From a Tombstone in Ballyporeen Church-yard.

Here, at length I repose-
And my spirit at aise is-
With the tips of my toes,
And the point of my nose,

Turned up to the roots of the daisies.

Where spades grow bright, and idle swords grow dull;
Where gaols are empty, and where barns are full;
Where church-paths are with frequent feet outworn,
Law court-yards weedy, silent, and forlorn;
Where doctors foot it, and where farmers ride;
Where age abounds, and youth is multiplied;
Where these signs are, they clearly indicate
A happy people, a well-governed state.

A Cure for Love.

Hunger and time will quench the flame
That burns on Cupid's altar;
But if both fail its strength to tame,
The certain cure's a halter.

The Cynic's Home.

No single land my country call,
No single house my home;

But home and country, name them all
That shield me when I come.

On a Flatterer.

You attack me when absent with slanderous tongue,
But thus fail to injure my name;

Your flattery, when present, I feel is the wrong,
For your praise is my grief and my shame.

John's wife complains, that John discourses
And thinks of nothing else but horses.
Whilst John, a caustic wag,

Says, it is wonderful to see

How thoroughly their tastes agree,—

For, that his wife, as well as he,

Most dearly loves a (k)nag.

On the Gout.

Venus and Bacchus both combine

To weaken man with love and wine;
But worse than them we find, no doubt,
Their still more weakening son, the gout.

To a Man with a long Nose.

Should you e'er stand with open mouth,
And turn your face exactly south,
The shadow your huge nose must throw
On your wide teeth, the hour will show.

Said Sam, Although my body weigh
Full sixteen stone, I swear,
Whatever people think or say,
My heart is light as air.

It is a likely thing enough,

That such result should follow:
The body-he takes care to stuff,
Whereas the heart-is hollow.

On a Morose Man.

So stern in death was Timon's ghost,
Pluto ran off for fear he'd fight him;

And even Cerberus left his post,

In mortal terror lest he'd bite him.

On the Statue of an Ox.

So wondrous Myron's art is shown,
That, by the gods, we vow,
The statue harness wants alone,
To quit its base, and plough.

On Bentley, Milton's Critic.

Did Milton's prose, O Charles! thy death defend?
A furious foe, unconscious, proves a friend;
On Milton's verse does Bentley comment? know,
A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he would seem his author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has avenged thy murder.

On the inimitable Miss Steele, eldest daughter of Sir Richard Steele, afterwards the Right Hon. Lady Trevor.

BY MR. PHILLIPS.

Oh! for ever could I dwell upon the name.
Fair nymph, on whom kind nature has dispensed
The mother's beauty, and the father's sense!
The piercing dart this moment do I feel,

For sure the wound is mortal that's from Steele.

Franconian Proverbs (From the German.)

Nor linen, maid, or money try,
Unless there's daylight in the sky.

Mishap rides up in spur and boot,
And always slinks away on foot.
Be the diamond e'er so fine,
It may not without tinsel shine.

In culprit's house, thou shalt not hope,
To win thy suit, by talk of rope.

Much cumbers us a flowing dress;
Much cumbers wealth our happiness.

Who far away for wife shall roam,
Or starts a cheat, or brings one home.

He that's a good roof o'er his head,
Is a sad fool to leave his bed.

He that is prompt to pay a bill,
Shall find his coffers promptly fill.

Break not your egg, and you are wise,

Before your salt beside it lies.

If you would gently sink to rest,

Mount guard on tongue, and eye, and breast.

J. Holmes, Took's Court, London.