V.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story;

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And quit their fort at Goree ;

For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind! With a Fa, &c.

VI.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find.

"Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foe,

With a Fa, &c.

VII.

To pass our tedious hours

away,

We throw a merry main,

Or else at serious ombre play;

But, why should we in vain

Each other's ruin thus pursue;
We were undone when we left you.

With a Fa, &c.

VIII.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit careless at a play :

Perhaps, permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a Fa, &c.

IX.

When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in every note;

As if it sigh'd with each man's care,
For being so remote ;

Think how often love we've made

To you when all those tunes were play'd.

With a Fa, &c.

X,

In justice you cannot refuse,

To think of our distress;

When we for hopes of honour lose

Our certain happiness;

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.

With a Fa, &c.

XI.

And now we've told you all our loves
And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity from your tears;

Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea.
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.

GEORGE STEPNEY.

Westminster, 1663-1707.

If Stepney's verses had been collected during his life, we should have ascribed it to his rank. But what motive could have tempted an editor to print such trash forty years after the death of the author!

On the University of Cambridge's burning the Duke of Monmouth's Picture, 1685, who was formerly their Chancellor.-In answer to this Question:

Sed quid

"Turba Remi? sequitur fortunam, ut semper,

" et odit

"Damnatos"

YES, fickle Cambridge, Perkins found this true,
Both from your rabble and your doctors too,
With what applause you once received his grace,
And begg'd a copy of his god-like face;
But when the sage Vice-Chancellor was sure
The original in limbo lay secure,

As greasy as himself he sends a lictor,
To vent his royal malice on the picture.
The beadle's wife endeavours all she can
To save the image of the tall young man,
Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace,

That with strong thoughts she might improve her

race;

But all in vain, since the wise house conspire

To dam the canvas traitor to the fire,
Lest it, like bones of Scanderbeg, incite
Scythe-men next harvest to renew the fight.
Then in comes mayor Eagle, and does gravely alledge,
He'll subscribe, if he can, for a bundle of Sedge;
But the man of Clare-hall that proffer refuses,
'Snigs he'll be beholden to none but the Muses;
And orders ten porters to bring the dull reams
On the death of good Charles, and crowning of
James;

And swears he will borrow of the Provost more stuff
On the marriage of Anne, if that be n't enough.
The heads, lest he get all the profit t' himself,
Too greedy of honour, too lavish of pelf,
This motion deny, and vote that Tite Tillet,
Should gather from each noble doctor a billet.
The kindness was common, and so they'd return it;
The gift was to all, all therefore would burn it :