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From neighbour's glass, with reeking lip,
His draught of table beer to sip,

With teeth a huge bone gnawing;
With mouth by gravy quite defac'd,
With elbows on the table plac'd,
Or other's napkin pawing.

The plate with vary'd meats high pil'd,
The frill and neckcloth both defil'd,

While meat 'twixt teeth fast sticking,
Since you the cleanly quill disdain,
Forth from its bony prison's ta'en,

With fork your grinders picking.

order to shave his son, whose physiognomy looked as if it had been lathered with pink instead of white suds.-Carving with your own knife and fork; helping to sauce with your own spoon, licking your fingers, and expressing by the greedy look of the eyes, the ravenous propensity of the stomach, may be ranked among those actions which disgrace the table, and it has even come within the knowledge of the writer, to observe a person at his own house lengthen out the grace before meat, in order to fix upon the particular part of the viand most acceptable to his paiate, which he has instantly notified to the company on concluding his benediction in order to prevent any other person present from bearing off the darling prize.

Or when you eat, o'er plate to stoop,
And swallow spoon as well as soup,
Or if on table fish is;

Since you for others scorn to care,
Take all the shrimp sauce to your share,
And after lick the dishes.

If round the board fair dames you view,
On dish of fowls, if there are two,
Four wings 'mongst eight to deal out,
Seize on the finest for your own,
And ere you've one half pick'd the bone,
A second nimbly steal out.

If civil you wou'd hand a plate,

Your elbow thrust 'gainst neighbour's pate,
And then, to mend the matter;
When turning quick, O! dire mishap !
O'erset the wine glass; and in's lap,
The plate's contents bespatter.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

Shun ev'ry act which decency disdains,
For he whose object is a polish'd mind,

F

If heedless of this caution, ne'er attains,
The manners delicate, and soul refin'd.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come, trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis, Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis.

For gold he lives-for gold he sighs,
Yet, if disease assail him;

The wretch for want of comfort dies,
Fearful his gold should fail him.

In life no friend, in death no tear,
Save that which flows from pleasure,
Is shed upon the miser's bier,
By those who share his treasure.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

Gold is by Avarice misunderstood,
In circulation all it's value's found;
When kept 'tis dross, productive of no good,
And, for man's peace, far better under ground.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come, trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis, Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis.

* Abbraccia tal volta la fortuna coloro, che vuol poi affegare.

With doting eyes he counts his store,

But ah! his mind's not cheerful! Now coveting one hundred more, Of theft for ever fearful *.

What others give, what others spend,
What others too are hoarding,
Alike he covets to his end,

No joys his life affording.

He never feels that heavenly thrill,
From Charity soft flowing;
To mercy deaf, his selfish will,
On self alone bestowing.

* It is the extraordinary feature of avarice, to toil incessantly for the attainment of that, which, when procured, never affords it the smallest gratification, for we may say with Horace;

Quærit et inventis miser abstinet, ac timet uti. and in like manner is avarice incessantly punished for the ills which it inflicts on others, for " In nullum avarus bonus est, in se pessimus." In Dodsley's collection is a beautiful Fable of the Sparrow and the Diamond, well calculated to display the extent of this vice; and the moral of which is admirably adapted to the subject of the present Section.

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