The place is uninhabited, I fear!

I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!
25 O there the natives are—a dreadful race!
The men have tails, the women paint the face!
No doubt they're all barbarians.—Yes, 'tis so;
I'll try to make palaver with them though;

'Tis best, however, keeping at a distance.

(making signs.)

30 Good Savages, our Captain craves assistance;

Our ship's well stor'd;-in yonder creek we've laid her; His honour is no mercenary trader;

This is his first adventure; lend him aid,

Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade.

35 His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war.

5

What! no reply to promises so ample?
I'd best step back—and order up a sample.

SONG

FROM 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

LET school-masters puzzle their brain,

With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;

Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,

Gives genus a better discerning.

Let them brag of their heathenish gods,

Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:

Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,

They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

When Methodist preachers come down

ΙΟ

15

20

A-preaching that drinking is sinful,

I'll wager the rascals a crown

They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,

I'll leave it to all men of sense,

But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever;

Our hearts and our liquors are stout;

Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,

Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;

But of all the birds in the air,

Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

EPILOGUE TO SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'

5

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still, as a Bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him, to conquer you:
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty Bar-maids have done execution.

Our life is all a play, compos'd to please,
'We have our exits and our entrances.'

The First Act shows the simple country maid,
10 Harmless and young, of ev'ry thing afraid;
Blushes when hir'd, and, with unmeaning action,
'I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.'
Her Second Act displays a livelier scene-
Th' unblushing Bar-maid of a country inn,
15 Who whisks about the house, at market caters,

Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars, The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. On 'Squires and Cits she there displays her arts, 20 And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts: And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, Even Common-Councilmen forget to eat. The Fourth Act shows her wedded to the 'Squire, And Madam now begins to hold it higher;

25 Pretends to taste, at Operas cries caro,

And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che faro,
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside;
Ogles and leers with artificial skill,

30 'Till having lost in age the power to kill,

She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, through our lives, the eventful history-
The Fifth and Last Act still remains for me.
The Bar-maid now for your protection prays,
35 Turns Female Barrister, and pleads for Bayes.

RETALIATION.

A POEM.

Or old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united; If our landlord supplies us with beef, and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish: 5 Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains; Our Will shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour: Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain, 10 And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain:

Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree: To make out the dinner, full certain I am, That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb; 15 That Hickey's a capon, and by the same rule, Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? Here, waiter! more wine, let me sit while I'm able, 20 Till all my companions sink under the table;

Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth,

Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:

H

25 If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least, in six weeks, I could not find 'em out;
Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 30 We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat

To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote; 35 Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit: For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient; 40 And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, Sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't; 45 The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along,

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home; Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none; 50 What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.