High round his head the fragrant vapours bend,
And hills of soap in airy frotu ascend,
John Bulls and Emperors grin upon the wall,
Dogs war with cats, and wives with husbands brawl.
Thick round the room expectant phizzes wait,
Shake the long beard or mourn the naked pate.
Then flies more swift, than Jove's fulmineous flame,
The well strapp'd edge, with beard-subduing aim.
The pilose ranks tumultuous seek the ground,
And beard and lather smoke confus'd around.

So when ten pins in dazzling order stand,
A chief in front, in rear a marshall’d band;
The well-form'd phalanx spreads its angles wide,
And stern defiance scowls on every side.
Then 'urged with skill, the bounding boards along
The rotund Ruin rushes on the Throng,
The staggering Ranks confess unknown alarms,
While Gravitation drags them to his arms.
Each pin expiring gives his friend a hunch,
And men and generals tumble in a bunch !

So erst two brethren climb'd the cloud-capp'd hill,
Ill-fated Jack and long-lamented Jill ;
Snatch'd from the lucid fount its crystal store,
And the full pail with hearts exulting bore.
No grog was there their senses to assail,
Pure was the wave and pure the painted pail-
But, ah, no lack of grog, no pail so neat
Could hold their heads, or fix their fault'ring feet
Pate-broken Jack came blundering down the hill,
And, blundering after, came the pail and Jill.

O’er Beauty's tresses next the shaver rears His high ignited tongs, and glittering shears; Winds, with nice kink, the convoluted curl, The thin hairs yielding to his forceful twirl, Waves his bright blades, and leads with airy grace, The spiral ringlets down the lovely face; Scissors and eyes in rival radiance seen Dispense o’erpowering lustre round the scene. Should some huge lens from northern ices hewn, Pour hell's hot focus on the orb of noon, Not half so bright the encountering blaze would rise, As springs from Huggins' shears and Delia's eyes

;

IMPERIAL SHAVER! on thy laurell’d brow
Roses shall bloom, and wigs spontaneous grow,
On slaughter'd Beards thy airy Throne shall rise,
And piles of whiskers lift thee to the skies;
There as thou sits’t in Fashion's cause sublime,
Shaking thy razor-strap o'er many a clime,
Each rival barber at thy shrine shall bow,
Till Time expire, and Beards forget to grow.

B.

EPIGRAMS.

On seeing Miss Sims of Covent Garden Theatre, in Fanny, in the Maid of the Mill.

From Norwood, say what Gifsy's this? Who knows?

'Tis Sims, who all excels in furtive arts, For other gipsies only steal our clothes,

This little gipsy steals our very hearts.

Dear honey, says Pat, I'm just come to town,

Quite speechless amid from the late expedition,
But to make out the use of it bodders my crown,

Pray, what think you of it? I ask, with submission,
Says Dermot, 'Twas meant a diversion, that's all ;

Profound was the plan, and too wise to be scoff ’d at;
A diversion, criės Pat, you it rightly may call,

For, wherever we went, we were sure to be laugh'd at.

On the controversy respecting the drainatic merits of Messrs. Mossop and Ross.

Some they cry Ross up,
And some they cry Mossop,
Which is the best is not the contest,
But which is the worst is a toss up.

ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE SCOUNDREL* WILLIAM III.

Round William's chair, in triple rows,

The courtiers stood to gaze,
And every tongue in flattery dipt,

Bedaub'd him o'er with praise.

I pray you friend, said surly John,

Who stood behind the chair,
Do

ope that window, and let out
This dd corrupted air.

Epigram, written by the celebrated Caleb Whitefoord, Esq. on Mr. Colman's dramatic piece, called The Spleen, or Islington Spa.

Wit, humour, character, and well-wrought scene ;

Can these the envious critics rage allay?
Ah, Colman, no; they only cause more Spleen

Than twenty city Spas can wash away.

And is there then, alas! no method left,

Of such curst carpers to escape the fury?
Yes; copy them, subsist by lies and theft,

Be dull, and underwrite, and I'll insure you:

Codrus, alas! to wit or sense,
Alike we both make vain pretence;
Since all the world both claims denies,
The foolish mine, and yours the wise.

EPIGRAM, ON SAM FOOTE.

Unless puns and bon mots with good humour you blend,

EPITAPH,

!! 7:35 .
ON LUKE LONG, A ROMAN CATHOLIC.
As souls, of late, through heaven's gate pass’d,

St. Peter, who survey'd the throng,
Exclaim'd Long looked for comes at last,

For here, at last, comes my Luke Long.

ANECDOTE.

A CERTAIN class of the Parisians busy themselves in prying into the circumstances of Bonaparte's birth and education, in order to furnish food for scandal. A lady, wishing to mortify Madame Bonaparte, asked her whether she was fully acquainted with her husband's origin. I know, and all Europe knows, replied the Empress, that he is the son of Mars and Fortune.

The late Lord Strichen, a Judge of the Court of Session in Scotland, a very worthy man, but no conjurer, was in company, when it was observed by some one, that dull boys at school often proved very ingenious men. It is very true, said his lordship, I was a dull boy at school myself.

An officer's servant in Gloucestershire, having taken offence at something said by the clerk of the parish, thought it incurnbent upon him, as a gentleman, to send the other a challenge to fight with pistols, to which the following answer was given: Abraham Amen conceiving that murder with fire arms is the exclusive privilege of men of lionour, and of cavaliers, refuses to fight with the upstart Bob Bouncer, in the manner he requires; but, as, by the laws of duelling, the person challenged, has a right to choose his weapons, Abraham Amen will meet the said Bouncer, even on a Sunday, and on consecrated ground, to the praise and glory of God, with trvo stavts.

A little girl, on hearing that her mother had lost a law suit, said, Dear manma, I am quite glad that you have lost that plaguey suit, that used to vex you so.

In the parlour of a public house in Fleet-street, there is inscribed over the chimney-piece, the following notice: Gentlemen, learning to spell, are requested to use yesterday's paper.

BANTER.

Dr. EGERTON, the late Bishop of Durham, on coming to that see, employed a person of the name of Due, as his agent, to discover the true value of the estates held by lease under him, and, in consequence of Due's report, greatly raised both the fines and rents of his tenants; on which account the following toast was frequently drank in that diocese:-May the Lord take the Bishop, and the Devil have his Due.

A nobleman, remarkably abstemious, was chiding one of his workmen for often getting drunk. It is astonishing, said his Lordship, that all good workmen are addicted to drunkenness. Then, answered the man, your Lordship, I presume is not a good workman.

Henry IV, of France, had received notice of the conspiracy of Marshal Biron. It was observed by a nobleman, that the marshal was one of the best card players at court. He plays very well, said the King, but he makes his parties very ill.

On account of the great number of suicides lately in Dublin, an Irish member of the House of Commons, moved for leave to bring in a bill making suicide a capilal offence.

The author of the tragedy of Douglas makes his hero repeat

Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible, by shepherds trod,

A hermit liv'd. Pray, Mr. Author, by what sort of path did the shepherds reach this inaccessille mountain's brow?