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When, fwift as thought, the goddess lewd
Shifts the light gale; and tempefts rude,
Such as the northern fkies deform,

When fell DESTRUCTION guides the ftorm,
Transport him to fome dreary ifle

Where FAVOUR never deign'd to smile.
Where waking, helplefs, all alone,

'Midft craggy steeps and rocks unknown ;
Sad fcenes of woe his pride confound,
And DESOLATION ftalks around.

Where the dull months no pleasures bring,
And years roll round without a spring;
Where He all hopeless, loft, undone,
Sees chearless days that know no fun;
Where jibing SCORN her throne maintains
Midft mildews, blights, and blafts, and rains.

Let others, with fubmiffive knee,
Capricious goddess! bow to Thee;
Let them with fixt inceffant aim
Court fickle favour, faithlefs fame;
Let vanity's faftidious slave

Lofe the kind moments nature gave,
In invocations to the fhrine

Of Phoebus and the fabled Nine,

An

An author, to his latest days,
From hunger, or from thirft of praise,
Let him thro' every fubject roam
To bring the useful morfel home;
Write upon LIBERTY oppreft,
On happiness, when most distrest,
Turn bookfeller's obfequious tool,
A monkey's cat, a mere fool's fool;
Let him, unhallow'd wretch! profane
The mufe's dignity for gain,

Yield to the dunce his fenfe contemns,
Cringe to the knave his heart condemns,
And, at a blockhead's bidding, force
Reluctant genius from his course;

Write ode, epiftle, effay, libel,

Make notes, or fteal them, for the bible;

Or let him, more judicial, fit

The dull Lord Chief, on culprit wit,
With rancor read, with paffion blame,
Talk high, yet fear to put his name,
And from the dark, but useful shade,
(Fit place for murd'rous ambuscade,)
Weak monthly shafts at merit hurl,
The GILDON of fome modern CURL.

For

For me, by adverfe fortune plac'd Far from the colleges of taste,

I joftle no poetic name;

I

envy none their proper fame ; And if fometimes an eafy vein,

With no defign, and little pain,
Form'd into verse, hath pleas'd a while,
And caught the reader's tranfient fmile,
My muse hath answer'd all her ends,
Pleafing herself, while pleas'd her friends;
But, fond of liberty, difdains

To bear reftraint, or clink her chains;
Nor would, to gain a Monarch's FAVOUR,
Let dulnefs, or her fons, enflave her. *

* These two laft lines were added by the Editor; to whom the piece was originally addressed on a particular occafion.

THE

THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION.

A TA L E.

THE
HE very fillieft things in life
Create the most material ftrife.
What scarce will fuffer a debate,
Will oft produce the bitterest hate.
It is, you fay; I say 'tis not

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-Why you grow warm and you are hot.
Thus each alike with paffion glows,
And words come first, and, after, blows.

Friend JERKIN had an income clear,
Some fifteen pounds, or more, a year,
And rented, on the farming plan,
Grounds at much greater fums per ann.
A man of confequence, no doubt,
'Mongst all his neighbours round about;
He was of frank and open mind,
Too honeft to be much refin'd,
Would smoke his pipe, and tell his tale,
Sing a good fong, and drink his ale.

His wife was of another mould;

Her age was neither

young nor old;

Her features ftrong, but fomewhat plain;
Her air not bad, but rather vain;

Her temper neither new nor ftrange,
A woman's, very apt to change;
What she most hated was conviction,
What fhe most lov'd, flat CONTRADICTION.

A charming housewife ne'ertheless;
-Tell me a thing she could not dress,
Soups, hafhes, pickles, puddings, pies,
Nought came amifs-fhe was fo wife.
For fhe, bred twenty miles from town,
Had brought a world of breeding down,
And Cumberland had feldom seen
A farmer's wife with fuch a mein;
She could not bear the found of Dame;
-No-Mistress JERKIN was her name.

She could harangue with wond'rous grace
On gowns and mobs, and caps and lace;
But tho' fhe ne'er adorn'd his brows,
She had a vaft contempt for spouse,
As being one who took no pride,
And was a deal too countrified.

VOL. II.

K

Such

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