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And, though heavy to weigh, as, a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the fame;

and the next ; — and the next;
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd;'
Week paffed after week; till, by weekly fucceffion,
His weakly condition was paft all expreffion.

In fix months his acquaintance began much to doubt him;
For his fkin, like a lady's loofe gown," hung about him;
He fent for a Doctor; and cried, like a ninny,

"I have lost many pounds - make me well- there's a guinea.”

The Doctor look'd wife :

:-" a flow fever," he faid: Prescribed fudorifies, — and going to bed.

"Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will," are humbugs;" "I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs."

WILL kick'd out the Doctor :- but when ill indeed,
E'en difmiffing the Doctor don't always fucceed;
So, calling his hoft,- he faid, "Sir, do you know,
"I'm the fat Single Gentleman, fix months ago?"

"Look'e, landlord, I think" argued Will, with a grin,
"That with honeft intentions you firft took me in ;"
"But from the first night—and to say it I'm bold”—
"I have been fo damn'd hot, that I'm fure I caught cold.”

Quoth the landlord-"Till now, I ne'er had a difpute;
"I've let lodgings ten years; - I'm a Baker to boot;
"In airing your fheets, Sir, my wife is no floven,
"And your bed is immediately-over my Oven."

"The Oven" !!! fays Will-fays the hoft," why this paffion?" "In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.

"Why fo crufty, good fir?" "Zounds!"— cries Will, in a taking, "Who wouldn't be crufty, with half a year's baking?"

WILL paid for his rooms; cried the hoft, with a fneer, "Well, I fee you've been going away half a year,"

"Friend, we can't well agree"-" yet no quarrel" - Will faid; "For one man may die where another makes bread."

BIRTH AND COURT OF ZELOTISMUS.

[From the BATTLE OF B-NG-R, a Comic Heroic Poem.]

"ONG the celeftial goddeffes above,

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That grace
the manfion of almighty Jove,
A nymph there is, whofe province is to raise
In man's cold heart devotion's melting blaze:
For oft, too oft, forgetful of his God,

Poor earthly man betrays his native clod.

Her name is ZEALA through the world she flies,
Love in her looks, and ardor in her eyes :
Nor can the icieft mortal well withstand
The glowing touch of her enchanting hand.
Yet, neither ftiff, nor ftern, the gently bends
Her willing vot'ries to her purpos'd ends.
Martyrs the makes, but martyrs meek and mild;
Who ne'er revile, although they be revil'd:
In Virtue's caufe, a vigor the inspires;
But never kindles Perfecution's fires.

Once on a time, as this celestial Maid,
In queft of converts, through Tholofa ftray'd;
There, in a Convent (horrible to tell!)
A lecherous fri'r comprefs'd her in his cell.
From this commixtion a dire dæmon came;
And ZELOTISMUS is that dæmon's name -
Rapid his growth; for his half-heav'nly birth
Gave him advantage o'er the fons of earth.
Fofter'd by popes and kings, behold him rise,
In a fhort fpace, to an enormous fize !
His fame by ftrolling priests is blazed abroad; |
And men miftake him for a 'demi-god.
Whole nations eagerly embrace his laws;
But, chief, Iberia's fons fupport his caufe.
There temples, there to him were altars rear'd:
With human blood thofe altars were besmear'd :
Religion fanction'd the devouring flame,
And infants trembled at this Moloch's name.

Thus erft; but now he fees his pow'r decline:
No bloody trophies more bedeck his fhrine:
No fiery fan-benitos more adorn

The Moor or Jew, condemn'd to public fcorn.
Yet, yet a week of years; the world fhall fee
His throne o'erturn'd; and fair Iberia free!

Yet ftill on Tajo's banks he holds his court:
Thither the zealots of the West resort.-
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A hooded

A hooded band, th' emiffaries of Rome,
Support his empire, and furround his dome.

In the first porch of this ftupendous place,
Stands PERSECUTION, with an iron face.
In his right hand a fcorpion-fcourge he bears,
Betinged with human blood and human tears;
And in his left he grafps a brand of fire
Ready to light the dread funereal pyre.
Cut deep in ftone, above the monster's head,
ΕΙΔΕ ΚΑΙ ΦΟΒΟΥ clearly may be read.

In the remoteft part of this abode
Is the apartment of the grifly God.
There Phoebus never fhews his chearful face;
Tapers of yellow wax fupply his place;
Such as at difmal dirges are difplay'd
To half-illuminate the half-damn'd dead.
High, on a throne of rough and rufty steel,
Sedately fits the fpurious fon of Zeal.

Dame SUPERSTITION, his beloved bride,
Sits, like another Thaïs, by his fide.
Pale is her vifage, peevish is her mien:
For the is often troubled with the spleen.
Her weeds are black; but with a copious ftore
Of gaudy trinkets they are tinfell'd o'er -
Beads from Loretto, Agnus-Dei's from Rome,
And chriften'd relics from a catacomb :
Croffes and medals with indulgence fraught;
And images, that miracles have wrought:
Like that which lately, at Ancona, drew
Juft adoration, from the Turk and Jew!
Behind his throne, to catch his dire commands,
His armour-bearer, FANATISMUS, ftands.
Screws, racks and pulleys; fulphur, pitch and tar;
With other implements of holy war;

Lie piled around him: all in order fair,
As, in the Tow'r our guns and pistols are.

DESCRIPTION of a COUNTRY PARSON'S GARDEN.

[From Mr. BIDLAKE'S COUNTRY PARSON, a Poem.]

GARDEN trim he owns with filver rill,

A That ceafelefs fports to mufic all its own;

Where nodding flowrets ftooping drink their fill,
And ope gay eyes, refresh'd, fantastick grown.
And there the gaudy tulip's pomp is known;

The

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The blushing rofe, mentor of virgin pride;

Woodbines with cumb'rous wealth hung cluft'ring down;
The jasmine meek and pure; and more befide,

That make a paradise and scent the fummer tide.

But moft his luscious fruits with gliftering eye,
That cloath the funny wall he will commend,
The while he fhews, how they all fruits outvie,
He prunes them all, their growth his cares attend,
There bids them sprucely spread, here bids them bend.
How glows the blufhing peach at his command;
The nectarine rich, where fummer's bounties blend,
The confcious plumb that from the spoiler's hand

Loft bloom bemoans, like worth fad-stain'd by flander's brand.

Securely there the painted goldfinch breeds,
Securely fhelter'd trills the mellow lay;

All on their downy couch his offspring feeds,
And warbles thankfulness his rent to pay.

For, happy guefts! from thence no fongfters ftray;

For there compaffion, nature's friend, they meet;
There emulative tuneful pow'rs difplay;
The confcious mafter's daily vifits greet,
And fill with grateful melody his bleft retreat.

Not all for pleasure, herbs for ufe defign'd,
Within the garden's cultur'd precinct grow,
To the main chance looks forth the thrifty mind,
And fubftance holds above mere empty fhew,
"For penny fav'd," a proverb well fuch know.
And there, with heart compact, the cabbage ftands,
With trickling drops begem'd that brightly glow.
There nodding onions rang'd like marshall'd bands;
And apples dropping down that ask the gatherer's hands.

Uprears afparagus his fpiry head;

Child of the fea, fnug cole in native fand;
The fluggard carrot fleeps his days in bed;
The cripple pea, alone that cannot stand,
With vegetable marrow rich and bland;

The bean, whofe tempting fweets the bees invite;
The artichoke in fcaly armour grand;

With more, that may nice epicure delight,
And dainties yield to glad the fickle appetite.

There ftretch'd upon his bed of falts, fupine,

Cool cucumber his creeping arms extends,
Rough-coated melon fhoots his tender vine,"
Like worth, whom afpect rude, ill recommends.

In jetful mood the mafter tells his friends
How cauliflower, like doctor's wig fo white,
All flower exceeds: a joke much mirth that lends,
For never jeft fo ftale, or wit so trite,

In little minds that cannot raise fupreme delight.

There too the currant hangs its loaded head;
Pomona's pearls and crimson gems all bright.
Plethoric goofeberries, amber, green, or red,
Whofe giant fize may rivalship excite,

With harmless pride nice culture's care requite.
And there the ftrawberry, 'mid her veil of green,
Bafhful with modeft face fhrinks back from fight,
True virgin beauty blushing to be seen:
And what fo fweet as chastity in beauty's mein?

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