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"Not much," quoth he, "but what I have, Beyond dispute, is fair gain;

With notes to shave, I've caught a knave, A miser with a bargain.

To catch a needy beau, I took
A draggle-tail'd surtout-

A would-be belle found on my hook
A tempting full dress suit.

I caught a Congressman, by dint
Of double compensation;

A Lawyer, on promotion bent,
By timely nomination.

These lawyers, are, though oft you wish (No thanks for't) Satan' had 'em, The most unprofitable fish

Of all the sons of Adam.

I caught a Surgeon with a high
Fed subject for dissection;

An office hunter with a lie,

Well seasoned for election.

"What fish bite sharpest, Pug?" says I— "Why, as to that," quoth he,

"I find not many very shy,

Of high or low degree.

"Your toper bites well at a cork, (When there's a bottle to it)Your Jew will even bite at pork, If he smell money through it.

Your old man likes a parchment, when By mortgage some one's bitten; Your youngster likes a fresher skin,

Where yet there's nothing written!

Some shy ones play about the line,
Till prudence waxes feeble,
And those at least are often mine,
Who only want to nibble!

There's few indeed of small or great,

(Or I am much mistaken) But may, by some peculiar bait, Be tempted, and then taken.

But there is one of all the rest,
Who most employs my cook-
The IDLER pleases me the best,
He bites the NAKED HOOK!

Delaware Watchman.

TO MISS.

I WILL not say thy lip so sweet,

Like morning's crimson blossom glows,
When Zephyr borne on pinion fleet,
Wakes from her dewy sleep the Rose.

I will not say thy blue eyes seem
The glances of the timid dove,
When, wakened by the vernal beam,
Her paramour invites to love."

I will not say, thy breast so fair,
Where rapture might delight to rest,
Is like yon white-wing'd cloud of air,
Yet by no mortal form imprest.

No! while I gaze on all thy charms,

And catch sweet madness from thine eye,

My breast shall beat with wild alarms,
And all my language be a sigh.

And oft shall fancy think the while, 'In love's despairing wild excess,

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Let's laugh at the fools,
Who live by dull rules,

And at us good-fellows repine.

Here, here are delights,

To amuse the dull nights,

And equal a man with a god;

To enliven the clay,

Drive all care away,

Without it a man's but a clod.

Then let us be willing

To spend t'other shilling,

For money we know is but dirt;

It suits no design,

Like paying for wine,

T'other bottle will do us no hurt.

UPON HIS MISTRESS DANCING.

By James Shirly, 1646.

I STOOD, and saw my mistress dance,
Silent and with so fix'd an eye,
Some might suppose me in a trance;
But being asked why,

By one that knew I was in love,

I could not but impart
My wonder, to behold her move

So nimbly with a marble heart.

SONG BY MRS. OPIE.

I've roam'd through many a weary round,

I've wander'd east and west,

Pleasure in ev'ry clime I found,
But sought in vain for rest.

While glory sighs for other spheres,
I feel that one's too wide,

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