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He bids the gazing throng around him fly,
And carries fate and phyfic in his eye;
A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills,
Who first infults the victim whom he kills;
Whofe murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect,
And whofe moft tender mercy is neglect.
Paid by the parifh for attendance here,
He wears contempt upon his fapient fneer;
In hafte he feeks the bed where mifery lies,
Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes;
And, fome habitual queries hurried o'er,
Without reply, he rushes on the door :
His drooping patient, long inur'd to pain,
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain;
He ceafes now the feeble help to crave
Of man, and mutely haftens to the grave..

But ere his death fome pious doubts arise,
Some fimple fears which "bold bad” men despise;
Fain would he afk the parish priest to prove
His title certain to the joys above;

For this he fends the murmuring nurfe, who calls
The holy ftranger to these dismal walls;
And doth not he, the pious man, appear,
He, "paffing rich with forty pounds a year
Ah! no, a shepherd of a different stock,
And far unlike him, feeds this little flock;
A jovial youth, who thinks his funday's task
As much as God or man can fairly afk;
The reft he gives to love, and labours light,
To fields the morning, and to feasts the night;
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None better skill'd the noisy pack to guide,
Το urge their chace, to cheer them or to chide;
Sure in his fhot, his game he seldom mist,
And feldom fail'd to win his game at whift;
Then, while fuch honours bloom around his head,
Shall he fit fadly by the fick man's bed,
To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal
To combat fears that ev'n the pious feel?
Up yonder hill, behold how fadly flow
The bier moves winding from the vale below;
There lie the happy dead, from trouble free,
And the glad parish pays the frugal fee;
No more, oh! Death, thy victim starts to hear
Churchwarden ftern, or kingly overfeer;
No more the farmer gets his humble bow,
Thou art his lord, the best of tyrants thou!

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Now to the church behold the mourners come,
Sedately torpid, and devoutly dumb;
The village children now their games fufpend,
To fee the bier that bears their ancient friend;
For he was one in all their idle sport,

And like a monarch rul'd their little court;
'The pliant bow he form'd, the flying ball,
The bat, the wicket, were his labours all;
Him now they follow to his grave, and stand
Silent and fad, and gazing, hand in hand;
While bending low, their eager eyes explore
The mingled relicks of the parish poor :
The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies round,
Fear marks the flight, and magnifies the found;

The

The busy priest, detain'd by weightier care,
Defers his duty till the day of prayer;
And waiting long, the crowd retire distrest,
To think a poor man's bones fhould lie unblest.

F

APOLOGY FOR VAGRANTS.

OR him, who, loft to ev'ry hope of life,
Has long with fortune held unequal ftrife,
Known to no human love, no human care,
The friendless, homeless object of defpair;
For the poor vagrant, feel, while he complains,
Nor from fad freedom fend to fadder chains.
Alike, if folly or misfortune brought

Thofe laft of woes his evil days have wrought;
Believe with focial mercy, and with me,
Folly's misfortune in the first degree.
Perhaps on fome inhofpitable fhore

The houseless wretch a widow'd parent bore;
Who, then, no more by golden prospects led,
Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed.
Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,
Perhaps that parent mourn'd her foldier flain;
Bent o'er her babe, her eye diffolv'd in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew,
Gave the fad presage of his future years,

The child of mifery, baptiz'd in tears!
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Virtuofo had a mind to fee

One that would never difcontented be,
But in a careless way to all agree;
He had a fervant much of #fop's kind,
Of perfonage uncouth, but sprightly mind:
Humpus, fays he, I order that you find.
Out fuch a man, with fuch a character,
He, in this paper now I give you here,
Or I will lug your ears, or crack your pate,
Or rather you fhall meet with a worse fate,
For I will break your back, and set you strait.
Bring him to dinner. Humpus foon withdrew,
Was fafe, as having fuch a one in view,
At Covent Garden dial, whom he found
Sitting with thoughtless air, and look profound..
Who folitary gaping without care,

Seem'd to fay, who is't will go any where?
Says Humpus, Sir, my mafter bad me pray
Your company to dine with him to-day.
He fnuffs; then follows, up the ftairs he goes,
Never pulls off his hat, nor cleans his fhoes,
But looking round him, faw a handsome room,
And did not much repent that he was come;
Close to the fire he draws an elbow-chair,
And lolling eafy does for fleep prepare.
In comes the family, but he fits ftill,

Thinks, let them take the other chairs that will.

The

The mafter thus accofts him, "Sir, you're wet
"Pray have a cufhion underneath your feet.
Thinks he, if I do fpoil it, need I care?
I fee he has eleven more to spare.

Dinner's brought up, the wife is bid retreat,
And at the upper end must be his feat.
This is not very ufual thinks the clown,
But is not all the family his own?
And why fhould I, for contradiction's fake,
Lose a good dinner, which he bids me take?
If from his table the difcarded be,

What need I care, there is the more for me.
After a while the daughter's bid to stand,
And bring him whatsoever he'll command.
Thinks he, the better from the fairer hand.
Young mafter next muft rife to fill him wine,
And ftarve himself to fee the booby dine.

He does 't. The father asks, what have you there?"
How dare you give a ftranger vinegar?
Sir, 'twas Champaigne I gave him; Sir, indeed!
Take him and fcourge him 'till the rafcal bleed;
Don't fpare him for his tears nor age: I'll try
If cat and nine tails can excufe a lye.
Thinks the clown, that 'twas wine I do believe:
But fuch young rogues are aptest to deceive;
He's none of mine, but his own flesh and blood,
And how know I but't may be for his good?
When the defert came on, and jellies brought,
Then was the difmal scene of finding fault,
They
were fuch hideous, filthy, pois'nous stuff,
Could not be rail'd at, nor reveng'd enough.

Humpus

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