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So said, he fix'd them on his snout,
But all in vain :
Sher, try anoder pair;
Dese, sher, vill shute you to a hair.” Again the bumkin try'd ;
His eyes ran o'er the page again, But all was dark and puzzling as before.
“ Vell, sir,” cry'd Moses, “can you now see better?” “ Not I," quoth Hodge, with angry roar;
“ I cannot tell a letter." Then madly stamp' and rav'd, Swearing he'd have the cheating Hebrew shav'd; He'd dock his chin, he'd mow his grisly beard. “ Vy, sher,” cry'd Moses, striving to be heard,
Perhaps you cannot read, and if ’tis so, Noting vill help you out, you know;
De spectacles are very goot indeed, But den, perhaps you never vent to school."
“What,” growld the clown, with fiery eye, And redden'd face, whose anger you might see,
“ D’ye take me for a fool ?
What need have I
I. Britton, Jun.
Soft as those tear-besprinkled smiles
Which deck with loves each pitying eye, This wand'ring river woe beguiles,
And steals an hour from misery.
Tender is the mellow hue
Which softens all the ev’ning hour; This stream displays as soft a view,
And wakes a sympathetic pow'r.
Sweet is the shore the Arabs boast,
With roses cover'd, and with gum, The Wye, as sweet, delights us most,
Since far remov'd from worldly hum.
Soft is the strain that sooths the mind,
Disposing all the soul to weep; So soft, so mild, so gently wind These lovely waters to the deep.
TO A COQUETTE.
Es, we will part, these stifled sighs
Shall smother ev'ry spark of fire, Which those two heaven-created eyes
Seem'd still so willing to inspire.
Perhaps, dear girl, you'll ask, what crime
Could thus so suddenly subdue A flame so ardent, so sublime,
As that which once I felt for you?
No crime, no sin, perhaps mankind
May laugh at scruples I regret; Sweet maid, as I am not quite blind,
I find thou art a true coquette.
Then flaunt along the crowded street,
Attract all hearts too if you can, Charm ev'ry coxcomb that you meet,
And only lose--an honest man.
Thus Indian folly you surpass,
Who (as by travellers we're told) Are charm’d with little bits of glass,
And buy them with their purest gold. And when your fading roses fly,
Your lilies are no longer seen, Ah! may you
ne'er have cause to cry, How very fuolish I have been.
THE LADY'S ANSWER.
Yes, we will part—I see tis vain
Of elegance and fashion:
Scar'd at the gust of passion.
Why should you hope that you alone
So obstinate and mulish:
I'm sure you're very foolish. .
Ah, if poor women were to die
Or veering like the weather,
And hang us all together.
But ere I close my flippant strain,
(Now pray be not offended)
ADVICE TO A FRIEND.
Gaze not, my friend, on Celia's eye,
Where thousand loves in ambush wait; Now, while thou canst, the danger fly,
Nor dare, like me, to tempt thy fate.
Those charms I view'd in luckless hour,
Awe-struck as Persians at the sun; My bosom own’d their instant pow'r,
I did but look, and was undone.
So through the air with winged force
And deadly aim the bullet flies; Although unseen its trackless course, The warrior feels it, and he dies.