Italian proverb, that, “Poverty makes strange bed fellows," does not apply in my case. I will never sacrifice to fools, no nor write verses in public houses for " cheerful ale." I shall still wrap my old cloak about me, and pass the vulgar, "The little vulgar, and the great."

But then I have an infinite respect for exceptions, for the egregious of Society. Would that I knew of a spot where the blockheads might constitute the exceptions, there indeed an author might " fare sumptuously every day." How unhappy is the lot of him, who is in a region where

"Grave and formal pass for wise."

I recollect a pleasant fellow, who threaten'd that he would advertise for an entire new set of friends, and acquaintance, the old being neither useful, nor ornamental; that a man comes to be so shuffled, and sorted in the world, is often a mauvaise plaisanterie of Madam Fortune.

I amuse myself sometimes in my own room, where, save, and except some twinges of conscience for past offences against happiness, and prosperity,

"For madness ruled the hour;"

my mind is to me a kingdom, with some pleasantries of the imagination on the subject of my subscribers taking this my said Work into their hands. I fancy that I hear some grave Gentleman, say very gravely to another, as a salvo to his own Judgment, "Why Sir, I merely subscribed to serve the poor creature, probably I shall never look at his book," to which the other replies as gravely, it was just so with

me Sir." Now all this ungracious reservation is the result of the want of pride. Few in the world with all their pride, are proud enough to say, unless bolster'd up by the opinion of a “thousand barren spectators." I like this Work: how do I honor the man who wills it, to judge for himself; nor do the words published by subscription necessarily imply that the Author is a poor Poet, though it most certainly does imply that the Poet is poor. It is not pretended that these rhymes are of the modern high standard and measure, I am not one of those of whom Pope said,

"But most by numbers, judge a Poet's song,

And smooth, or rough with them is right or wrong;
In the bright muse though thousand charms conspire,
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire;
Who haunt Parnassus, but to please their car,
Not mend their minds as some to church repair;
Not for the doctrine, but the music there,
These equal syllables alone require."

It is possible that a man may write Pleasantries under very unpleasant circumstances, satire rises in the imagination to relieve as it were the sufferings it endures, and a contempt for the motley people, and motley things of the world, creates an efferverscence that neutralises,

"For though oppression's of great use,"

Yet satire has a spring,

That starts up to resist abuse,

"With formidable sting."

I hope however, that the pages of this volume that may be considered satirical, will be found without gall. Without

malice, I would have my satire to be of the description, if

possible so to administer the dose.

remedy is loved.”

"That cures because the

"But should proud folly domineer,

Disturb its paradise;

Be to severity, severe,

Inveterate to vice."

It is glorious to make war against the false pretenders to sanctity, learning, taste, or manners, there indeed I am pleased to

"Flutter your volscians."

I shall not be very severe against my townsmen, for merely having been born in a particular place, because I do not like to quarrel with a man for his misfortunes.

I declare all to have been written in pleasantry, I am invested in my motley and " They that are most galled with my folly, they most must laugh.”

“When caps among the crowd are thrown,

Take that which fits you for your own,"

Ode to Flattery.

1

MADAM Flattery, polite, and charming
Thy doses, exhilerant, and warming
Who dare thy name traduce

Or with grave, formal, impudence pretend
That they esteem sincerity a friend

And load thee with abuse.

2

Now, these folks fib, sincerity all hate

From the low shed, to canopies of state

All like sugar, honey,

Self dubb'd saints bear praise not by compulsion Huge draughts they love of that sweet emulsion

But then next to money.

B

3

I'll be frank, fate grant but this petition
Deprive me not of dear imposition

Nor see me ill treated

By ugly, scarecrow truths, so blunt, and plain That busy conscience echoes them again

Rather, I'd be cheated.

4

By dear delusions of affection

Friendship-patronage-protection,
Love! pray who'd repel it?

A fine rich, sugar sweet collection
Paris, or London's the direction

Where they buy, and sell it.

5

Where none are ugly, silly, ill, nor old

Where tell tale vulgar truths are never told

That would shew ill breeding

Where thou sweet syren goddess art supreme Where all thy votaries, always dream

Dreams of bliss exceeding.