Vile wretch, thou'rt much too silly for my son, Born on Baotian bogs, away, begone, "Go and reserve the squeezings of thy brains "To brew small beer, and feed the pigs with grains." Abash'd he stood-shame fluster'd him all o'er, And he once blusht, who never blusht before; Fear made him fly, and with amazing art, He took three strides, and jump'd into a cart. PAUL HIFFERMAN. County of Dublin, 1719—1777. Hifferman's parents designed him to be a Popish Priest ; he was sent to France to finish his education, but after remaining there seventeen years, he took a batchelor's degree in physic and returned to Dublin to practise. He left that city in consequence of having unsuccessfully written against Dr. Lucas, and repaired to London to live by his wits. Here he obtained a dirty livelihood by writing pamphlets, levying contributions upon his friends, and extorting money from the actors. An amusing account of this eccentrick and despicable scoundrel, who attracted considerable notice in his day, may be found in the European Magazine. His Miscellanies in Prose and Verse, 1754, entitle him to a place in this series. The Author on himself. THE author, I, to reason's dictates true, No matter what your faith or country be, Our life's so short, for sects why should we justle, Four lustres and one annual orb have run, My travelling, studying, labours, great or small, 'Tis not, I swear, for sordid gain I chuse, Of what I trifle, learn the mighty ends, Perhaps some curious would my person know; I humbly answer, 'tis but so and so; Not over tall, nor despicably low. Black frowning brows my deep-sunk eyes o'ershade, Nothing to do, and learndly idle be: Like to myself to have a Muse-bit friend, His Epitaph. READER, HERE lies the man that to his end, Good Books, good Wine adored, the Fair-Sex and his Friend. THOMAS DENTON. 1777. The pupil of Josiah Relph, and the first editor of his work. The House of Superstition a Vision. WHEN Sleep's all-soothing hand with fetters soft Ties down each sense, and lulls to balmy rest; The internal power, creative Fancy, oft Broods o'er her treasures in the formful breast. Thus when no longer daily cares engage, The busy mind pursues the darling theme; Hence angels whisper'd to the slumbering sage, And gods of old inspired the hero's dream; Hence as I slept, these images arose To Fancy's eye, and join'd, this fairy scene compose. |