PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS. WHAT! no way left to shun th’ in… And save from infamy my sinking ag… Scarce half alive, oppress’d with… What in the name of dotage drives…

‘This ’is’ a poem! This 'is’ a co… YOUR mandate I got, You may all go to pot; Had your senses been right, You’d have sent before night;

Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man

SACRED TO THE MEMORY… THE PRINCESS DOWAGER O… AIR—TRIO. ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise, And waken every note of woe;

As puffing quacks some caitiff wre… To swear the pill, or drop, has wr… Thus on the stage, our play-wright… For Epilogues and Prologues on so… Who knows each art of coaxing up t…

Beside yon straggling fence that s… With blossom’d furze unprofitably… There, in his noisy mansion, skill… The village master taught his litt… A man severe he was, and stern to…

ADDRESSED TO THE GE… A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR Worried with debts and past all ho… His pen he prostitutes t’ avoid a… ROSCOM.

‘Enter’ MRS. BULKLEY, ‘who curtsies very low as beginnin… Then enter’ MISS CATLEY, ‘who stands full before her, and c… MRS. BULKELEY.

SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering shall I make… Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes,

WHAT! five long acts—and all to… Our authoress sure has wanted an a… Had she consulted 'me’, she should… Her moral play a speaking masquera… Warm’d up each bustling scene, and…

HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from… Who long was a bookseller’s hack; He led such a damnable life in thi… I don’t think he’ll wish to come b…

STANZAS ON THE TAKING… GENERAL WOLFE AMIDST the clamour of exulting… Which triumph forces from the patr… Grief dares to mingle her soul-pie…

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT LONG had I sought in vain to fin… A likeness for the scribbling kind… The modern scribbling kind, who wr… In wit, and sense, and nature’s sp…

Secluded from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life… A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass and crack’d his…

YE Muses, pour the pitying tear For Pollio snatch’d away; O! had he liv’d another year!- ‘He had not died to-day’. O! were he born to bless mankind,