear man !" cried one, “look! here's a bonnet ! He shall paint me (-I am determind on it
Lord! cousin, see! how beautiful the gown! What charming colors! here's fine lace, here's gauze ! What pretty sprigs the fellow draws !
Lord, cousin ! he's the cleverest man in town!"
“Ay, cousin,” cried a second, " very true-
There's a complexion beats the rouge of Warren!
Compar'd to this, all other heads are carrion.
Cousin, this limner quickly will be seen,
Such was the very pretty conversation
That pass'd between the pretty misses, While unobserv'd, the glory of our nation,
Close by them hung Sir Joshua's matchless pieces. Works! that a Titian's hand could form aloneWorks! that a Reubens had been proud to own.
Permit me, ladies, now to lay before ye
Walking one afternoon along the Strand,
Upon a pretty leash of country lasses.
“Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do?
Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye.” “Swinge! Peter, we are glad to meet with you ;
We're just to London come-well, pray how be ye;
“We're just a going, while 'tis light,
To see St. Paul's before 'tis dark. Lord ! come, for once, be so polite,
And condescend to be our spark.”
“With all my heart, my angels.”—On we walk’d,
Now did I hug myself to think
How from its awful grandeur they would shrink
As near to Ludgate-Hill we drew,
After well fright'ning people with their cries,