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This hour,' she cries, 'your discord ends,
Henceforth, be Sloth and Av'rice friends;
Henceforth, with equal pride, prepare
To rule at once the captive fair.'

Th’attentive pow'rs in silence heard,
Nor utter'd what they hop'd or fear’d,
But search in vain the dark decree,
For Canning loves obscurity;
Nor wonld she soon her laws explain,
For Cunning ever joys to pain.

She then before their wond'ring eyes,
Bid piles of painted paper rise;

Search now these heaps,' she cries,' here find Fit emblem of your pow'r combin'd.' The heap to Av'rice first she gave, Who soon descried her darling koave: And Sloth, e'er envy long could sting, With joyful eyes beheld a king.

• These gifts,' said Cunning, 'bear away,
Sure engines of despotic sway;
These charms dispense o'er all the ball,
Secure to rule where'er they fall.
The love of cards let Sloth infuse,
The love of money soon ensues ;
The strong desire shall ne'er decay,
Who plays to win, shall win to play;
The breast, where love has plann'd his reign,
Shall burn anquench'd with last of gain;
And all the charms that wit can boast,
In dreams of better luck be lost.'

Thus, neither innocent nor gay,
The useless hours shall fleet away,
While Time o’erlooks the trivial strife,
And, scoffing, shakes the sands of life;

Till the wan maid, whose early bloom
The vigils of quadrille consume;
Exhausted by the pangs of play,
To Sloth and Ay'rice falls a prey.

Rev. Mr. Hervey.


The fair Jesebella what art can adorn,
Whose cheeks are like roses, that blush in the morn?
As bright were her locks as in Heaven are seen
Presented for stars by th’ Eyptian queen;
But alas ! the sweet nymph they no longer must

No more shall they flow o'er her ivory neck;
Those tresses, which Venus might take as a favour,
Fall a victim at once to an outlandish shaver;
Her head has he robb’d with as little remorse,
As a foxhunter crops both his dogs and bis horse:
A wretch, that, so far from repenting his theft,
Makes a boast of tormenting the little that's left:
And first at her porcupine head he begins
To fumble and poke with his irons and pins,
Then fires all his crackers with horrid grimace,
And puffs his vile rocambole breath in her face,

a steam that the devil would choke, From paper, pomatum, from powder, and smoke. The patient submits, and with due resignation, Prepares for her fate in the next operation. When lo! on a sudden, a monster appears, A horrible monster, to cover her ears ;What sign of the zodiac is it he bears ? .


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Is it Tanrus's tail, or the tête de mouton, Or the beard of the goat that he dares to put on? 'Tisa wig en vergette, that from Paris was brought, Une tête comme il faut, that the varlet has bought, Of a beggar, whose head he has shav'd foragroat; Now fix'd to her head, does he frizzle and dab it; 'Tis a foretop no more.—'Tis the skin of a rabbit.'Tis a muff-'tis a thing that by all is confess'd Is in colour and shape like a chaffinch's nest.

O cease, ye fair virgins, such pains to employ, The beauties of nature with paint to destroy; See Venus lament, see the Loves and the Graces, All pine at the injury done to your faces ! Ye have eyes, lips, and nose, but your heads are no


Than a doll's, that is plac'd at a milliner's door.



Young Slouch the farmer, had a jolly wife,
That knew all the conveniences of life,
Whose diligence and cleanliness supplied
The wit which Nature had to him denied:
But then she had a tongue that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made censorious persons of the town
Say, Slouch could hardly call his soul his own;
For, if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give him slippers and lock up his shoes.
Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturb'd or contradicted;

Yet still into his story she would break
With—“'Tis not so; pray give me leave to speak.'
His friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not diff’ring much from calling of him fool;
Told him he must exert himself, and be
In fact the master of his family.
He said, “ That the next Tuesday-noon would

Whether he were the lord at home or no;
When their good company he would entreat
To well-brew'd ale, and clean, if homely, meat.'

With aching heart home to his wife he goes, And on his knees does his rash act disclose; And prays dear Suky, that one day at least, He might appear as master of the feast.

"I'll grant your wish,' cries she,' that you may


'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me.'

The guests upon the day appointed came, Each bowsy farmer with his simp'ring dame. 'Ho, Sue! cries Slouch, why dostpot thon appear? Are these thy manners when aunt Snap is here?' 'I pardon ask,' says Sue: "I'd not offend Any my dear invites, much less his friend.'

Slouch by his kinsman Gruffy had been taught To entertain his friends with finding fault, And make the main ingredient of his treat His sayingThere was nothing fit to eat: The boild pork stinks, the roast beef's not enough, The bacon's rusty, and the hens are tough; The veal's all rags, the butter's turn’d to oil ; And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil. 'Tis we are the first Slouches ever sat Dowv to a pudding without plums or fat.

What teeth or stomach strong enough to feed
Upon a goose my gramum kept to breed?
Why must old pigeons, and they stale, be dress’d,
When there's so many squab ones in the nest?
This beer is sour; 'tis musty, thick, and stale,
And worse than any thing except tlie ale.'

Sue all this while many excuses made : 2 Some things she own'd; at other times she laid The fault on chance, but oft'ner on the maid. Then cheese was brought. Says Slouch This

e'en shall roll; I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl: This is skim-milk, and therefore it shall go; And this, because 'tis Suffolk, follow too.' But now Sue's patience did begin to waste; Nor longer could dissimulation last. 'Pray let me rise,' says Sue, my dear; I'll fiudA cheese perhaps may be to lovy's mind.” Then in an entry standing close, where he Alone, and none of all his friends, might see; And brandishing a cudgel he had felt, And far enough, on this occasion, smelt"I'll try, my joy,' she cried, “ if I can please My dearest with a taste of his old cheese! Slouch turn’d bis head, saw his wife's vigorous

hand Wielding her oaken sapling of command, Knew well the twang— Is't the old cheese, my

dear? • No need; no need of cheese,' cries Slouch ;

" I'll swear; I think I've din'd as well as my lord mayor.'


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