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;

Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn
At never once finding a visit from Pam.
I lay down my stake, apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool ;
I fret in my gizzard—yet cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I:
Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,
By losing their money, to venture at fame.
'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold,
All play their own way, and they think me an ass ;
“ What does Mrs. Bunbury ?” “I, sir ? I

pass.”
“Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come,

do." “ Who-I? Let me see, sir; why, I must pass too." Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil, To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil; Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on, Till made by my losses as bold as a lion, I venture at all; while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five cards.” “Well done,” cry the ladies; "ah! doctor, that's goodThe pool's very rich. Ah, the doctor is loo’d.” Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplex'd, I ask for advice from the lady that's next. Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice;

think the best way is to venture for 't twice ?”
“I advise,” cries the lady, “ to try it, I
Ah, the doctor is loo'd: come, doctor, put down.”.
Thus playing and playing, I still grew more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask-if law matters you're skilled in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before
For, giving advice that is not worth a straw [Fielding ?
May well be call’d picking of pockets in law,
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is, by quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.
What justice! when both to the Old Bailey brought;
By the gods! I'll enjoy it, though 'tis but in thought.
Both are placed at the bar with all proper

decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before them;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncovered, a buzz of inquiry runs round;

[found." “ Pray, what are their crimes They've been pilfering

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“ Don't you

a

But

pray who have they pilfer'd P". . "A doctor, I hear.' “What, that solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands

near ?" * The same." “ What a pity! How does it surprise one, Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on !" Then their friends all come round me, with cringing and To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. [leering, First Sir Charles advances, with phrases well strung: “ Consider, dear doctor, the girls are but young.' The

younger the worse," I return him again ; “ It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.” “But then they're so handsome; one's bosom it grieves." “What signifies handsome when people are thieves " “But where is your justice ? their cases are hard.” “What signifies justice? I want the reward."

There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds—there's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds there's the parish of Tyburn offers forty pounds: I shall have all that if I convict them.

« But consider their case: it may yet be your own;
And see how they kneel: is your heart made of stone ?"
This moves : so, at last, I agree to relent,

I
For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot: it cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter; and next but I want room-so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.

I don't value

you

all !
0. G.

Henry, the second son of Sir William Bunbury, bart., was celebrated as an amateur artist. His lady was Miss Catherine Horneck. Her sister Mary was afterwards the wife of General Gwyn, one of the equerries of George III. Barton was the family seat of the Bunburys.

This composition was not known to be Goldsmith's until several years after his death. It is said to have been written by desire of Lord Clare, as a tribute to the memory of his patron and mistress, Augusta, the relict of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and mother of George III. The princess died at Carlton House on the 8th of February, 1772 ; and this piece, which was written and composed in two days, was recited and sung at Mrs. Cornely's rooms in Soho-square, a very fashionable resort at the time, on the evening of the 20th of February. The music was adapted by Signor Vento. The speakers and singers were Mr. Lee, Mr. Champness, Mr. Dine, Mrs. Bellamy and Miss Jameson, besides clioruses.

Overture.- A solemn dirge.

Air.-Trio,
ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,

And waken every note of woe;
When truth and virtue reach the skies,
'Tis ours to weep the want below!

Chorus.
When truth and virtue reach the skies,
'Tis ours to weep the want below!

MAN speaker.
The praise attending pomp and power,

The incense given to kings,
Are but the trappings

of

an hour
Mere transitory things!
The base bestow them; but the good agree
To spurn

the venal gifts as flattery.
But when to pomp and power are join'd
An equal dignity of mind

a

When titles are the smallest claim

When wealth, and rank, and noble blood

But aid the power of doing goodThen all their trophies last; and Hattery turns to fame

Bless'd spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom,
Shall spread and flourish from the tomb,

How hast thou left mankind for heaven!
Even now reproach and faction mourn,
And, wondering how their rage was borne,

Request to be forgiven.
Alas ! they never had thy hate;

Unmov'd, in conscious rectitude,

Thy towering mind self-centred stood, Nor wanted man's opinion to be great. In vain, to charm thy ravish'd sight,

A thousand gifts would fortune send;
In vain, to drive thee from the right,

A thousand sorrows urg'd thy end :
Like some well-fashion'd arch thy patience stood,
And purchas'd strength from its increasing load.
Pain met thee like a friend that set thee free;
Affliction still is virtue's opportunity!

Song.-By a MAN.--Affettuoso.
Virtue, on herself relying,

Every passion hush'd to rest,
Loses every pain in dying,

In the hope of being bless’d.
Every added pang she suffers,

Some increasing good bestows,
Every shock that malice offers,
Only rocks her to repose.

WOMAN speaker.
Yet, ah! what terrors frown’d upon her fate-

Death, with its formidable band,
Fever and pain and pale consumptive care,

Determin'd took their stand:
Nor did the cruel ravagers design

To finish all their efforts at a blow; But, mischievously slow,

They robb’d the relic and defac'd the shrine.

With unavailing grief,

Despairing of relief,
Her weeping children round

Beheld each hour

Death's growing power,

And trembled as he frown'de
As helpless friends who view from shore
The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar,

While winds and waves their wishes cross-
They stood, while hope and comfort tail,
Not to assist, but to bewail

The inevitable loss.
Relentless tyrant, at thy call

How do the good, the virtuous fall!
Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage,
But wake thy vengeance, and provoke thy rage.
Song.-By a man.-Basso.--Staccato.-Spiritoso.

When vice my dart and scythe supply,
How great a king of terrors I!
If folly, fraud, your

hearts

engage,
Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage !
Fall, round me fall, ye little things;
Ye statesmen, warriors, poets, kings;
If virtue fail her counsel sage,
Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage !

a

MAN speaker. Yet let that wisdom, urg'd by her example, Teach us to estimate what all must suffer ; Let us prize death as the best gift of nature As a safe inn, where weary travellers, When they have journey'd through a world of cares, May put off life and be at rest for ever. Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy sables, May oft distract us with their sad solemnity: The preparation is the executioner. Death, when unmask'd, shows me a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance; For as the line of life conducts me on To death's great court, the prospect seems more fair.