IMITATION.

SAPPHICS.

The Friend of Humanity and the Knife Grinder.

"NEEDY

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

EEDY Knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of orderBleak blows the blast;-your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches!

"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day" Knives and “Scissars to grind O!”

Tell me, Knife grinder, how came you to grind knives?

Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire ? or parson of the parish;
Or the attorney?

"Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?

Or roguish lawyer, made

you lose your little

All in a lawsuit ?

"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story."

KNIFE-GRINDER.

"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

"Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish

-Stocks for a vagrant.

"I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ; But for my part, I never love to meddle

with politics, sir.”

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd firstWretch whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to ven

geance

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!"

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

No. III.

Nov. 30.

We have received the following from a loyal Correspondent, and we shall be very happy at any time to be relieved, by communications of a similar tendency, from the drudgery of Jacobinical imitations.

To the Tune of" Whilst happy in my native land.”

W

I.

HILST happy in our native land,

So great, so famed in story,

Let's join, my friends, with heart and hand

To guard our country's glory:

When Britain calls, her valiant sons

Will rush in crowds to aid her

Snatch, snatch your muskets, prime your guns,

And crush the fierce invader!

shall be,

Whilst every Britain's song
"O give us death-or victory!"

II.

Long had this favour'd isle enjoy'd
True comforts past expressing,
When France her hellish arts employ'd
To rob us of each blessing;

These from our hearths by force to tear
(Which long we've learn'd to cherish)
Our frantic foes shall vainly dare;
We'll keep 'em, or we'll perish-
And every day our song shall be,
"O give us death—or victory!"

III.

Let France in savage accents sing
Her bloody Revolution;

We prize our Country, love our king,

Adore our Constitution;

For these we'll every danger face,
And quit our rustic labours;

Our ploughs to firelocks shall give place,

Our scythes be changed to sabres.

And clad in arms our song shall be, "O give us death-or victory!"

IV.

Soon shall the proud invaders learn,
When bent on blood and plunder,
That British bosoms nobly burn
To brave their canon's thunder:

Low lie those heads, whose wiley arts
Have plann'd the world's undoing!
Our vengeful blades shall reach those hearts
Which seek our country's ruin;

And night and morn our song shall be,
"O give us death-or victory!"

V.

When with French blood our fields manured,
The glorious struggle's ended,
We'll sing the danger's we've endured,

The blessing's we've defended;
O'er the full bowl our feats we'll tell,
Each gallant deed reciting;
And weep o'er those who nobly fell
Their country's battle fighting-
And ever thence our song shall be,
"Tis valour leads to Victory!"