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Unpeopled monast'ries delude our eyes,

And mimic desolation covers all. " Ah!” said the sighing peer, “had B-te been true,

“ Nor M-'s, R—'s, B—'s friendship vain, “ Far better scenes than these had blest our view,

“ And realiz'd the beauties which we feign. Purg'd by the sword, and purify'd by fire,

“ Then had we seen proud London's hated walls; “ Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir,

“ And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's."





[This jeu d'esprit was written a short time previous

to the Election of a High Steward of the University of Cambridge, for which Office the Noble Lord al. luded to made an active Canvas.]

WHEN sly Jemmy Twitcher had smugg’d up his

face, With a lick of court white-wash, and pious grimace, A wooing he went, where three sisters of old In harmless society guttle and scold.

Lord ! sister, says Physic to Law, I declare, Such a sheep-biting look, such a pick-pocket air! Not I for the Indies !-You know I'm no prude,But his name is a shame, and his eyes are so lewd! Then he shambles and straddles so oddly—I fearNo-at our time of life 'twould be silly, my dear.

I don't know, says Law, but methinks for his look 'Tis just like the picture in Rochester's book;

Then his character, Phyzzy,—his morals—his lifeWhen she died, I can't tell, but he once had a wife. They say he's no Christian, loves drinking and w g , And all the town rings of his swearing and roaring ! His lying and filching, and Newgate-bird tricks ;Not I-for a coronet, chariot and six.

Divinity heard, between waking and dozing, Her sisters denying, and Jemmy proposing : From table she rose, and with bumper in hand, She strok'd up her belly, and strok'd down her bandWhat a pother is here about wenching and roaring! Why, David lov’d catches, and Solomon w g : Did not Israel filch from th' Egyptians of old Their jewels of silver and jewels of gold ? The prophet of Bethel, we read, told a lie; He drinks-so did Noah ;-he swears—so do I; To reject him for such peccadillos, were odd; Besides, he repents—for he talks about G**

[70 Jemmy] Never hang down your head, you poor penitent elf, Come buss me—I'll be Mrs. Twitcher myself.

* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *




[This was written in 1761, and was found in one of his

pocket-books.] TOO poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune ; He had not the method of making a fortune: Could love, and could hate, so was thought somewhat

odd; No VERY GREAT WIT, HE BELIEV'D IN A God. A Post or a Pension he did not desire, But left Church and State to Charles Townshend and

Squire [54]. [54]At that time Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterwards bishop of St. David's.

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