One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,

Yet not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull
And lumpish still as ever;
Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,

'Come, neighbours, we must wag.' The money chinks, down drop their chins, Each lugging out his bag.

One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms and hail, And one of pigs that he has lost By maggots at the tail.

Quoth one, 'A rarer man than you
In pulpit none shall hear;
But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You sell it plaguy dear.'

O, why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine?

A kick that scarce would move a horse,
May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;
"Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay,

ON

THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,

THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH MARCH, 1789.

WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign.

Then, Loyalty, with all his lamps
New-trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.

"Twas hard to tell of streets or squares,
Which form'd the chief display,
These most resembling cluster'd stars,
Those the long milky way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
And rockets flew, self-driven,

To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of heaven.

So, fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,

To' express unwieldy joy.
Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,
And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd;

For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat,

Where George, recover'd, made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescried,

How much the object of her love
Was loved by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her design-

Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,
Resolved to be unknown,

And gratify no curious eyes
That night, except her own.
Arrived, a night like noon she sees,
And hears the million hum;
As all by instinct, like the bees,

Had known their sovereign come.
Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd,

On many a splendid wall, Emblems of health and heavenly aid, And George the theme of all.

Unlike the enigmatic line,
So difficult to spell,

Which shook Belshazzar at his wine
The night his city fell.

Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,
But with a joyful tear,

None else, except in prayer for him,
George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in every part
Like those in fable feign'd,
And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain'd.

But other magic there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,

To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.

That cordial thought her spirits cheer'd, And through the cumbrous throng, Not else unworthy to be fear'd, Convey'd her calm along.

So, ancient poets say, serene

The seamaid rides the waves, And fearless of the billowy scene Her peaceful bosom laves. With more than astronomic eyes

She view'd the sparkling show; One Georgian star adorns the skies, She myriads found below.

Yet let the glories of a night
Like that, once seen, suffice,
Heaven grant us no such future sight,
Such previous woe the price!

ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789.

WRITTEN IN

COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RECOVERY.

I RANSACK'D, for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host:
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,

But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.

To modern times, with Truth to guide
My busy search, I next applied;
Here cities won and fleets dispersed
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed,
Deeds of unperishing renown,
Our fathers' triumphs and our own.

Thus, as the bee from bank to bower,
Assiduous sips at every flower,

But rests on none till that be found
Where most nectareous sweets abound,
So I from theme to theme display'd
In many a page historic stray'd,
Siege after siege, fight after fight,
Contemplating with small delight
(For feats of sanguinary hue
Not always glitter in my view);
Till, settling on the current year,
I found the far sought treasure near;