Copy of a Will found in the house of an old Batchelor lately deceas'd. u no

WITH

7ITH a mind quite at eafe, in the ev'ning of life, Unencumber'd with children, relations, or wife;

Not in friendship with one fingle creature alive,

I make my last will, in the year fixty five;
How I leave my affairs, though I care not a ftraw,

Left a Grocer fhould start up my true heir at law;
Or of fuch in default, which would prove a worse thing,
My lands, unbequeath'd, fhould revert to the K--g:
I give and bequeath, be it first understood,

I'm a friend, and firm friend to the general good;
And odd as I feem, was remark'd, from my youth,
A ftickler at all times for honour and truth:

To Sandwich the peer, for his mirth-making catches,
And for aiding his friends in the warrant difpatches;
For a life of example so great in the end,
Through intereft led to betray his old friend;
To Norton, the bully and scourge of the law,
Whofe art is to make, then be paid for a flaw;
Who impartially pleads, and with juftice decides,
Who takes without fcruple a fee from both fides-

I give now, I fay, all my pers'nal affairs,

With my lands in fee-fimple to them and their heirs:

As I mean in this act in a word to fet forth
My real attachment to honour and worth,
It's true I might give (fo may many more ftill)
A mite or two more to our patriot Will;
But there's brother Pynfent, withall not to mention
How warm the boy is with his Majesty's penfion.

'HEN earth yawn'd wide to swallow antient Rome,

WH

Curtius leap'd in, and clos'd the threat'ning doom. When England mourn'd a tyrant favorite's pride, Felton the tyrant favorite fmote, and died. Great both! but thus the last we greatest find, Who ftrikes a tyrant ftrikes for all mankind. Besides, the Roman, vain of glory's breath, 'Midft 'plauding thousands plung'd to inftant death; But the bold Briton dar'd, with equal flame, A martyr's fuff'rings and a martyr's fhame.

The

※X

The

TIM

WHISKY,

A Journey to Oxford. To Capt. G. T at Cave, 1765. By Capt. E. T— n.

HE lord have mercy on us all!

TH But good or bad these things will fall

Between the cup and lip,

To Oxford we design to steer,

A Whisky muft convey ust here,
And I the brother whip.

"A Whisky! Lord forgive you, Ned! "And go to night to Maidenhead?

"Not I upon my life.

"Think how the folks, my dear, will stare "To fee us in a one-horse chair:

"Confider-I'm your wife.

"But love-my dear-the scheme was yours:
"Come, come, lets try it a few hours,
"Me you may always trust:

"I shoudn't have thought of that indeed,
"The fhabby thing's the mark of need,

"But if I must,-I must!"

The

Away we go, jehup, jehu!
But madam never looks afhew,

For fear fhe fhould be known;
Advent'rous, I, like Phaeton,
Trundle the lovely whisky on

To dufty Hounslow town.

But there, alas! the reftiff hack,
Plumps o'er a poft, then runs us back,
While madam fqualls and cries,
"Give me the reins, I'll drive myself
"Oh, heavens! fuch a ftupid elf;
"I'll teach the brute to rife."

Away we go, with no fmall fear,
All fmoak the charming charioteer,
Flogging her crippled moufe;

At laft our nag grows callous quite,
Minds not our whips, or kicks, or spite,
But flops at every house.

Weary

Weary at laft of patriot pains,

She, Statefman-like, refigns the reins

To my more able hand;

For who wou'd pull against the tide ?
Or chaife, or people, drive or ride,
In this d---d dufty land?

With much a-do we March's reach,
Where for a full half hour we preach;
But can't get room, or ftall;

For Mr. Pitt, and Lord knows who,

From Court, from Stowe, and Looton Hoo,

Had occupied them all.

"The world's before us, where to chuse

"Our place of reft,"-alas! my Mufe,

Thy Pegasus is lead;

Poor Dobbin, ev'ry step he goes,
Flounders upon his knees and nose,
Not quite alive, or dead.

The Hart we reach, and fupper get,
Attended by an hoyden Bet,

And ferv'd with stinking lamb;

Madam fcrews up her nofe and pouts,

1

Ned eats, and fwears, and growls, and fhouts,
Scrub!"--" Coming Sir. "---“ A dram !”

Early