THE CONTRAST.

And 'tis odd, if you're hurt, or in fits tumble down,

You reach death ere the doctor can reach you

from town.

In London how easy we visit and meet,

Gay pleasure's the theme, and sweet smiles are

our treat:

Our morning's a round of good-humor'd delight, And we rattle, in comfort, to pleasure at night.

In the country, how sprightly! our visits we make. Through ten miles of mud, for Formality's sake; With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog,

And no thought in our head but a ditch or a bog.

In London the spirits are cheerful and light, All places are gay and all faces are bright; We've ever new joys, and revived by each whim, Each day on a fresh tide of pleasure we swim.

THE CONTRAST.

But how gay in the country! what summer delight To be waiting for winter from morning to night! Then the fret of impatience gives exquisite glee To relish the sweet rural subjects we see.

In town we've no use for the skies overhead, For when the sun rises then we go to bed; And as to that old-fashion'd virgin the moon, She shines out of season, like satin in June.

In the country these planets delightfully glare Just to show us the object we want isn't there; O, how cheering and gay, when their beauties arise, To sit and gaze round with the tears in one's eyes!

But 'tis in the country alone we can find
That happy resource, that relief of the mind,
When, drove to despair, our last efforts we make,
And drag the old fish-pond, for novelty's sake:

THE CONTRAST.

Indeed I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete

To see ladies well draggled and wet in their feet; But what is all that to the transport we feel

When we capture, in triumph, two toads and an eel?

I have heard tho', that love in a cottage is sweet When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy

meet:

That's to come-for as yet, I, alas! am a swain Who require, I own it, more links to my chain.

Your magpies and stock-doves may flirt among trees,

And chatter their transports in groves, if they

please:

But a house is much more to my taste than a tree, And for groves, O! a good grove of chimneys

for me.

THE CONTRAST.

In the country,. if Cupid should find a man out, The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about; But in London, thank Heaven! our peace is

secure,

Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to

cure.

I know love's a devil, too subtle to spy,
That shoots through the soul, from the beam of

an eye;

But in London these devils so quick fly about, That a new devil still drives an old devil out.

In town let me live then, in town let me die, For in truth I can't relish the country, not I. If one must have a villa in summer to dwell, O, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall! CAPTAIN CHARLES MORRIS,

ΤΟ

O-you may call it madness, folly,

Go

You shall not chase my gloom away;

There's such a charm in melancholy,

I would not, if I could, be gay.

O, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,
You would not rob me of a treasure

Monarchs are too poor to buy.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.

READ lightly here, for here, 'tis said,

TREA

When piping winds are hush'd around,

A small note wakes from underground

Where now his tiny bones are laid.