The FABLE of JOTHAM: To the

BOROUGH-HUNTERS.

By RICHARD OWEN CAMBRIDGE, Efq;

Jotham's fable of the trees is the oldeft that is extant, and as beautiful as any which have been made fince that ADDISON.

time.

JUDGES, Chap. ix. ver. 8.

LD Plumb, who though bleft in his Kentish retreat, Still thrives by his oilshop in Leadenhall-street, With a Portugal merchant, a knight by creation, From a borough in Cornwall receiv'd invitation. Well-affur'd of each vote, well equip't from the alley, In queft of election-adventures they fally.

Though much they discours'd, the long way to beguile, Of the earthquakes, the Jews, and the change of the ftile, Of the Irish, the ftocks, and the lott'ry committee, They came filent and tir'd into Exeter city.

"Some books, prithee landlord, to pass a dull hour; No nonsense of parfons, or methodists four, "No poetical ftuff, a damn'd jingle of rhymes, "But fome pamphlet that's new,and a touch on the times." “O Lord!

"OLord! fays mine hoft, you may hunt the town round, "I queftion if any fuch thing can be found: "I never was ask'd for a book by a guest; "And I'm fure I have all the great folk in the Weft. "None of these to my knowledge e'er call'd for a book; "But fee, Sir, the woman with fish, and the cook; "Here's the fatteft of carp, fhall we dress you a brace? "Would you have any foals, or a mullet, or plaice?"

"A place, quoth the knight, we must have to be sure, "But first let us fee that our borough's fecure, "We'll talk of the place when we've fettled the poll: "They may dress us for fupper the mullet and foal. "But do you, my good landlord, look over your shelves, "For a book we must have, we're so tired of ourselves."

"In troth, Sir, I ne'er had a book in my life, "But the prayer book and bible I bought for my wife.” "Well! the bible muft do; but why don't you take in "Some monthly collection, the new magazine?"

The bible was brought, and laid out on the table, And open'd at Jotham's most appofite fable.

Sir Freeport began with this verse, though no rhyme"The trees of the foreft went forth on a time, (To what purpose our candidates scarce could expect, For it was not, they found, to tranfplant-but ELECT)

"To

"To the olive and fig-tree their deputies came,

"But by both were refus'd, and their anfwer the same :

Quoth the olive, fhall I leave my fatnefs and oil "For an unthankful office, a dignify'd toil?

"Shall I leave, quoth the fig-tree, my sweetness and fruit, "To be envy'd or flav'd in fo vain a pursuit? "Thus rebuff'd and furpriz'd they apply'd to the vine, "He anfwer'd: Shall I leave my grapes and my wine, "(Wine the fovereign cordial of god and of man) "To be made or the tool or the head of a clan ? "At laft, as it always falls out in a scramble, "The mob gave the cry for a bramble! a bramble! "A bramble for ever! O! chance unexpected! "But bramble prevail'd, and was duly elected."

"O! ho! quoth the knight with a look most profound, "Now I fee there's fome good in good books to be found. "I wish I had read this fame bible before:

Of long miles at the leaft 'twould have fav'd us fourfcore. "You, Plumb, with your olives and oil might have staid, "And myfelf might have tarried my wines to unlade. "What have merchants to do from their bufinefs to ramble! "Your electioneer-errant fhould ftill be a bramble.".

Thus ended at once the wife comment on Jotham, And our citizens' jaunt to the borough of Gotham.

An

An Elegy written in an empty Affembly-Room.

By the Same.

Semperque relinqui

Sola fibi

VIRG.

ADVERTISEMENT.

This poem being a parody on the most remarkable paffages in the well-known epistle of Eloifa to Abelard, it was thought unnecessary to tranfcribe any lines from that poem, which is in the bands of all, and in the memory of most readers.

'N scenes where HALLET'S genius has combin'd

IN

With BROMWICH to amufe and cheer the mind;
Amid this pomp of coft, this pride of art,
What mean these forrows in a female heart?

Ye crowded walls, whofe well-enlighten'd round
With lovers fighs and proteftations found,
Ye pictures flatter'd by the learn'd and wise,
Ye glaffes ogled by the brighteft eyes,

Ye cards, which beauties by their touch have bleft,
Ye chairs, which peers and minifters have preft,
How are ye chang'd! like you my fate I moan,
Like you, alas! neglected and alone -

For

For ah! to me alone no card is come,

I must not go abroad and cannot be at home.

Bleft be that social pow'r, the first who pair'd
The erring footman with th' unerring card.
'Twas VENUS fure; for by their faithful aid
The whisp'ring lover meets the blushing maid:
From folitude they give the cheerful call
To the choice fupper, or the sprightly ball:
Speed the foft fummons of the gay and fair,
From diftant Bloomsbury to Grofvenor's fquare;
And bring the colonel to the tender hour,
From the parade, the fenate, or the Tower.

Ye records, patents of our worth and pride!
Our daily leffon, and our nightly guide!
Where'er ye ftand, difpos'd in proud array,
The vapours vanish, and the heart is gay;
But when no cards the chimney-glass adorn,
The difmal void with heart-felt fhame we mourn;
Conscious neglect infpires a fullen gloom,

And brooding fadness fills the flighted room.

If but fome happier female's card I've seen, I fwell with rage, or ficken with the spleen; While artful pride conceals the bursting tear, With fome forc'd banter or affected sneer:

But