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February 8, 1770. No.
267. |
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A receipt to cure the V A P O U R S.
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Why will Delia
thus retire,
And languish-life away,
While the sighing crowd admire?
’Tis too soon for hartshorn tea.
All those dismal looks and
fretting
5
Cannot Damon’s life restore;
Long ago the worms have eat him,
You can never see him more.
Once again consult your toilet,
In the glass your face
review:
10
So much weeping soon will spoil it,
And no spring your charms renew.
I like you was born a woman,
Well I know what vapours mean;
The disease, alas! is
common,
15
Single, we have all the spleen.
All the morals that they tell us,
Never cur’d the sorrow yet:
Choose, among the pretty fellows,
One of humour, youth, and
wit. 20
Prithee hear him every morning,
At the least an hour or two;
Once again at night, returning,
I believe the dose will do.
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February 8, 1770. No.
267. |
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On some young Ladies expressing a surprise what
pleasure there could be in Kisses
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Kisses, the
subject of debate,
What ecstasy they may create!
As the language of the heart,
Lips contribute to impart.
Men may gain the fair’s
affection, 5
While with these they have connexion;
Lips rever’d by gentle touch,
May’nt avail the passions much,
But with mutual ardour press’d,
Warm affections are confess’d. 10
Eyes proclaim the heart’s compliance,
Lips confirm a sure reliance;
Thus together, lips and eyes,
Yield the happy man the prize.
Ladies, disprove me, if you
can, 15
Proclaim the battle, I’m your
man.
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February 25, 1770. No.
267. |
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The following Lines were made on two agreeable
young Ladies, as they were ironing their Linen.
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Were but your
Hearts, as are your Heaters, warm,
Your Kindness then would, like your Beauty, charm:
But you are Ice, your Lovers all on Fire;
You strong Aversion, they all o’er Desire:
Make but a Compound, and you’ll well
agree; 5
The Ice will melt, the Fire less furious be.
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February 15, 1770. No.
268. |
An anatomical EPITAPH on an Invalid,
written by himself
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Here lies an head
that often ach’d,
Here lie two hands that always shak’d;
Here lies a brain of odd conceit,
Here lies an heart that often beat;
Here lie two eyes that daily
wept, 5
And in the night but seldom slept;
Here lies a tongue that whining talk’d,
Here lie two feet that feebly walk’d;
Here lie the midriff and the breast
With loads of indigestion prest; 10
Here lies the liver, full of bile,
That ne’er secreted proper chyle;
Here lie the bowels, human tripes,
Tortur’d with wind and twisting gripes;
Here lies that livid dab, the
spleen, 15
The source of life’s sad tragic scene,
That left side weight that clogs the blood,
And stagnates nature’s circling flood!
Here lie the nerves, so often twich’d
With painful cramps and poignant
stitch; 20
Here lies the back, oft rack’d with pains,
Coroding kidneys, loins, and reins;
Here lies the skin per scurvy fed,
With pimples and eruptions red.
Here lies the man, from top to
toe, 25
That fabric fram’d for pain and woe;
He catch’d a cold, but colder death
Compress’d his lungs, and stopt his breath;
The organs could no longer go
Because the bellows ceas’d to
blow. 30
Thus I dissect this honest friend,
Who ne’er till death was at wit’s end:
For want of spirits ere he fell,
With higher spirits let him dwell,
In future state of peace and
love, 35
Where just men’s perfect spirits move.
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February 15, 1770. No.
268. |
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BION. IDYL.
3.
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Venus the gay,
the smiling Queen of love,
Descending quickly from the
realms above,
In her fair lily hand her infant boy
To me she led, Cupid, her darling joy:
Teach him the shepherds arts she
says, 5
Their pleasing songs and rural
lays,
Then kiss’d the child, and dropp’d a tender sigh,
Sprung nimbly from the earth, and soon regain’d the sky.
Pleas’d at the task the shepherds airs I sing,
Their herds, their flocks, the pleasures of the
spring, 10
And vainly to the wanton boy disclose
Whence first the various kinds of song arose:
To Pan the rustick pipe is due,
The lute fair Maia’s son first
blew;
The lovely youth who rules the heavenly
fire, 15
To him we owe the sweetly, shrilly, sounding lyre,
The smiling boy regarded nought my lay,
But careless spent the time in wanton play;
And now to me the pleasing tales of love
He sung, th’ amours of men and Gods
above, 20
His mother’s love perplexing
wiles,
Bewitching glance, and pleasing
smiles.
The songs I taught quick from my memory fly,
The amorous tales he sweetly sung their place supply.
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February 15, 1770. No.
268. |
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Hamlet's Reflection imitated
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All human bliss
we liken to a span,
How short is friendship, and how frail is man!
Go to the thoughtless, to the vicious preach,
Speak to the vain, the proud, ambitious teach;
Tell to the fair to what their beauties
tend, 5
And all its purpose show and all its end;
View every age, the present, and the past,
To this the great, the wisest, come at last:
No mortal power its firm decree can shun,
’Twas Cæsar’s fate and Ammon’s mighty
son. 10
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February 22, 1770. No.
269. |
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Messrs. PRINTERS, your inserting the
following will oblige several of your Customers.
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From high Abode,
the son of Jove survey’d,
Our uncouth Wilds, with hoary Winter clad;
Pity for Nymphs it to his Breast convey’d,
Who in such climes unblest Existence had.
Musick he knew would soften ev’ry
Care, 5
And cheer the Soul of each desponding Maid:
His Blessings meet, determin’d they shou’d share,
In Speech Divine the God of Music said:
Haste from the Realms, where frantic Tumult
roars,
Harmonious Son of sweet Seraphic
Strains; 10
Born to Delight, on remote icy Shores:
There, beneath Storms, soft Melody remains.
Rouse mechanic Genius, raise thy Head,
Malgré the Tempests, rough ungen’rous groans;
To sprightly Concerts the dejected
lead: 15
Ungloom their Minds, with thy ungloomy Tones.
Take thy Piano to Canadian Bow’rs,
And in hereafter each kind Heart shall feel,
Amid’st the Winter Blasts and Summer Show’rs,
Dear Remembrance for Parnassian Steele. 20
L'Isle
Rouge, 19th February, 1770.
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February 22, 1770. No.
269. |
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A Rhapsody on Rum
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Great
spirit, hail! confusion’s angry sire,
And, like thy parent Bacchus, born of fire;
The jail’s decoy, the greedy merchant’s lure,
Disease of money, but reflection’s cure.
We owe, great DRAM!
the trembling hand to
thee, 5
The headstrong purpose, and the feeble knee;
The loss of honour, and the cause of wrong,
The brain enchanted, and the faultering tongue;
Whilst fancy flies before thee unconfin’d,
Thou leav’st disabled prudence far
behind. 10
In thy pursuit our fields are left forlorn,
Whilst giant weeds oppress the pigmy corn;
Thou throw’st a mist before the planter’s eyes,
The plough grows idle, and the harvest dies.
By thee refresh’d no cruel norths we
fear, 15
’Tis ever warm and calm when thou art near;
On the bare earth for thee expos’d we lie,
And brave the malice of a frowning sky:
Like those that did in ancient times repent,
We sit in ashes, and our clothes are
rent. 20
From thee a thousand flattering whims
escape,
Like hasty birthes that n’ere have perfect shape;
Thine ideots seem in gay delusion fair,
But born in flame they soon expire in air.
O grand deluder! such thy charming
art, 25
’Twere good we ne’er should meet, or ne’er should part;
Ever abscond, or ever tend our call,
Leave us our sense entire, or none at all.
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