THE MODERN PATRIOT.

REBELLION is my theme all day;
I only wish 'twould come

(As who knows but perhaps it may?)
A little nearer home.

Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight
On the' other side the' Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.

When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.

But O! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flowers she bears,

Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears.

Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure them,

Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure them.

A rope! I wish we Patriots had

Such strings for all who need themWhat! hang a man for going mad? Then farewell British freedom.

REPORT

OF AN ADJUDGED CASE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.

BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong.

So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;

While chief Baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind.

Then, holding the spectacles up to the courtYour lordship observes they are made with a straddle

As wide as the ridge of the nose is; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?

VOL. II.

X

234

THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS.

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,

With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how), He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes: But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not think they were equally wise.

So his lordship decreed with a grave, solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or but— That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!

THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS.

1791.

Two nymphs, both nearly of an age,
Of numerous charms possess'd,
A warm dispute once chanced to wage,
Whose temper was the best.

The worth of each had been complete,
Had both alike been mild:

But one, although her smile was sweet,
Frown'd oftener than she smiled.

And in her humour, when she frown'd,
Would raise her voice and roar,
And shake with fury to the ground
The garland that she wore.

THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS.

235

The other was of gentler cast,

From all such frenzy clear,

Her frowns were seldom known to last,
And never proved severe.

To poets of renown in song

The nymphs referr'd the cause,

Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong,
And gave misplaced applause.

They gentle call'd, and kind, and soft
The flippant and the scold,

And though she changed her mood so oft,
That failing left untold.

No judges, sure, were e'er so mad,
Or so resolved to err-

In short, the charms her sister had
They lavish'd all on her.

Then thus the god whom fondly they
Their great inspirer call,

Was heard, one genial summer's day,
To reprimand them all.

'Since thus ye have combined (he said),
My favourite nymph to slight,
Adorning May, that peevish maid,
With June's undoubted right;

The minx shall, for your folly's sake,
Still prove herself a shrew,

Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,
And pinch your noses blue.'

ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL,

WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S
INSTANCE.

Go-thou art all unfit to share
The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,
Creatures of gentler race.

The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms,

And woodpeckers explore the sides,
Of rugged oaks for worms;

The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece;

And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her, a friend to peace.

Ah-I could pity thee exiled
From this secure retreat-
I would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.

But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to show

Thy magnanimity in fight,
Thy prowess-therefore go.

I care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;
The angry

Muse thus sings thee forth,
And claps the gate behind thee.