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A strumpet's character's so tender,
That fools there are, who, to defend her,
Their lives consult no more than pullets,
And willing meet th' offender's bullets;
Thus wisely surfeiting his hobby,

By being shot *-for row in lobby.

* Notwithstanding the modern vocabulary of honour, which tells a man to risk his life, because another treads upon the tail of his dog; I must nevertheless affirm, that such conduct has nothing to do with real courage; for there are but very few injuries of such a glaring nature as to demand the blood of one fellow creature at the hands of another. Would it argue real courage, let me ask, for a man of a delicate and weak habit, and quite devoid of skill, to put his strength in opposition to an experienced bruiser? 'or would it redound to the credit of an individual who had never fired a pistol, to place himself within twelve paces of a man who could hit a crown piece at thirty yards, and who was to have the first shot into the bargain; if such be the standard of bravery, and the touchstone of honour, I must certainly coincide with Falstaff, when he exclaims,

"What is honour? a word-What is that word honour? Air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No."

No jot are modern belles less tardy,
To show themselves alike fool hardy;

Who of their health are grown so thriftless,
As to go next akin to shiftless;

"Art," they exclaim, "is naught to us,"
In puris naturalibus.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

Short is life's span, and much we have to do,
Their final doom none court but little wits;
For death your fools and madmen only sue,
Wise men will live as long as God permits.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come, trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis,
Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis.

Dr. Paley, in his Political and Moral Philosophy, very justly observes, that honour is nothing more than a law instituted by one certain class of people which is to act as a tie upon another, having no reference whatever, either to religion or morality; and with respect to that species of honour which prompts a man to rush headlong into ruin, it is invariably the rule, that if the actor succeeds, he is crowned with the applause of the multitude; whereas, if he fails, he is sure to be as universally reprehended.

SECTION LI.

OF GENTLEMEN FOOLS.

Licet superbus ambules pecuniæ,
Fortuna non mutat genus.

SOME cheesemonger or tallowchandler,
Who's got by trade of gold command sir;
To vie with gentlefolks aspires;
Thinks no one half so bless'd by fate,
As when he's got a fine estate;

And to his country seat retires.*

With purse-proud folly overbearing,
And ignorance beyond comparing,

* On the score of tradesmen having country seats, I have only to remark, that if our men of title and fashion do not look sharp about them, all the estates of their ancestors will become the property of the mercantile part of this country. Thanks to their own depravity!

*

He struts the potent village peer;
Not conqu❜ring Alexander fam'd,
Could with this pompous fool be nam'd
Or half so high his visage rear.*

Forgetful when he was his shop in,
And bacon rashers sold in Wapping,
With cheese and butter, eggs in scores;
Or else the cotton which was dipping
In stinking tallow, cook maids' dripping;

And sold spruce moulds, short eights, long fours.

No longer such plain truths allowing,
He looks of course to others' bowing;
As when on Sabbath holy;
Quite consequential to the view,
He struts along the aisle to pew,
While peasants bend quite lowly.†

Shakspeare says truly,

"Small things make base men proud;"

and certainly to him who knows not justly how to appreciate' riches, nothing can be more despicable-It is but "throwing pearls before swine."

A chi Fortuna suona, poco senno basta.

† It is the province of ignorance to lord it most when favoured with the smiles of fortune, for

Behind, his rib-dame Lard, or Wick, sir,
Struts on, with heir apparent Dick, sir,

And miss, with tawdry sash and frock;
Mamma, with face both broad and brawny,
And lank-hair'd master, quite a sawney,

The miss's head a barber's block.

Devoid of manners, taste, and science,*.
To books this jolt-head bids defiance,
His booby spoil'd son goes astray;
Spends all his wealth-weds a street-walker;
Miss is in love-John's a fine talker, i
So with dad's footman runs away.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

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Vain would this dolt the mental pow'rs refresh,
And banish ills by habit long inhal'd;
What's in the bone must ever taint the flesh,
He's the bad shilling to the counter nail'd.

Pride hath no other glass

To show itself but pride: for supple knees

Fee arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.

A ludicrous trial, in which a sugar plumb City Knight was defendant, having assaulted a Carman in the Green

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