Pursuing still some idle toy,
Which may both peace and health destroy.
When madd'ning draughts have fir'd the brain,
And reason yields to folly's reign,
How dangers then from passions flow,
How oft the friend is made the foe,
When, by some frantic whim misled,
You hurl destruction at his head.
Or worse-perhaps intending wit
(That mark so very hard to hit)
Some tender secret is betray'd,
Some word is dropp'd, some lie is made,
Creating jealousy and strife,
Which end but with the parties' life.
But when this wild debauch is past,
And cool reflection comes at last,
When reason re-assumes her throne,
And all the dreadful picture's shown,
How conscience trembles at the view,
And vainly hopes it is not true.
Kind reason thou direct my will
Far from such scenes, O keep me still,
The cup, with sweet refreshment fraught,
O let me taste but as I ought,
Intoxicating draughts farewell,
Let temperance ever with me dwell.
So shall I pass my life in peace,
So shall my health and friends increase,
All vexing thoughts and cares recede,
And wisdom reign in folly's stead;
Without a fear resign my breath,
And boldly face the dart of death.
IN this, dear George, we both agree,
(You bred in camp-I bred at sea)
That cleanliness is oft
A cursed plague about a house,
And always met our warm abuse
When boys with Mrs. Croft.
But to the beggar and the king
Clean linen's a reviving thing,
Tho' both these plagues don't reach;
The beggar strips at jocund morn
In some clear stream, and on the thorn
Spreads out his rags to bleach;
The King-great man! sends all his out, Not caring for a single clout:
But what's more happy still,
He's not obliged to count the rags,
Nor stuff them into canvas bags,
O! no-nor write the bill.
But, Lord have mercy on us all!
Whene'er we wash all hands must fall
To something or another,
For madam scolds, and flies about,
Now up, now down, now in, now out,
Dabbling thro' wet and smother.
This cursed time all comfort flies:
At six she starts "Come, Ned, come rise
And get the lines hung out,"
"Yes to be sure, my dear"-I cry;
I dare as well be hang'd as lie,
For fear my dove should pout.
Breakfast is got and whipp'd away,
Because the washers want their tea,
Before that I've half done:
The doors all open-linen's spread
The sky looks black-" Come hither Ned, Shall we have rain or sun?"
"My dear, you need not be in pain, I think it does not look like rain: "O then we'll hang out more," When lo! the words have hardly past, But down their comes a heavy blast, And all must be rinc'd o'er.
Then ten-fold falls the peal on me;
"You ass-to be ten years at sea,
See-see the linen! do!"
I sneak away to have a smile
Snug-while I hear her all the while
Calling me black and blue.
But what still troubles more my mind
Amidst such plagues, at once to find
The washer, as she rings,
Cracking some jest—then o'er the tub
Pauses awhile-and every rub
With pleasure squalls and sings.
I hate, I must confess, all dirt,
And truly love a well-wash'd shirt;
But once a month this reek
Is more than flesh or blood can bear;
And him I hate-oh make his share
A washing every week!
BY MRS. ROBINSON,
To a Gentleman who asked her opinion of a Kiss.
WHAT is a kiss? 'Tis but a seal,
That warmly printed, soon decays; 'Tis but a zephyr, taught to steal
Where fleeting falsehood smiling plays.
The breeze will kiss the flow'r; but soon
From flow'r to weed inconstant blows-
Such is the kiss of love, the boon
Which fickle fancy oft bestows.
A balmy kiss once Venus gave
The rose that caught her lover's sigh;
That rose with ev'ry gale would wave,
At every glance of morning die;
Would ope its bosom to the beam
That glowing noon promiscuous threw,
Or to the twilight's parting gleam
Would yield responsive tears of dew;
Oft to the bee its sweets would give, And flaunt its odours wild around; With honey'd breath bid pleasure live, Or, with its hidden mischiefs, wound.
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