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Men, women, houses, horses, books, All borrow credit from their looks. Externals have the gift of striking, And lure the fancy into liking,

AUTHOR

Oh! 1 perceive the thing you mean Call it St. James's Magazine.

From rhyme, as from a handsome face, Nonsense acquires a kind of grace ; I therefore give it all its scope, That sense may unperceived elope So ministers of basert tricks (I love a fling at politicks) Amuse the nation, court, and king, With breakifig Fowke, and hanging Byng , And make each funy rogue a prey, While they, the greater Nink away. This simile perhaps would ftrike, If match'd with something more alike ; Then take it dress'd a second time In Prior's ease, and my sublime. Say, did you never chance to meet A mob of people in the street, Ready to give the robb’d relief, And all in hafte to catch a thief, While the Ny rogue, who filch'd the prey, Too close beset to run away, Stop thief! stop thief ! exclaims aloud, And so escapes among the croud ? So Ministers, &c.

BOOK Ś I LI E R.

Or the New Britiffi

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O England how I mourn thy fate! For sure thy losses now are great ; Two such, what Briton can endure; Minorca and the Connoisseur !

Oh! no more.
One name's as good as half a fcore.
And titles oft give nothing less
Than what they staringly profess.
Puffing, I grant, is all the mode ;
The common hackney turnpike road ?
But custom is the blockhead's guide,
And such low arts cisgust my pride.
Success on merit's force depends,

Not on the partial voice of friends ;
Not on the seemis, that bully fin;
But that which pasjeth fhèw within :
Which bids the warmth of friendship glow,
And wrings conviction from a foe.
Deserve success, and proudly claim,
Not steal a passage into fame.

To-day, before the sun goes down, Will die the Censor, Mr. Town! He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him, With blushing honours thick upon him; O may his name these verses fave, Be these inscrib'd upon his grave !

Know, reader, that on Thursday died The CONNOISSEUR, a suicide ! Yet think not that his soul has fled, Nor rank him ’mongst the vulgar deadu Howe'er defunct you set him down, He's only going out of Town.

BOOKS ILLI R. Your method, fir, will never do ; You're right in theory, it's true. But then, experience in our trade Says, there's no harin in some parade. Suppose we said, by Mr. Lloyd ?

A U INOX

P

THE PU F F.

The very thing I would avoid ;
And would be rather pleas'd to owni
Myself unknowing, and unknown :
What could th' unknowing muse expect,
But information or neglect ?
Unknown- perhaps her reputation
Escapes the tax of defamation,

And wrapt in darkness, laugh's unhurt,
BOOK- .

While critic blockheads throw their dirt
But he who madly prints his name,
Invites his foe to take fure aim.

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Patent! for what! can patents give A Genius ? or make blockheads live? If so, O hail the glorious plan! And buy it at what price you can. But what alas! will that avail, Beyond the property of sale? A property of little worth, If weak our produce at its birth. For fame, for honest fame we strive, But not to struggle half alive, And drag a miserable being, Its end still fearing and foreseeing. Oh! may the flame of genius blaze, Enkindled with the breath of praise ! But far be ev'ry fruitless puff, To blow to light a dying snuff.

BooX SILL I .

A dedication to her too !
What will not folly dare to do?
Q days of art! when happy skill
Can raise a likeness whence it will ;
When portraits ask no REYNOLDS, aid,
And queens and kings are ready made.

No, no, my friend, by helps like these,
I cannot with my works should please ;
No pictures taken from the life,
Where all proportions are at itrife ;
No HUMMING-BIRI), no PAINTËD FLOWER,
No BEAST just landed in the TOWER,
No wooden Notes, no COLOUR’D MAP;
N, COUNTRY-DANGE Thall itop a gap;
O PHILOMATH, be not severe,
If not one problem mečts you here ;
Where goflip A, and neighbour B,
Pair, like good friends, with C and D;
And E F G, HIK join;
And curve and incidental line
Fall out, fall in, and cross each other,
Just like a fifter and a brother.
Ye tiny poets, tiny wits,
Who frisk about on tiny tits,
Who words disjoin, and sweetly fing,
Take one third part, and take the tking i
Then close the joints again, to frame
Some Lady's, or some City's name,
Enjoy your own, your proper Phæbus;
We ncither make, nor print a RERUS.
No CRAMBO, no ACROSTIC fine,
Great letters lacing down each line;
No strange CONUNDRUM, no invertio3
Beyond the reach of comprehension,
No RIDDLE, which whoe'er unties,
Claims twelve MUSEUMS for the PRIZI,
Shall Atrive to please you, at th' expence
of limple taste, and common sense.

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Bid General ESSAY lead the van,

y-Oh! the Style will shew the mana Bid Major SCIENCE bold appear, With all his pot-hooks in the rear.

AUTHOR What! must I huge proposals print, Merely to drop some faucy hint, That real folks of real fame Will give their works, and not their name? -This Puff's of use, you say--why let it, We'll boast such friendthip when we get it.

BOOKS ELLE R.

AUTHOR.

Get it! Ah, sir, you do but jest, You'll have affistance, and the best. There's CHURCHILL-will not CHURCHILL lend Alfistance ?

AUTHOR.

Surely to his FRIEND.

BOOKS ILLE R.

True, trueur News, our PROSE, our

RHYMES, Shall shew the colour of the times ; For which most falutary ends, We've fellow-soldiers, fellow-friends. For city, and fur court affairs, My lord duke's butler, and the mayor's For politicks-eternal talkers, Profound observers, and park-walkers. For plays, great actors of renown, (Lately or just arriv'd in town) Or fome, in state of abdication, Of oratorial reputation ; Or those who live on scraps and bits, Mere green-room wasps, and temple wits; Shall teach you, in a page or two, What GARRICK should, or should not do. Trim poets from the City desk, Deep vers’d in rural picturesque, Who minute down, with wond'rous pains, What Rider's Almanack contains On flow'r and seed, and wind, and weather And bind them in an Ode together ; Shall through the seasons monthly fing Sweet WINTER, AUTUMN, SUMMER, SPRINO

And then your interest might procure Something from either CONNOISSEUR. COLMAN and THORNTON, both will join Their social hand, to strengthen thine : And when your name appears in print, Will GARRICK never drop a'hint ?

AUTHOR

True, I've indulg'd such hopes before, From those you name, and many more ; And they, perhaps, again will join Their hand, if not asham'd of mine. Bold is the task we undertake, The friends we with, the Work must make : For Wits, like adjectives, are known To cling to that which stands alone,

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BOOKS ELL I R.

Perhaps too, in our way of trade, We might procure some useful aid : Could we engage some able pen, To furnish matter now and then; There's--what's his name, fir ? wou'd compile, And methodize the news in Ayle.

AU I HO R.

I'm yours,--Adieg!

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Lard ! my dear, vow I'm almost dead with fear. There is such [crouging and such squeezing, The folks are all fo disobliging; And then the waggons, carts and drays So clog up all those narrow ways, What with the bustle and the throng, I wonder how I got along. Befides the walk is so immenfem Not that I grudge a coach expence, But then it jumbles me to death, And I was always short of breath. How can you live so far, my dear? It's quite a journey to come here.

My good man, too-Lord bless us! Wives Are born to lead unhappy lives, Although his profits bring him clear Almost two hund ed pounds a year, Keeps me of carh so short and bare, That I have not a gown to wear ; Except my robe, and yellow fack, And this old lutestring on my back. -But we've no time, my dear, to waste. Come, where's your cardinal, make halte. The King, God bless his majesty, I say, Goes to the house of lords to-day, in a fine painted coach and eight, And rides along in all his state And then the Queen

M RS.

Sco T.

Aye, aye, you know, Great folks can always make a show. But tell me, do I've never seen Her present majesty, the Queen

MR si Sco T.

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Lard ! MA'M, I left it all to Him, * Husbands you know, will have their whim. He took this house. This house ! this den. See but the temper of some men. And I, forsooth, am hither hurl'd, To live quite out of all the world. Husband, indeed

MR S. Sco T.

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KITTY, my things, I'll soon have done, It's time enough, you know at one. -Why, girl! see how the creature ftands! Some water here, to wash my hands.

-Be quick-why sure the gipsy sleeps ! -Look how the drawling daudle creeps, That bason there why don't you pour, Go on, I sayoitop, stop—no more Lud! I could beat the husley down, She's pour'd it all upon my gown -Bring me my ruffles can't not mind ? And pin my handkerchief behind. Sure thou haft aukwardness enough, Gofetch my gloves, and fan, and muff. -Well, heav'n be prais'd this work is dono. I'm ready now, my dear-let's run. Girl,--put that bottle on the shelf, And bring me back the key yourself,

Jacky, come here, There's a good boy, look up; my dear. 'Twas not papa we talk'd about. Surely be cannot find it out.

MRS. BROWN.

See how the urchin holds his hands. Upon my life he understands. There's a sweet child, come, kiss me, come, Will Jacky have a sugar-plumb ?

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M Rs. ScoT. This Person, MADAM (call him so And then the child will never know) From house to house would ramble out, And every night a drunken bout. For at a tavern he will spend His twenty shillings with a friend. Your rabbits fricaseed and chicken, With curious choice of dainty picking, Each night got ready at the Crown, With port and punch to wash 'em down, Would scarcely serve this belly-glutton, Whilt we must starve on mutton, mutton.

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M Rs.

MR s.

м s. I was afraid it should be gone

They kick and prance, and look fo bold, Twas what I'd set

my
heart
upon.

It makes my very blood run cold,

But let's go forward come, be quick, MR s. Brown.

The crowd again grows vaftly thick. Indeed you bargain'd with success,

M Rs. BROWN. For its a most delightful dress. Befides, it fits you to a hair,

Come you from Palace-yard, old dame ? And then 'tis nop'd with such an air.

OLD WOMAN. MR S. SCOT.

Troth, do I, my young ladies, why? I'm glad you think so,-Kitty, here, Bring me my cardinal, my dear.

BROWN. Jacky, my love, nay dont you cry,

Was it much crowded when you came ? Take you abroad!-indeed not l;

SCOT. For all the Bugaboos to fright yeBesides, the naughty horse will dite ye ;

And is his majesty gone by? With such a mob about the itreet,

MR s. BROWN. Bless me, they'll tread you under feet. Whine as you please, l'll have no blame,

Can we get in, old lady, pray
You'd better blubber, than be lame,

To see him robe himself to-day?
The more you cry, the less you'll
Come, come then, give mamma a kifs,

Sco T.
Kitty, I say, here take the boy,

Can you direct us, dame ?
And fetch him down the last new toy,
Make him as merry as you can,

OLD WOMAN.
There, go to Kitty--there's a mang

Endeavour, Call in the dog, and shut the door, Now, MA'M.

Troy could not (tand a hege for ever.

| By frequent trying, TROY was won.
MR s. Bo N.

All things, by trying, may be done.
Oh Lard!

MR s. BROWN.
M 8 8. Scot,

Go thy ways, Proverbs well The's gone

Shall we turn back, or venture on?
Pray gu before,

Look how the folks press on before,
ME S. B&O w .

And throng impatient at the door.
I can't indeed, now.

MR S. ScoT.
M Rs. Seo T.'

Perdigious! I can hardly stand,

Lord bless me, Mrs. Brown, your hand i MADAM, pray.

And you, my dear, take hold of hers,

For we must stick as close as burrs,
M & s. Brown.

Or in this racket, noise and pother,
Well then, for once, i'll lead the way.

We certainly shall lose each other.
MR s. Sco T.

-Good God ! my cardinal and fack

Are almost torn from off my back. Lard! what an uproar! what a throng!

Lard, I shall faint-Oh Lud-my

breast How shall we do to get along?

I'm crush'd to atoms, I proteft, What will become of us ?-look here,

God bless me I have dropt my fan, Here's all the king's horse-guards, my dear.

-Pray did you see it, honeft man?
Let us cross over-haste, be quick,

MA N.
Pray fir, take care--your horse will kick.
He'll kill his rider--he's so wild.

I, madam! 10,--indeed, I fear
I'm glad I did not bring the child.

You'll meet with some misfortune here.
M s. Brown.

-Stand back, I say—pray, fir, forbear

Why, don't you see the ladies there? Don't be afraid, my dear, come on,

Put yourselves under my direction,
Why don't you see the guards are gone ?

Ladies, I'll be your safe protection,
SCOT.

M Rs. SCOT.
Well, I begin to draw my breath;

You're very kind fir; trwy few But I was almost scar'd to death

Are half so complaisant as you. For when a horse rears up and capers,

We shall be glad at any day 'It always puts mệ in the vapours.

This obligation to repay, For as I live,-nay, dont you laugh,

And you'll be always sure to meet I'd rather see a toad by half,

A welcome, fir, in- Lard! the Atreem

MRS.

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