DESCRIPTION

OF AN

AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.

་

WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,

Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champaign,

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;

There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay ;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;

The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,

And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face: The morn was cold, he views with keen desire

The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney-board;
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day!

THE

CLOWN'S REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was desir'd by two witty peers,
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?

"An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to letters,

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."

AN

ELEGY

ON

THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

GOOD people all, of ev'ry sort,

Give ear unto my song;

And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,

That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked ev'ry day he clad,

When he put on his clothes.,

And in that town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighb'ring streets The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad

To ev'ry Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they ly'd;

The man recover'd of the bite,

The dog it was that died.