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And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise in mutiny.



He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before Decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
And mark'd the mild angelic air,
The rapture of repose that's there,
The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak
The langour of the placid cheek,
And but for that sad shrouded eye,
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's apathy
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart,
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,

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He still might doubt the tyrants power;
So fair, so calm, so softly seald,
The first, last look, by death reveald.
Such is the aspect of this shore ;
Tis Greece, but living Greece no more !
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, -
We start, for soul is wanting there.
Her's is the loveliness in death,
That parts not quite with parting breath ;
But beauty, with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray.
A gilded halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of Feeling, past away!
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!




Young Slouch the farmer, had a jolly wife,
That knew all the conveniences of life;
Whose diligence and cleanliness supplied
The wit, which nature had to him denied:
But then she had a tongue, that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch, afeard.


This made censorious persons of the town
Say Slouch could hardly call his soul his own;
For if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give him slippers, and lock up his shoes.
Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted,
Than when he was disturb'd or contradicted ;
Yet still into his story she would break
With “'Tis not so, Pray give me leave to speak.”
His friends thought this was a tyrannick rule,
Not differing much from calling him a fool ;
Told him he must exert himself, and be,
In fact, the master of his family.
He said, " That the next Tuesday noon would show
Whether he were the lord at home, or no,
When their good company he would entreat,
To well brew'd ale, and clean, if homely meat."
With aching heart, home to his wife he goes,
And on his knees does his rash act disclose;
And prays dear Sukey, that one day, at least
He might appear, as master of the feast.
“I'll grant your wish,” cries Sue, “that you may see
'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me."
The guests, upon the day appointed, came;
Each bowsy farmer, with his simpering dame.
“Ho, Sue!” cried Slouch, “why dost thou not ap-

Are these thy manners, when Aunt Snap is here?"
"I pardon ask," says Sue; “I'd not offend
Any, my dear invites; much less his friend."

Slouch, by his kinsman Gruffy, had been taught
To entertain his friends with finding fault,
And make the main ingredient of his treat
His saying, “there was nothing fit to eat:
The boil'd pork stinks, the roast beef's not enough;
The bacon's rusty, and the hens are tough;
The veal's all rags; the butter's turn'd to oil;
And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil.

'Tis we are the first Slouches ever sat
Down to a pudding without plums or fat;
What teeth or stomach's strong enough to feed
Upon a goose my grannum kept to breed?
Why must old pigeons, and they stale, be drest,
When there's so many squab ones in the nest ?
This beer is sour, this musty, thick, and stale,
And worse than any thing except the ale.”

Sue, all this while, many excuses made;
Some things she own'd; at other times, she laid
The fault on chance; but oftener, on the maid.
Then cheese was brought; says Slouch, “This e’en

shall roll;
I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl.
This is skimm'd milk; and therefore it shall
And this, because 'tis Suffolk, follow too.”

But now Sue's patience did begin to waste;
Nor longer could dissimulation last.
“Pray let me rise," says she, “my dear; I'll find
A cheese, perhaps, may be to lovy's mind!"
Then in an entry standing close; where he

Alone, and none of all his friends, might see ;
And brapdishing a cudgel he had felt,
And far enough, on this occasion smelt;
“I'll try, my joy!” she cried, “if I can please
My dearest, with a taste of his old Old Cheese!"
Slouch, turnimg round, saw his wife's vigorous

Wielding her oaken saplin of command.
He knew the twang. "Is't the Old Cheese, my dear!
No need, no need of Cheese,” cries Slouch, “I'll


I think I've din'd as well as my Lord Mayor.'



When at length Hyder Ali found, that he had to do with men, who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty, and no signature could bind; and who were the determined enemies of human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country possessed by these incorrigible, and predestinated criminals, a memmorable example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such things ; to leave the whole Carnatic, an everlasting monument of vengeance; and to put perpetual desolation, as a barrier, between him, and those, against whom,

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