XXII.

INSCRIPTION FOR A NEWSMAN'S WATERCLOSET.

I.

IN the bank of this closet

Lies the soul of an editor.

It lies in deposite;
For the Devil is creditor.

II.

HERE safely to hold it,
Lest the owner should job it.

The bond when he sold it
Made the payment post-obit.

XXIII.

EPITAPH.

UNDER this marble, safe, not sound,
Sixty inches beneath the ground,
Rotteth what, to most men's thinking,
Rotten was in life and stinking.

There the type, but here the essence ;
Body both and soul's putrescence.
If the spirit, once departed,
Ere look back to whence it started,
Much indeed 't must be delighted,
Seeing things, which, when united,

Had no sympathy betwixt them,

Now, that Nature has unmixt them,
In their essences harmonious;

That which made the eye, erroneous,
Often doubt the soul's putridity,
Now in physical corruption,
Better'd by this late disruption,

Floating in a black humidity.

"What its name? by whom begotten,

If of man a thing so rotten?"

Ask the Devil, who may know it ;

Men the ordure have forgotten,

And this marble may not show it.

He (thus much) whose soul eternal

Revels now in filth infernal,

While the corpse, in shape most suiting,

Fats the soil it is polluting,

Edited in life a journal.

XXIV.

TO A FAIR NEighbour, retiring for the NIGHT.

CLOSE not the shutters; prithee stay!

But one more charm, one more uncover!
Each bit of dress aside you lay

Falls a new chain on me, your lover.

They ope.

Sweet saint! Ah, see! they close.

What ails the prude this coyness keeping?

Hush, fool; the little vixen knows

Your fancy 's kinder than your peeping.

XXV.

MADRIGALE.

LO STESSO ARGOMENTO DEL SONETTO III.

I' PIANSI la mia sorte, il rio tormento
Che mi soffrir facea la bella CLORI.
Ma sempre aumentavan i miei amori,
Come i flutti dal impeto del vento.
CLORI è donna ; si vinta arrese jeri.
Lasso me, ch' io, sperando esser contento,

Ho persi, in un momento,

Con quella pena tutti i miei piaceri !

XXVI.

MADRIGAL.

"SWEET innocent, thy dark-blue eyes
Are like the maid's I dearest prize.
Come, little image of CALISTA!"
And leaning o'er the babe, I kiss'd her.

She stretch'd her arms to me, and smil'd,
Pouting her lips for more, the child!

"Ah, jade, you'll be just like your sister!"
And then,
- and then! ten times I kiss'd her.

PARODIES OF HORACE.

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