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applied for his relief. It is supposed the toad was taken up with the water out of the well undiscovered.

Verses extempore on Miss S-, of Sk, Hants. A while, O! let me lose myself in love,

Thro' the cool grots and silent mazes rove;
Bear me! O bear me to those happy shades
Where youthful poets lodge their love-sick maids:
There let me haunt the fragrant jessamine bow'rs,
And load my temples with the choicest flow'rs;
Search ev'ry limpid brook, and silver spring,
And on the myrtles hear the linnet sing:
On beds of blooming roses let me lie,
While wanton Cupids play before my eye:
Then, when I sleep in all her rural charms,
Let fancy bring my S- to my arms;
Blest in the golden dream, I'll seize my joy,
And by delusion all my senses cloy;
I'll kiss, I'll grasp, I'll gaze her beauties o'er,
And lost in transport, beg to wake no more.


An Acrostic.

Pretty, fair and winning grace
On every features on the face;
Like Venus is the heavenly fair,
Like her's is her celestial air:

Y et Pallas guides her prudent mind;
Reason and virtue here we find,


very charm in one combined;

And throughout this charming creature, Does shine the perfect works of nature. Dorchester, 1763.

On the much lamented Death of Mrs. Elizabeth Blunt.

See the seraphick spirit soaring fly

To join its kindred angels in the sky;.

Let not the social sigh, connubial tear,

Sadden its sacred triumph through the air:

Yet on her tomb, let lasting numbers tell,

Earth once could boast, what heaven can scarce excel.

Fair without frailty, and though wise not vain ;
Gay without guilt, though witty not profane;
To worth a friend, a parent to the poor;

Such was the woman-can the saint be more?

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Friend to the world!-illustrious sage!

Accept the tributary lay,

That speaks for an admiring age,
Led by thy new-directed ray.
Say by what power thy kindred mind
To heaven has urg'd its rapid flight,
What angel wing, friend to mankind,
Return'd thee from the realms of light.
Thy virtues were the ascending throne,
The flaming steeds, the car of fire,
And thy compassion brought thee down
To tell us what we should admire.

To Mr. Hart, upon his Dancing Academy for grown

Marseilles no more shall boast his art,

Which form'd the Youth of France:

For you instruct, ingenious Hart,

Grown gentlemen to dance.


He only bent the pliant twig,

You strike a bolder stroke;
You soften rocks, make mountains jig,
And bend the knotted oak.

To a delightful Village.

From empty mirth, and fruitless strife,
The tumult, and the pride of life,
The craft of trade, the farce of state,
From all the busy, all the great,
Bear me, ye Sylvans! quickly bear,
To peaceful scenes and purer air;
Come! kindly lead my weary feet
To happy S―'s fair retreat;
O! thro' thy silent groves to stray,
And wind the sweetly devious way;
My cares dispel, my fears controul,
And bring sweet peace to ease my soul;
With haste I'll quit this dreary plain
With eager steps thy village gain.



By something form'd, I nothing am,
Yet ev'ry thing that you can name;
In no place have I ever been,
Yet ev'ry where I may be seen;
In all things false, yet always true,
I'm still the same but ever new.
Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear,
Can shew a nose, eye, tongue, or ear,
Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear.
All shapes and features I can boast,
No flesh, no bones, no blood-no ghost:

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All colours, without paint, put on,
And change like the cameleon.
Swiftly I come, and enter there,
Where not a chink lets in the air;
Like thought I'm in a moment gone,
Nor can I ever be alone.

All things on earth I imitate,
Faster than Nature can create;
Sometimes imperial robes I wear,
Anon in beggar's rags appear;
A giant now, and strait an elf,
I'm ev'ry one, but ne'er myself;
Ne'er sad I mourn, ne'er glad rejoice,
I move my lips, but want a voice;
I ne'er was born, nor e'er can die,
Then prithee tell me what am I?

Friday last a press-gang was very busy at Newington Butts, and having impressed a poor countryman from his wife and children, the distressed woman followed her husband with lamentations, which induced many women to sally from their houses. Among the amazons was the famous Hannah Snell, who immediately demanded the captive from the Lieutenant; he refusing, and bad words ensuing, she collared and shook him. Two sailors advanced to rescue their officer, whom she beat, and challenged to fight any of the gang with fists, sticks, or quarter-staff, only let her be permitted to pull off her stays, gown, and petticoats, and put on breeches, declaring she had sailed more leagues than any of them, and if they were seamen, they ought be on board, and

not sneak about as kidnappers. "But if you are afraid of the sea, take Brown Bess on your shoulders, and march through Germany as I have done: ye dogs, I have more wounds about me than you have fingers. By G-d, this is no false attack; I'll have my man!" and accordingly took the poor fellow from the gang, and restored him to his wife. Mrs. Snell has a pension of fifty pounds per annum left by the late Duke of Cumberland, for her many manly services by sea and land.

The following is given as a real anecdote of the late Alexander Pope, Esq. An acquaintance of Mr. Pope's having lost a daughter named Letitia, was very desirous for Mr. Pope to oblige him with an epitaph, which Mr. Pope declined; but, upon repeated importunities, spoke these lines extempore :

"Goodman Death,

"To please his palate, "Has cropt your Lettice "For a sallate."

To the Printer of the London Evening Post. From the pleasing sensations which attend virtuous actions, and the remorse that will always follow vicious ones, we may presume to conclude, without the assistance of divine revelation, that the one is pleasing and the other displeasing to the Deity; that the one merits reward, the other

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