"Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin
Converts dull port to bright champagne;
Such freedom crowns it at an inn.

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falsehood's specious grin!
Freedom I love and form I hate,
And choose my lodgings at an inn.

Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
Which lackeys else might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me freedom at an inn.

Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.

A SIMILE.

WHAT village but has sometimes seen
The clumsy shape, the frightful mien,
Tremendous claws, and shagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclep'd a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Received the curious form you see,
Who, with her plastic tongue alone,
Produced a visage-like her own—
And thus they hint, in mystic fashion,
The powerful force of education.
Perhaps yon crowd of swains is viewing,
E'en now, the strange exploits of Bruin,
Who plays his antics, roars aloud,
The wonder of a gaping crowd!

So have I known an awkward lad,
Whose birth has made a parish glad,
Forbid, for fear of sense, to roam,
And taught by kind mamma at home,
Who gives him many a well-tried rule,
With ways and means to play the fool.

P. 61.

In sense the same, in stature higher,
He shines, ere long, a rural squire;
Pours fourth unwitty jokes, and swears,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly stares:
His tenants, of superior sense,
Carouse and laugh at his expense,
And deem the pastime I'm relating
To be as pleasant as bear-baiting.

THE CHARMS OF PRECEDENCE.

A TALE.

"SIB, will you please to walk before ?" "No, pray, sir,-you are next the door." Upon mine honour I'll not stir"

66

66

Sir, I'm at home; consider, sir”Excuse, me, sir; I'll not go first." Well, if I must be rude, I must"But yet I wish I could evade it— ""Tis strangely clownish, be persuaded."

Go forward, cits! go forward, squires!
Nor scruple each what each admires.

Life squares not, friends! with your proceeding;
It flies while you display your breeding;
Such breeding as one's gran'am preaches,
Or some old dancing-master teaches,
Or for some rude tumultuous fellow,
Half-crazy, or, at least, half mellow,
To come behind you unawares,
And fairly push you both down stairs!
But death's at hand-let me advise ye;
Go forward, friends! or he'll surprise ye.
Besides, how insincere you are!

Do

ye not flatter, lie, forswear, And daily cheat, and weekly pray,

And all for this-to lead the way P

Such is my theme, which means to prove, That though we drink, or game, or love,

GG

As that or this is most in fashion
Precedence is our ruling passion.
When college-students take degrees,
And pay the beadle's endless fees,
What moves that scientific body,
But the first cutting at a gaudy?

And whence such shoals, in bare conditions
That starve and languish as physicians,
Content to trudge the streets, and stare at
The fat apothecary's chariot ?

But that, in Charlotte's chamber-see
Moliere's Medecin malgre lui-
The leech, howe'er his fortunes vary,
Still walks before the apothecary.

Flavia in vain has wit and charms,
And all that shines, and all that warms;
In vain all human race adore her,
For-Lady Mary ranks before her.
O Celia! gentle Celia! tell us,
You, who are neither vain nor jealous!
The softest breast, the mildest mien!
Would you not feel some little spleen,
Nor bite your lip, nor furl your brow,
If Florimel, your equal now,

Should one day gain precedence of ye?
First served though in a dish of coffee?
Placed first, although where you are found
You gain the eyes of all around?

Named first, though not with half the fame
That waits my charming Celia's name?
Hard fortune! barely to inspire
Our fix'd esteem and fond desire!
Barely, where'er you go, to prove
The source of universal love!
Yet be content, observing this,
Honour's the offspring of caprice;
And worth, howe'er you have pursued it,
Has now no power-but to exclude it:
You'll find your general reputation

A kind of supplemental station.

Poor Swift, with all his worth, could ne'er

He tells us, hope to rise a peer;

So, to supply it, wrote for fame,
And well the wit secured his aim.