In sooth, the sorrow of such days

Is not to be express’d,
When he that takes, and he that pays,

Aro both aliko distress'd.

Now all unwelcome at his gates

The clumsy swains alight,
With rueful faces and bald pates

He trembles at the sight.

And well he may, for well he knows

Each bumpkin of the cian, Instead of paying what he owes,

Will cheat him if he can.

So in they come-each makes his leg,

And Alings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg,

And not to quit a score.

“ And how does miss and madam do,

“ The little boy, and all ?" “ All tight and well. And how do you

“ Good Mr. What-d'ye-call ?”

The dinner comes, and down they sit

Wore e'er such hungry folk ? There's little talking, and no wit;

It is no tiine to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,

One spits upon the floor,
Yet not to give offence or griovo,

Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they aro dull

And lumpish still as ever ;
Like barrels with their bellies full,

They only weigh the heavier.

At length the busy time begins,

“ Come, neighbours, we must wag" The money chinks, down drop their chins,

Each lugging out his bag.
One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail,
And one of pigs, that he has lost

By maggots at the tail.
Quoth one, rarer man than you

“ In pulpit none shall hear:
“ But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
“ You sell it plaguy dear.”

O why are farmers made so coarse

Or clergy made so fine?
A kick that scarce would move a horse,

May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home ;

"Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum

Without the clowns that

SONNET

ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ.

On his emphatical and interesting delivery of the

defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords.

COWPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard

Legends prolix delivers in the ears, (Attentive when thou read'st,) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard,

Expending late on all that length of plea

Thy gen'rous pow'rs, but silence honour'd thee,
Mute as e'er gaz'd on orator or bard.
Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside
Both heart and head; and couldst with musick sweot

Of Attick phrase and senatorial tone,
Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide
Thy famo diffuse, prais'd not for utt'ranco meet

Of others' speech, but magick of thy own.

LINES,

ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN,

Author of " The Botanick Garden."

TWO Poets," (poets by report,

Not oft so well agree,)
Sweet harmonists of Flora's court!

Conspire to honour Thee.
They best can judge a poet's worth

Who oft themselves have known
The

pangs of a poetick birth
By labours of their own.
We therefore pleas'd cxtol thy song

Though various yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong

And learned as 'tis sweet.
No envy mingles with our praise,

Though, could our hearts repine
At any poet's happier lays,

They would—they must at thine.
But we in mutual bondage kni.

Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit

With an unjaundic'd eye ;
And deem the Bard, whon'er he be,

And howsoever known,
Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,

Unworthy of his own. Aluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which docompanied these lines.

ON

MRS. MONTAGUS FEATHER HANG

INGS.

THE Birds put off their ev'ry huo,
To dress a room for Montagu.

The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes ;
The Pheasant plumes, which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold ;
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan his snow
All tribes beside of Indian namc,
That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing show'r,
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow'r,
Shall drench again or discompose,
But, screen'd from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To this same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jovem