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But Charon replied,
". You were drunk when you dy'd, “ For you ne'er felt the pain that to death is ally'd,"! “ Take me back," cried old Bibo, “1 mind not
the pain, “ For if I was drunk, let me die once again."
. "Forget,” reply'd Charon," these regions of strife, Drink of Lethe divine, 'tis the fountain of life: Where the soul is new born, and all past is a dream, E’en the gods theniselves sip of the care drowning
stream,” “ The gods!” reply'd Bibo, “drink water who will, For the maxims of mortals I'll ever fulfill; So prate not to me of your Lethe divine, Our Lethe on earth is a bumper of wine." At length grim old Cerberus began his loud roar, When the old crazy bark struck the Stygian shore.; Then Bibo awoke, and he stagger'd to land, And he jostled the ghosts as they stood on the
strand. Says Charon, “ I tell you, 'tis vain to rebel, For you are banish'd from earth, and now are in
hell;". That's a truth,” cry'd old Bibo, “ I know by this s
sign, 'Tis a hell upon earth to be wanting of wine."
BEGONE, DULL CARE. BEGONE, dull care, I pr’ythee begone from me, Begone, dull care, thou and I shall never agree; Long time thou hast been tarrying here,
And fain thou wouldst me kill,
Thou never shall have thy will.
My wife shall dance and I will sing,
So merrily pass the day;
To drive dull care away.
THE POST CAPTAIN.
WHEN Steerwell heard me first impart
Our brave commander's story, With ardent zeal his youthful heart
Swell'd high for naval glory;
For bold adventures cager,
He would hold on the jigger...
yeo, yeo, yeo, yeo, yeo, heave yeo. To hand top-ga'nt-sails next he learn'd,
With quickness, care, and spirit,
And priz'd his dawning merit,
When storms convuls'd the ocean,
Which mark'd him for proinotion. As none to the pilot e'er answer'd like he, When he gave the command hard a port, helm
Luff, boy, luff, keep her near,
Clear the buoy, make the pier, None to the pilot answer'd like he, When he gave the command in the pool or at sea, Hard aport helm a lee. For valour, skill, and worth renowned,
The foe he oft defeated ;
And now with fame and fortune crown'd,
Post captain he is rated :
Still bravely would defend her;
He'll prove his heart as tender. Unaw'd, yet mild, to high and low, To poor and wealthy, friend or foe,
Wounded tars share his wealth,
All the feet drink his health,
YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND.. YE gentlemen of England, who live at home at
ease, Ah! little do you think on the dangers of the seas, Give ear unto the mariners, and they will plainly shew
All the cares
And the fears, When the stormy winds do blow. In claps of roaring thunder, which darkness do
enforce, We often find our ships to stray beyond our wonted,
course, Which causeth great destruction, and sinks our hearts full low,
'Tis in vain
To complain, When the stormy winds do blow. If enemies oppose us, when England is at war With any foreign nation, we fear no wound or scar;, ; Our roaring guns shall teach them our valor for to
Whilst they reel
On the keel, When the stormy winds do blow. Then courage all brave mariners, and never be.
afraid, While we have bold adventurers we ne'er shall
want a trade, Our merchants will employ us to bring them wealth, we know;
Then be bold,
Work for gold,
A SENSIBLE MADMAN. A LORD, whom his friends had been obliged to put in a private mad-house, was not mad enough to remain insensible to the charms of the keeper's pretty daughter. His lordship, encouraged in his addresses, agreed to marry her. The day was fixed, the banns published, and they left the mad. house in a coach, to have the ceremony performed. When arrived in the church, his lordship very properly led the lady to the altar; and the clergyman began the ceremony, saying to his lordship, “ do you take this woman tor your wedded wife ?” Upon which he exclaim'd, “No, no, not so mad as that, neither!" then, taking to his heels, ran out of the church, and was not found for a considerable time afterwards.
« CRIES Nell to Tom,” midst matrimonial strife, 56 Curs'd be the hour I first became your wife,”
" By all the powers," said Tom, “ but that's tos
bad, “ You've curs'd the only civil hour we've had."
AT three-score winter's end I died
TO THE MEMORY OF
MARGARET PATIENCE, Who, to the inexpressible regret of her husband, Joha
Fretful, departed this life at the advanced age of 46. My wife beneath this stone I dearly love, Though oft I beat and bruis'd her while above. Indeed, my Meg, l'ad always loved thee so, Had'st thou but died some 20 years ago.
ON A MISER.
They call thee rich, I deem thee poor,