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OFT it has been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post :
Yet round the world the blade has been
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before,
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travellid fool your mouth will stop ;
“Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
" I've seen-and sure I ought to know".
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
Aad acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd,
And on their way in friendly chat,
Now telk'd of this, and then of that,
Discours'd a while, 'mongst other matter
Of the Camelion's form and nature,
« A stranger animal," cries one,
* Sure never liv'd beneath the sun :
“ A lizard's body lean and long,
6 A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
« It's foot with tripple claw disjoin'd.:
“ And what a length of tail behind !
.“ How slow its pace ! and then its hue
.6 Whoever saw so fine a blue ?"
« Hold there;" the other quick replies, « 'Tis green, I saw it with these eyes,
" Aslate with open mouth it lay,
56 And warm'd it in the sunny ray ;
« Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
* And saw it eat the air for food."
« I've seen it, Sir, as well as you,
« And must again affirm it blue;
« At leisure I the beast survey'd
“ Extended in the cooling shade.
« 'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I assure yem “Green !" cries the other, in a fury* Why, Sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes ?"
« T were no great loss," the friend replies.
« For if they always serve you thus,
* You'll find 'em but of little use."
So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third ;
To him the question they referr'd;
And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.
« Sirs," cries the umpire, “cease your pother« The creature's neither one nor t'other, “I caught the animal last night, " and view'd it o'er by candle-light : “I mark'd it well—'twas black as jet“ You stare-but, Sirs, I've got it yet, “ And can produce it."--" Pray, Sir, do : “ I'll lay my life the thing is blue.” « And I'll be sworn that when you've seen “ The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.”
“ Well then, at once to ease your doubt," Replies the man,“ l'll turn him out: “ And when before your eyes l've set him,
don't find him black, l'll eat him.” He said ; then full before their sight Produc'd the beast, and lo!--twas white.
Both star'd, the man look'd wond'rous wise.
:* My children,” the Camelion cries,
(Then first the creature found a tongue)
* You all are right, and all are wrong:
6. When next you talk of what you view,
« Think others see as well as you :
« Nor wonder, if you find that none
« Prefers your eye-sight to his own.”
THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
A GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had form'd for virtue's nobler view,
By precepts and examples too,
Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they express'd
Was praise and transport to his breast.
At-length quite vain, he needs would shew
His master what his art could do ;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shade.
The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the sight ;
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.
Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car ;
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling rings ;
And gath’ring crouds with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th’indented plain,
The self same-track be marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy ;
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the-triumphs of the field;
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cry'd
Expect no praise from me, (and sigh'd)
With indignation I survey
Such skill and judgment thrown away,
The time profusely squander'd there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employed, at less expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men and guide the state.
WHERE London's column, pointing at the skies
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies ;
There dwelt a Citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name ;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth ;
His word would pass for more than he was worth,
One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's :
Constant at church, and 'Change ; his gains were sure,
His givings rare, save farthings to the poor,
The Devil was piqu'd such saintship to behold,
And long'd' to tempt him, like good Job of old :
But Satan now is wiser than of
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Rous'd by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plunge his Father in the deep;
Then : !1 against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes :
“ Live like yourself,” was soon my Lady's word ;
And lo! two puddings smoak'd upon the board.
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, An honest factor stole a gem away : He pledg'd it to the knight ; the knight had wit, So kept the Daimond, and the rogue was bit. Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought, " I'll now give six-pence where l gave a groat ; " Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice, “ And am so clear too of all other vice.
The tempter saw his time ; the work he plyd : Stocks and Subscriptions pour on every side,