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IMITATION.

SAPPHICS.

The Friend of Humanity and the Knife Grinder.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going ? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order Bleak 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!”

15. 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 first Wretch ! whom no seuse of wrongs can rouse to ven

geanceSordid, 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 Correspondo

ent, and we shall be very happy at any time to be relieved, by communications of a similar tendency, from the drudgery of Jacobinical imitations.

THE INVASION;

OR, THE BRITISH WAR SONG.

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

I.
W

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 !
Whilst

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

shall be,

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,
“Ogive us death- 1-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!”

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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!”

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