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Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power;
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere :
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbors want, and you abound.

But why such haste ? the Sick Man whines :
Who knows as yet what Heaven designs ?
Perhaps I may recover still ;
That sum and more are in my will.

Fool, says the Vision, now 'tis plain, Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain; From every side, with all your might, You scraped, and scraped beyond your right; And after death would fain atone, By giving what is not your own.

Where there is life there's hope, he cried ; Then why such haste ? so groaned and died.


A JUGGLER long through all the town
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The Devil at his fingers' ends.

Vice heard his fame; she read his bill;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.

Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize ?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provoked, the juggler cried, 'Tis done.
In science I submit to none.

Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turned to birds.
His little boxes change the grain;
Trick after trick deludes the train.

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He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spread, — and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his ivory eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.

Vice now swept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magic looking-glass, she cries (There, hand it round), will charm your eyes. Each eager eye the sight desired, And every man himself admired.

Next to a senator addressing:
See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone;
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanished, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.

A purse she to a thief exposed,
At once his ready fingers closed :

opes his fist, the treasure's fled: He sees a halter in its stead.

She bids ambition hold a wand;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.

A box of charity she shows :
Blow here; and a church warden blows.
'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from her pockets fills her box.

A counter in a miser's hand
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you see
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.

The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission owned her art.
Can I such matchless sleight withstand ?
How practice hath improved your hand !
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long.


All in the Downs the fleet was moored,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard :

Oh, where shall I my true love find ?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sighed and cast his eyes below;
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),

And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee, sailors when away

every port a mistress find.
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

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