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, 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, "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 II. Long had this favour'd isle enjoy'd These from our hearths by force to tear III. Let France in savage accents sing We prize our Country, love our king, Adore our Constitution; For these we'll every danger face, 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, Low lie those heads, whose wiley arts And night and morn our song shall be, V. When with French blood our fields manured, The blessing's we've defended; |