BARRY'S ATTACK UPON SIR JOSHUA REYNOLD£ When Barry dares the President to fly on, Or like a louse, of mettle full, ON THE DEATH OF MR. HONE, R. A There's one R.A. more dead! stiff is poor Hone- I think the sacred art will not bemoan 'em; Go, then, poor Hone! and join a numerous train And may its whale-like stomach feel no motion ON GEORGE THE THIRD'S PATRONAGE OF BENJAMIN WEST. Thus have I seen a child, with smiling face, A little daisy in the garden place, And strut in triumph round its fav'rite flow'r; Lugging the wat'ring-pot about, Which John the gard'ner was oblig'd to fill; Then staring round, all wild for praises panting, How that it found the daisy all itself! ANOTHER ON THE SAME. In simile if I may shine agen- With one poor miserable chick, As if this chick, to which her egg gave birth, EPITAPH ON PETER STAGG 8. Poor Peter Staggs, now rests beneath this rail, TRAY'S EPITAPH. Here rest the relics of a friend below, Blest with more sense than half the folks I know: ON A STONE THROWN AT A VERY GREAT MAN, BUT WHICH MISSED HIM. Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head I think very different, with thousands indeed, The following stanza, on the death of Lady Mount E's favorite pig Cupid, is verily exceeded by nothing in the annals of impertinence.-P. P.] A CONSOLATORY STANZA TO LADY MOUNT E ON THE DEATH OF HER PIG CUPID. O dry that tear, so round and big, Nor waste in sighs your precious wind! Your lord and son are still behind. EPIGRAMS BY ROBERT BURNS. THE POET'S CHOICE. I MURDER hate, by field or flood, Though glory's name may screen us; The deities that I adore, Are social peace and plenty; I'm better pleased to make one more, Than be the death of twenty. ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. Here souter Hood in death does sleep,- To h-ll, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, He'll haud it weel thegither. ON JOHN DOVE INNKEEPER OF MAUCHLINE. Here lies Johnny Pidgeon, Maun follow the carl, For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane Strong ale was ablution Small beer, persecution, A dram was memento mori: But a full flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial giory. ON ANDREW TURNER. In se'enteen hunder an' forty-nine, But wilily he chang'd his plan, ON A SCOTCH COXCOMB Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, His chicken heart so tender; Bu build a castle on his head, His skull will prop it under. ON GRIZZEL GRIM. Here lies with death auld Grizzel Grim O death, how horrid is thy taste, ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', For had ye stayed whole years awa, EPITAPH ON W Stop, thief! dame Nature cried to Death, UN A SUICIDE. Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, EPIGRAMS FROM THE GERMAN OF LESSING. NIGER. "He's gone at last-old Niger's dead!" Last night 't was said throughout the city; Each quidnunc gravely shook his head, And half the town cried, "What a pity!” The news proved false-'t was all a cheat— And all the town to-day repeat What half the town last night was crying. |