So said, he fix'd them on his snout, But all in vain : "Perhaps de soight's too old," the pedlar cries, 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'd and rav'd, Swearing he'd have the cheating Hebrew shav'd; 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." 66 What," growl'd the clown, with fiery eye, And redden'd face, whose anger you might see, 66 D'ye take me for a fool? If I could say my A, B, C, For any helps to read?" I. Britton, Jun. THE WYE. SOFT as those tear-besprinkled smiles 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, So soft, so mild, so gently wind Mirror. TO A COQUETTE. YES, 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 No crime, no sin, perhaps mankind Then flaunt along the crowded street, 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, Mirror. THE LADY'S ANSWER. YES, we will part—I see tis vain Why should you hope that you alone Then bid the raging sea be still! Ah, if poor women were to die Or veering like the weather, Impartial justice, so sublime, But ere I close my flippant strain, And so the world be ended. Mirror. ADVICE TO A FRIEND. GAZE not, my friend, on Celia's eye, Those charms I view'd in luckless hour, My bosom own'd their instant pow'r, So through the air with winged force Maunde. |