Ye beauteous damsels display not your charms,
To lure the lost William again to your arms;
For vain are your beauties, and vain the display,
No pleasure they yield me-my Nancy's away.

I look to the future-but clouds intervene;
The prospect is bounded, and dreary the scene!
The picture is warmed by no genial ray,
And life is delightless-my Nancy's away.

Return then, dear girl, to thy lov'd native home,
Return to thy William, no longer to roam,
Bid the dark clouds of Sorrow fly swiftly away,
That no more I may grieve for my Nancy away.

October, 1809.

WILLIAM.

POR THE PORT FOLIO.

THE following unstudied effusion of a happy moment is also submitted to you-it is of a much earlier date.

Let others roam the world around

In search of wealth or pleasure!
My joys within my breast are found,
The lasses are my treasure.

If, when the day's dull tasks are o'er
Their open arms receive me,
No dark forebodings rend my peace,
No past misfortunes grieve me:

Cheer'd by their winning smiles, I laugh
At Sickness, Pain and Sorrow,
The cup of Pleasure freely quaff
To-day-and trust the morrow.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

TO LAURA.

Lovely maid, with laughing eyes,
For whom full oft my bosom sighs,

WILLIAM.

When thou from hence shalt absent be,
Oh! say, wilt thou remember me?

Lovely maid, with tender breast,

Which envious grief has ne'er depress'd,-
When vows are whisper'd soft to thee,
Oh! say, wilt thou remember me?

Lovely maid, with voice so sweet,
Which Echo joys at eve to greet,
If other swains should bow to thee,
Oh! say wilt thou remember me?

Lovely maid, of peace bereft,

Here behold whom thou hast left,-
If e'er inconstant thou should'st be,
And, ah! should'st not remember me.

Well I treasure in my mind
Thy sigh, so soft-thy words, so kind,
When I my passion vow'd to thee,
And pray'd thou would'st remember me.

Then didst thou despondence cheer,
With words which yet delight my car,
Words which promis'd c'er to be
Faithful, fond, and true to me.

June 12, 1810.

SEDLEY.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

From the Latin.

What is lighter than feathers? dust; than dust? the wind: Than wind? a woman: but than her we nought can find. SEDLEY.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

LINES

On receiving a purse from Miss E. F. of her own netting.

AN empty purse! how sad the sight!

To him who finds in gold his pleasure;

Yet this to me yields more delight,
Than bags that hold a monarch's treasure.

Riches corrupt desires impart;

Ensnare the soul with guilt and shame;
But gifts like these refine the heart,
And brighten Friendship's sacred flame.

Yes! silken net, for her dear sake,
Whose hands thy glossy fabric wove;
Thee for my amulet I'll take,

And thou my monitor shalt prove.

If e'er by Dissipation lur'd,

Folly shall prompt me to employ The coin within thy web secur'd, To purchase false, illicit joy,

I'll think of her who wove thy frame,

The virtues which her breast inspire;
Feel on my cheek the blush of shame,
And from the guilty path retire.

Should modest Worth by Want subdu'd,
Or Misery lift the imploring eye,
Ah! should one sordid thought intrude,
Just as my hands thy strings untie;

I'll think of her whose gift thou art;
Then every selfish thought discard;
Relief with liberal hand impart,

And find her praise my proud reward.

B.

SARCASM.

SOME young gentlemen lately on a visit at the magnificent mansion of Blenheim, the rare retreat of his grace of Marlborough, were, among other places, shown the kitchen, where at a puny fire, made in the corner of the grate, was roasting a fowl, for the tête-à-tête dinner of the duke and his dutchess. At this economical exhibition, the visitants began to titter, when one of the servants, with great consequence said, gentlemen if you do not behave better, I'll turn you out of the kitchen. Turn us out of the kitchen! said one of the party, if you give us any more of your impertinence, I'll spit out your fire.

One of your literary ladies desired Dr. Johnson to give his opinion of a new work she had just written; adding, that if it would not do, she begged him to tell her, for she had other irons in the fire, and in case of the failure of the book, she could bring out something else. Then, said the doctor, twirling over a few leaves, I advise you, madam, to put it where your irons are.

George Selwyn was notorious for his propensity to witness a Tyburn execution. A criminal having been sentenced to be broken on the wheel at Paris, George went over on purpose to be present, and got a seat on the scaffold, among the whole choir of provincial hangmen, who had come to honour, by their presence, the chief executioner of the kingdom. At length, M. de Paris mounted the scaffold, and paid his respects to his brethren. On seeing Mr. Selwyn, he addressed him as M. de Tybourn, and expressed his sense of the high honour he did him by his attendance. The witty senator, making a respectful bow, replied, M. de Paris vous me flatter trop ; je ne suis pas un artiste, mais seulement un amateur. Mr. Hangman, you flatter me too much; I am not a professor, but merely an amateur.

When a motion was once made in the house of commons respecting the failure of the expedition against Holland, there was a talk of Mr. Dundas going out of office in consequence. A conversation on this subject took place in the gallery of the house, when

one gentleman asked another-Did you ever know a Scotchman quit his place? Yes, replied the wag, his native place.

At the evening club of the performers of the Haymarket Theatre, Mr. Fawcet was entering very slowly, when Mrs. Harlowe coming up behind him, said, advance, thou harbinger of impudence. True, madam, replied he with a bow, I precede you.

LEVITY.

DURING Voltaire's last visit to Paris, he was frequently pestered with the congratulations of popinjays. A juvenile scribbler of more vanity than wit, thought it incumbent upon him to pay homage to the Nestor of literature, and on being introduced, thus affectedly addressed the wit of Ferney. Great man, to-day, I am come to salute you as Homer, to-morrow I shall salute you as Sophocles, and next day as Plato. Voltaire interrupted him, saying, Little man, I am very impatient, and very old, could not you pay all your visits in one day.

You will, and you wont, half no, and half yes,
I'm quite at a loss for your meaning, dear miss,

Long enough, in all conscience, you've shuffled and shamm'd:
-Say yes, and be kiss'd-or say no, and be dd.

On one who wedded a thin consumptive lady.

With a warm skeleton so near

And wedded to thy arms for life,
When Death arrives it will appear
Less dreadful-'tis so like thy wife.

A spouse so thin, though all agree,
Had better much be let alone;
Flesh of thy flesh she cannot be,

Who is made up of skin and bone.