A NEW SIMILE.

127

For let folks only get a touch,

Its soporific virtue's such,

Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.

Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives men's souls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then :
His wand's a modern authors pen;
The serpents round about it twin'd
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venom❜d bites;

An equal semblance still to keep,

Alike too both conduce to sleep.

This diff'rence only, as the god
Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goose-quill the scribbling elf
Instead of others damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.

Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing;

Well! what of that? out with it-stealing:

128

A NEW SIMILE.

In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as great a thief as he :
But e'en this deity's existence

Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox

Are they but senseless stones or blocks?

DESCRIPTION

OF AN

AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.

WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champaign,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;

There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,

The muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,

That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;

The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,

And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black

face:

The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney-board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by nighta stocking all the day!

THE

CLOWN'S REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was desir'd by two witty peers,
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?

"An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to

letters,

betters;

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my
Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your graces,

As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses.”