Weekly Regifter, April 29. N° 107. Of Suicide, or Self-Murder.

Ο

NE who calls himself Heli, the Turkish Traveller, endea vours to fhew; why the English are more liable to this Crime than other People. The Word Freeman, he fays, levels the whole Nation, and the meanest among them are fo vain of this Distinction, that they look down with Contempt on a Slave of Quality. It makes them proud, apt to aflume, and impatient of Submiffion; afpiring to every Thing above them with Eafe, and stooping to any Thing beneath them with Difficulty and Pain. This makes them the worft Servants in the World, never eaty in Subjection. This Pride too makes them expenfive, and confequently unfortunate. Ill-Fortune puts them upon the Fret, and the Glooth of their Climate is an additional Weight, that finks them into. Despair at once, and Death is the only remaining Cure.

B

Universal Spectator, April 29. No 186.

T

As to the Unreasonableness of this Deed of Horror, he fays, if any can be tir'd of Life, becaufe 'tis the fame Farce play'd over and over, it argues great Ignorance, fince Nature can afford a wife Man eternal Entertainment: If the Happy would rush on E Death the Moment they ceafe to be fo, they behave mot ungratefully to Providence, that had fo long favour'd them. If the perfectly Unhappy fly to Death for a Cure of their Misfortunes, they diftruit the Goodnefs of the Almighty, and fruftrate F the very End of Adverfities, which are only in Vifitation of our Follies, or to awaken us to Virtue. But nothing can be more trifling than to call this Madness Bravery, or cfteem it Courage to die, rather than fuffer Pain: He who acts thus is no better G than a Coward; he flies from the Enemies he was made to combat

When first, fays he, I appear'd as an Author, it was in a borrid,barbarous, and bloody Murder: The Impreffion went roundly off, by which I was enabled to turn a Coat, and fole and heelpiece two Pair of old Shoes. Soon after, I came out with the frange and furprizing Appearance of the murder'd Perfon's Apparition; by Virtue of which, I took my Waistcoat out of Pawn, and furnish'd myself with a Pound of Candles. Robòeries, Earthquakes, and blazing Stars, abroad or at home, have ufually ferv'd to wash and mend my Linnen. The whole Life and Conversation, Birth, Parentage, and Education of confiderable Men, have fupply'd me for many Years with Pipes and Tobacco; Laft Wills and Teftaments pay my Barber; and the Interpretation of Dreams, together with good Advice to love-fick Maidens, keep me in Shoes and Stockings. When my Works grow ftale, I vamp them up, and give them another Run by a different Title-Page. I ranfack old Novels, and pass them off for fecret Hiftory, and difguife the Reafons of former Reigns under the Cover of a Letter to a Member of the prefent Parliament. By thefe Means, and by Elegies, Ballads, Bell-man's Verses, &c. I make a hard Shift to pick up a Liveli hood,

A Knave at the Bottom: Or, the

Dealer fure of a Trump.

Being a fair Discovery of a foul Confpiracy, formed by a fecret Cabal, found fitting in a certain Privyhouse that thall be nameless : Bundled up into a Ballad, for the Ufe and Edification of all good Singers.

To the Tune of Hey, Boys, up go we, &c.
By JEREMY VAN JEWS-TRUMP, Efq;
QUoth Hall to Will, the other day,

As they caball'd together,
We and our wights must come in play,
In fpite of wind and weather.
A fig for fate, we'll blast each scheme
The prim--r is pursuing;
We'll cry bim down, or blow him up,
Tho' bury'd in bis ruin.

11. As one can fight, and both can write
For Fog and Caleb flander,
We must in time fubdue the kn--bt,
Tho' great as Alexander.
What tho' be fix'd his country's peace,
And beft can ferve bis mafter;
Mobs ftill miftake our swans for geefe,
The wounds we give for plaifter.
III. Let fots, too dull to disobey,
Trudge on in trocks of honour;
We friend and country muft betray,
Bring ev'ry woe upon ber:
All faith renounce, to tumble down
Each m--ft-r from place;
Tbo' m--tre fbake, tho' totter c--wn,
We rife by their disgrace.

IV. Let broils inteftine tofs the f--te,
E'en like a tennis-ball,
Whilft we deftroy the worth we hate,
And triumph in its fall.
Sbruld k--gly power grow abfolute,
Or mobs make k--gs obey,
Should Chaos reign, we'd ne'er difpute,
Could we direct bis fway.
V. But what is lato or liberty,

When we have no command?

I'd curfe the fate of being free
From any other band.

To the dealer turn, expecting elves,
Whofe trump their game regards;
Let's cut and shuffle for ourselves,
Or (zoons) throw up the cards.

Weekly Register, April 22. N° 106.

On the Death of a Friend; who died for the Love of Sylvia, whose Friends unreasonably broke off the intended Match between them. SHALL virtuous Strephon unlamented die ? Shall Strephon's afbes unlamented lie ?

མ་

Will no one (whom the Mufes love) relate
His baplefs paffion, and untimely fate?
Applaud bis friendship, piety, and truth,
(Virtues rare found among the modern youth)
Will no one ?--Tho' no aid the Muses bring,
Infpir'd by friendship I'll attempt to fing.
Forgive me, Sylvia, if his name I wrong,
Th' intent is honeft tho' but mean the fong.--
Blefs'd with an open and good-natur'd mind,
A faultless perfon, and a foul refin'd,
Young Strephon liv'd an honour to mankind.
He feadily purfu'd fair virtue's cause,
In youth ne'er ftray'd from ber fevereft laws;
To love and friendship always faithful prov'd
A well-bred faint!--by all good men belov'd.--
--Still badft thou been a pattern to the age
But for th' ignorant zeal and bigot-rage
Of men bale-minded, ftirrers up of strife,
Who robb'd thee of thy Sylvia and thy life.--
--Yet thou forgav'dft thofe men (a wicked crew)
By thee inftructed I forgive 'em too--
--Sylvia let us to Strephon's grave repair,
And o'er it drop a friendly pious tear;
Let us to the fad mournful scene refort,
Where death in horrid majefty keeps court.--
--This is the bour for forrow and despair
To ftalk abroad--can'ft thou thofe horrors bear?
No;
Thou would't die to fee at mid-night

--

gloom

A ghoft (tho' Strephon's) bover o'er a tomb;
But I must go--nay fomething whispers, hafte z
Thy friend expects thee at bis burial-place.-
--I Ay obedient to the ftrange command.--

-Now fadly leaning on bis tomb I ftand.--
-Ob! how spall I thro' life's dark mazes tread
With bonour, now thou'rt number'd with the
dead?

How shall I 'fcape the alluring baits of vice, Depriv'd of thy example and advice? I dread difhonour, but myself I fear, Too prone (alas!) to lend a willing ear To pleasure's voice; the wanton harlot's tongue Deceives more furely than the Syren's fong. Hard fate of youth! by whirlwind paffions toft, On every rock in danger to be loft ; Thro' this tempeftuous fea bow shall I fteer? Thou my fafe pilot gone--zuby ftay I bere ?---In mercy ope thy marble jaws, O tomb! And bide me in thy hofpitable womb!---But ab! what means that fudden flash of light? --See! beaven itfelf lies open to my fight; See! Strephon comes in pureft light array'd; --Immortal bail! bail bappy friendly fhade! Say why this bonour to a mortal pay'd? O fair inhabitant of heaven say why Thou leav'ft the blissful regions of the sky, Seats of the gods, where peace and harmony For ever divell.--But bark! the vision speaks, Hark bow his tongue celestial musick breaks !---Ceafe thy inquiry, mortal, and attend The wholesome counfel of thy guardian friend ; Weep o'er the living, not the dead, for know Our portion's happiness, yours pain and woe;

E

If

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If mortals pleasure rightly understood,
They'd follow virtue as their greatest good;
Conform thee therefore to her friest rules,
All honeft men are wife, all vicious, fools!
Learn thou betimes now in thy early youth
To fhape thy mind to honesty and truth.
The foul receives impreffions good or ill
With safe at first-use thou thy utmost skill
To form it right, afcend fair virtue's hill:
With bonour then thou'lt pafs thro' this life's ftage,
Belov'd in youth, and reverenc'd in age.-
-Thou would'ft inquire into thy future fate.--
-Forbear,tis impious, nor dare I relate
The good or ill.--Take virtue for thy guide,
And guard against the worst that
-Yon trumpet founds-adicu- I must attend
My pleasurable task.--Be thou a friend
To my lov'd Sylvia, guard ber honour well.--
Now till I welcome thee to heaven, farewell.
This faid his wings the bleffed angel spread,
And flew away, and with him all my joys are
fled.

may

betide.-

On the First of April.
NATURE is rifing from the dead:
Frofts and Scythian fnows are fled;
Boreas to bis cavern creeps,
And, tir'd with winter-bluff'ring, flecps:
Soft zephyrs from the ocean move,
The birth-place of the queen of love;
And o'er the meadows, bills, and dales
Play with their fweet reviving gales ;
Chafing all difcontent, and care
And every fadnels but despair.
Ab! Chloe, when, my charming fair?

An Epigram on reading Falje Tafte.

ETP

L -pe no more what Ch-s builds deride, Because he takes not nature for his guide; Since, wondrous critick, in thy form we fee That nature may mistake as well as be.

The following Copy of Verfes was fpoken lately at the Tripos in Cambridge.

ONE night, as home I tripp'd alone,
Betrveen the hours of twelve and one,
Wrapt in my virtue and my gown ;
(The hour it matters not a groat,
Whether canonical or not)

Tho' laymen, who at midnight roam,
We may fuppofe, go reeling bome;
Yet upon blafphemy it borders,
Thus to afperfe a man in orders.
The moon, who faw what was defign'd,
Just reach'd a cloud, and popp'd bebind;
Nor deign'd to lend one fingle Spark
To give a light to deeds fo dark.
What could I fee without a light;
When not a man o'th' fharpest fight?
The cafe is not fo ftrange, you know,
'Twas Sir John Falaff's long ago.

Befides, Sir, I in anfwer thereto;
Saw them both well enough to swear to...
Tho' I fufpected much their air,
Yet forward I refolv’d to bear ;
Pluck'd up my little heart, and then,
Ellay'd to pass thefe buckram-men:
For I fupps'd they wou'd be loth,
Abandon'd rogues, to rob the cloth.
This, thro' good-nature, I believ'd:
But man is born to be deceiv'd.
Then up fept that young graceless lad;
That youth fhould dare to be so bad!
But in this place, 'tis my

intention
The hand of providence to mention ;
Which, whilft this rogue to Newgate goes,
And, to difguife him, fhifts bis cloths,
So plainly did my cause efpouse.
For whilft the crafty villain thought
To be fecure in's t'other coat,

He put on (it is ftrange, pray bear it)
The coat be robb'd in; I aver it

To be the fame,. or fomewhat near it.
And partner of bis crime he took,
Yon fellow with the hanging look;
Who, in conjunction with the reft,
Held a clafp'd knife up to my breaft:
Which thro' fimilitude of look,
My fears for piftol then mifcok;
And in the fad affright I food in,
I'd thought fo bad it been black pudding;
Who cou'd refufe, they bid me ftand,
My money, and my watch demand."
Money I gave them, as they bade;
'Twas four and trvo-pence, all I bad:
But fly by evafive catch,

I told them, I had ne'er a watch.
Now I would have you understand,
I bad one, but 'twas in my hand.
And, pray, what cafuift cou'd have shown,
What in this junƐture should be done?
Grotius fuppofes, like a tony,

Servanda fides cum latrone:
But I much better, by my own fense,
Anfwer'd this dubious cafe of confcience,
And thought ftale verbo facerdotis
Was much beneath a wife man's notice:
For full ten pounds my watch bad bought ;
My word, perhaps, not worth a great.
But in one inftance, I must own,
They fhew'd a reverence for the gown.
Thefe padders, as goods contrabanded,
My bonorary fearf demanded;

They would not take it, were't my right,
Pleafe but to fhew how I came by't.

}

The

The Mifer on his Death-Bed. From the Mifer's Praife of Gold: A Poem.

SEE on his bed the fickly dotard lie,

The gaping legatees around must cry; His mind with cares, bis body wreck'd with pain; Would be might live his finful days again: Atboufand pious acts be has in flore, Which ne'er sccurr`d to bis dull thoughts before. Unthinking man!—but now his boarded wealth He'll make fubfervient to his future bealth; He bates the world, no farther leafe would take Of this vile earth but for religion's fake; To be the orphan's father, widow's fpcufe, And build the bungry, or the Lord an boufe Fly! call in aid, to Sloan, to Gibbons fly! Phyfick forbid fo good a man fhou'd dieThe doctor mounts the fairs with fober pace, Affects the look, and fets his formal face. How do you, Sir? Ob! doctor, never worse; Spare not your art, and I'll not spare my purse: Five hundred guineas for my life, be cries, What give the heir? Five hundred more be dies.

And justly. Slave, would'st thou renounce thy God,

Unbleft by bim, a few fad days to nod. Gold is my life, religim, vigour, wealth; Give me but this, take thou tby future health.

Common Fame put to Shame: Or,

Truth's Reply to Tittle Tattle.

Forbear, thou common lyar, common fame,

With envious breath, to blaft Amelia's name To marr ber merits with ficticious flaw, And give her up to men fhe never faw! For know, vile babler! spight of all thy pains, Unfully'd fill the lovely maid remains: Made wife by others barms, the cautious fair Scorns the temptation, and avoids the fnare.

Kitty: A Paftoral. From a Collection of Poem, called, a Muje in Livery.

FROM beneath a cool fhade, by the fide of

a fiream,

Thus writes thy Theander, and thou art bis

theme:

*

The beautiful objects which round me do lie,
Grow fick at thy prefence with envy, and die.
Now Flora the meadows and groves does adorn,
With flowers and blossoms on every thorn;
But look on my Kitty! there fweetly does blow,
A fpring of more beauties than Flora can fhew.
See, Jee bow that rofe adorns the gay bush,
And proud of its colour, would wie with ber bluf;
Vain boafter! thy beauties fhall quickly decay,
She blushes,- and fee bow it withers away.

Obferve tha: fair lilly, the pride of the vale,
In whiteness unrival'd, new droops and looks pale;
It fickens, and changes its beautiful bue,
And bows down his head in fubmiffion to you.
The zephirs that fan me beneath the corl fhade,
When panting with beat on the ground I am laid,
Are lefs grateful and freet, than the beavenly air
That breaths from her lips when she whispers-

my dear.

O hear the gay lark as fhe mounts in the fkies, How feet are her notes! bowy delightful ber voice! Go dwell in the air, little quarbler, ga,

I have mufick enough while my Kitty's below.
With pleafure I watch the laborious bee,
Extracting her feets from each flower and tree;
Ab fools! thus to labour to keep you alive,
Fly, fly to berlips and at once fill your hive.

See there, on the top of that oak, bow the doves, Sit brooding each other, and cocing their loves : Our loves are thus tender, thus mutual our joy, When folded on each others bofom we lie."

It glads me to fee how the pretty young lambs Are fondled,and cheriff'd, and low'd by theirdams: The lambs are lefs pretty, my dearest, than ther; Their dams are less ford, nor fo loving as me.

I view all the brauties the world nocu puts on, Which all owe their birth to the warmth of the fun :

The world is to me, in my dear Kitty's arms, And my love's the warm fun that must fill it

with charms.

But, leaving the fields and the groves, I retire To vifit the gardens, where art does confpire With nature, to finish one beauteous parterre; But beav'n in her face bas out-done them by far.

Here various flowers fill paint the gay scene, And as fome fade and die, others bud and look

green;

The charms of my Kitty are conftant as they;
Her virtues will bloom as her beautics decay.

I fit on the ground, and reclining my bead, Repole among flow'rs, a faveet-smelling bed! A fweet-fmelling bed, yet ab! nothing so freeet, As Kity's dear befom, my balmy retreat.

As I gaze on the river that smoothly glides by, Thus even and freet is her temper, I cry, Thus clear is her mind, thus calm and ferene; And virtues like gems at the bottom are feen.

But in vain I compare ber, bere's nothing fo bright,

And night now approaches and binders my fight; To bed I must haften, and there all her charms, In fofter ideas, I'll bring to my arms.