The grape unripe, to no one thing.
Like bachelors compares,
The nonpariet our gracious king,
The nonsuch British tars.

A WELSH SERMON,

Said to be preached at a Funeral by a Minister of
Glangothan in Glamorganshire.

TEARLY BELOVED,

1 AM come here among you to make a creat. preachment проп that dead pody. My text is the ten and twentieth chapter of Maccabees, te verse indeed I cannot now ferry well remember, but I am sure it be dere, te words be dese, Fachilate de Orate, dat is to say, Vatch and Pray: and I will stick to my text I will warrant you.

Our creat crandfather Adam was a fery coot man, in coot truth was he, and dwelt in Cots own house in Paradise, and a prave place I'll warrant you it was; he had efry thing provided in his hand, he did not buy so much as a noggin, piggen, of spoon, he had plenty of apple-trees, plumb-trees, peartrees, sherry-trees, cottling-trees, and all sorts of trees; but for want of coot take heed, he was fallen: ah! how was he fallen?

Why, I will tell you how he was fallen,

Our creat crandmother Eve, (a pox Cot take her for a plaguy package) must needs go a rambling and a changling from home, and coot not stay at home with her own huspand, but did rop an orchard, te Devil show't the way, (for if dere be any mischief about te Devil and Woman must have a finger in the pye,) so she came home and pursuaded her huspand to eat some of her stolen apple, it was a creat mercy, O Cot, it did not stick in her throat and choak her.

A 3

After this she prov'd with child, and was prout to pet of a fine poy, and called his name---I cannot now fery well remember----O tear it was Cain; aye Cain vas it: he vas a prave lad, but an unlucky rogue like his mother. And a little time after she prov'd with child again, and was brought to pet of another fine poy, and call'd his name Apel; dis vas a fery coot lat, for he did stick to part of my text, he did pray; and had he vatched too, before Cot his brother Cain had never come pehind his back and knockt out his prains.--Dis vas a murdering villain, so he vas obliged to over-run his country, and get him a wife in a strange land, which taught him strange tricks I will warrant you.

Thus, you see, peloved, how the sins of Roppery and Murder came upon the earth, and prout a heavy shudgment upon the world; vat you think that was?

I will tell you.

It profed those parcel of plaguy Lawyers, Attoornies, and Pum-Pailiffs, to rop the people, and keep their estates and monies all themselves.

But after dis there came another sin upon the earth, and prout a heavier judgment upon all the world; vat you think that was?

It was te sin of trunkenness; for Got's sake befare of trinking too much; for our crandfather Noah, had no sooner escaped a scouring in the ark, and got safe on land again, but he went to the first alehouse he could find, and there he sat trink, trink, all day and all night, and then went home trunk and abused his family.

The sin of trunkeness, my peloved, prout heavier shudgment than all the rest, and what a heavy shudgment do you think it profed?

Why, I will tell you.

It prout dese destroying locusts, dese consuming catterpillars, those hellish vermin, those cursed Egyptian plagues, joined altogether, Excisemen, and Custom House Officers, to pry into efry nook, and poke for efry drop of coot trink.---Cot confound

them all; and from them Libra nos, Domine, that is to say, Lort deliver us.

In the dreadful day of shudgment, when the pastors shall be called to give an account of the ' sheep delivered to their charge, and I your poor unworthy pastor, shall be called to give an account of the sheep delivered to my charge.

And when the Lord calls I will not speak,

And when he calls a second time, I will not

answer.

But when he calls a third time, I will say as old Eli bid Samuel, "On say Lort, for thy servant heareth." And when he asketh for the sheep delivered into my charge, before Cot, I will tell him Aat and plain You are all turned Goats ! - - - Ainen,

CUPID AMONG THE BACHELORS.

AT a bachelor's feast, Tom Monk was presiding, Now at wedlock rude jeering, then Cupid deriding, When down flew the God from above;

Soon the bumpers are fill'd and the glasses all jingle, Cries Tom, here's a health to the man who lives single;

So the claret they quaff,
And at Cupid they laugh,

And each bids defiance to women and love.

Sorely vex'd that the topers his power shou'd

despise,

Off to Bacchus indignant the god of love flies,
Their conduct then straightway exposes;
When the jolly god hears of his vot'ries defiance,
He consents with sly Cupid to form an alliance,'
So the grape juice they quaff,

And at bachelors laugh,

While Bacchus this scheme of revenge then proposes.

Make 'em fev'rish in love, and soon you will see, To cool their scorch'd hearts, each to drinking will flee,

Which will only add fuel to fire;

So in love they will drink, and wine, will in return, Make the flame in their bosoms more ardently burn,

So as bumpers they quaff,

And at you while they laugh,

My magical wine will the passion inspire.

Quite charm'd with the scheme, back the god of love

flew,

And wounded each heart of the love-hating crew, His shafts not a man of them parried;

And love instantly kindling, tormented each heart, While the wine, 'stead of curing, augmented the smart,

And as bumpers they quaff'd,

Cupid wink'd and he laugh'd

For to cure 'em, next week ev'ry soul of 'em married.

THE WEEPING MAID OF GLASGOW.

HIGH on a shaggy sea-worn rock,

Proud juting o'er the foaming flood,
With many a sigh and wistful look,
The weeping Maid of Glasgow stood.
Grow calm, thou raging sea,

Blow fair inconstant gale, she cried,
My absent Jamie, haste to me,

To rove along the banks of Clyde.

The tide ran smooth, the wind blew fair,
A lofty vessel hove in view;

With hasty steps Jane sought the pier,
And thus address'd the welcome crew.
Come tell, brave tars, come tell the truth,
As you the ocean travers'd wide,

Saw you my love, the bravest youth,
That ever grac'd the banks of Clyde.
Ah, maiden fair, by love opprest,
Restrain your tears, 'tis vain to weep;
Near Portugal your Jamie rests,

In the could bosom of the deep.

From her flush'd cheeks the blood withdrew,,
A death-stamp'd pale its place supplied,
The clay-roof'd house now strangers view,
Among the dreary banks of Clyde.

THE YORKSHIREMAN IN LONDON; Or, Humphrey Hobnail's return from the Play.

QH! gentlefolk, what do you think!
Oh! where do you think I ha' been?
I'm sure I shall ne'er sleep a wink,
I'se so pleas'd wi' the sights I ha seen:
It grows very late, you'll all say,

And its time we were all gang'd to bed,
But my feet carried me to the play,
And I can't get it out of my head.

Sing tol de rol lol de rol, tol de rol.

Odzooks!--what a nation fine place!
And what waundy fine people go there; :
I was never before in such case,

For I didn't know which way to stare!.
On one side I see'd the gay beaux,

On t'other the ladies so fair!

Who, I'm sure, take no pride in their cloths,
For they scarce provide any to wear,

But as soon as the play was begun,

Sing tol, &c.

Which they call'd the--"Bold Stroke for a Wife,"