They are scurvy compounds of debauch and disease,

"Putrefactions of sloth, or vice run to the lees, "By luxury's pestilence health is laid waste; "And all they can boast is They're poison'd in

taste.

"Tis true, cries Crawlina, the Queen of the

worms,

They make upon earth immense noise with their forms,

Pon onner,

with beauties, tho' so much I deal, "On not one in ten can I make a good meal.

"When we chose to regale, on the dainties of

charms,

"We formerly fed on necks, faces, and arms; "Now varnish envenoms their tainted com

plexions,

"A fine woman's features spread fatal infections.

"Not a worm of good taste, and bon ton, I dare

vouch,

"A morsel of fashion-made beauties will touch. "A Quality toast we imported last week,—

Two maggots, my servants, dy'd eating her

cheek,"

Very odd, quoth a Critick, worms hold such dis

course.

Very odd, quoth the Author, that men shou'd talk

worse.

Like Reptiles, we crawl upon earth for a term, Take wing for a-while,-then descend to a worm.

Dan Pope declares all human race to be worms; Maids, misers, wives, widows, all maggotty forms, But of worms, and worm-feeding, no more we'll repeat,

Here's a glass to the dainty that's made for man's

meat.

THE WINE VAULT.

Tune -The Hounds are all out.

CONTENTED I am, and contented I'll be,

For what can this world more afford,
Than a lass that will sociably sit on my knee,
And a cellar as sociably stored,

My brave boys.

My vault door is open, descend and improve,

That cask,-aye, that we will try.

Tis as rich to the taste as the lips of your love,
And as bright as her cheeks to the eye:

My brave boys.

In a piece of slit hoop, see my candle is stuck,
"Twill light us each bottle to hand;
The foot of my glass for the purpose I broke,
As I hate that a bumper should stand,

My brave boys.

Astride on a butt, as a butt should be strod,

I gallop the brusher along;

Like grape-blessing Bacchus, the good fellow's

God,

And a sentiment give, or a song,

My brave boys.

We are dry where we sit, tho' the coying drops

seem

With pearls the moist walls to emboss;

From the arch, mouldy cob-webs in gothick taste

stream

Like stucco-work cut out of moss:

My brave boys.

When the lamp is brimful, how the taper flame

shines,

Which, when moisture is wanting, decays; Replenish the lamp of my life with rich wines, Or else there's an end of my blaze,

My brave boys.

Sound those pipes, they're in tune, and those bins are well fill'd;

View that heap of old Hock in your rear;

Yon bottles are Burgundy! mark how they're pilcd, Like artillery, tier over tier,

My brave boys,

My cellar's my camp, and my soldiers my flasks, All gloriously ranged in review;

When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks As kingdoms I've yet to subdue,

My brave boys.

Like Macedon's Madman, my glass I'll enjoy,

Deiying hyp, gravel, or gout;

He cry'd when he had no more worlds to destroy,

I'll weep when my liquor is out,

My brave boys,

On their stumps some have fought, and as stoutly

will I,

When reeling, I roll on the floor;

Then my legs must be lost, so I'll drink as I lie,

And dare the best Buck, to do more,

My brave boys.

'Tis my will when I die, not a tear shall be shed, No Hic Jacet be cut on my stone;

But pour on my coffin a bottle of red,
And say that his drinking is done,

My brave boys,

THE

TRIO.

Tune. "Ye Fair Possess'd of every Charm.'

WIT, Love, and Reputation, walk'd

One evening out of town,

They sung, they laugh'd, they toy'd, they talk'd,

"Till night came darkling on.

Love wilful, needs would be their guide,

And smiled at loss of day,

On her the kindred pair rely'd,