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WH EN Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat,
As full of champagne as an egg's full of meat,
He wak'd in the boat; and to Charon he said,
He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead.
Trim the boat, and fit quiet, stern Charon reply'd :
You may have forgot, you was drunk when you dy'd.

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Poor Hal caught his death, standing under a spout,
Expecting till midnight, when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And curs'd was the weather that quench'd the man’s
flame. -
Whoe'er thou art, that read'st these moral lines,
'Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.

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i T H E

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P R O M ET H E US, forming Mr. Day,
Carv'd something like a man in clay.
The mortal's work might well miscarry;
HE, that does Heaven and earth control,
Alone has power to form a soul,
His hand is evident in Harry.
Since one is but a moving clod,
T’ other the lively form of God;
*Squire Wallis, you will scarce be able,
To prove all poetry but fable.

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