Now thro' the town thus did he drive,
Swifter than chariot wheels,

While many a cur in vain did strive

To reach the horse's heels.

The folks amaz'd, at him did stare,
The wanton boys were glad,

Some swore he follow'd fox or hare,
And some pronounc'd him mad.

Still splash'd he on, thro' thick and thin,
Tho' it must be confess'd,

That what appear❜d above his chin

Seem'd heavier than the rest.

But still he boldly kept his road,
And reach'd another town;

And thro' it manfully he rode,

Before he tumbled down.

Now he, through carelessness or pride,

His mare did never check ;

"Good lack! good lack!' the people cried,

'That boy will break his neck.'

(And now my muse begins to fail, By dwelling on so long a race;

On her if I cannot prevail,

"Twill bring my verse to foul disgrace.

And if she deign not to be kind,

Then I shall have no cause to thank her;

But she'll return, as I've designed

To close this story of our Banker.)

At length from off his mare he fell,
So light his head had grown;
But he escap'd most wondrous well,
He'd not a fractur'd bone.

Gilpin, a man of such renown,

A captain who look'd mighty big, Perform'd a race from town to town; But then he lost his hat and wig.

Our hero met with no such fate, (Although his mare had made a slip,)

But though he rode at such a rate,

Came back and had not lost a scrip.

But started and return'd again,

And manfully perform'd the race, And no misfortune did sustain,

Except some scratches on his face.

Therefore he shall support his claim,

Nor yield to any man in Helston,

Few have acquir'd more lasting fame, Excepting Wellington and Nelson.

THE COBBLERS.

ONE evening passing thro' the street,

I enter'd at an Inn,

Just but my honest host to greet,

And take a sip of gin.

When, lo! beside the kitchen fire

Two drunken Cobblers sat,

Whose awkward ways rais'd my desire

To listen to their chat.

In rhet❜ric vers'd, each had his part

In argument profound,

In science deep, and ev'ry art,

As the lov'd cup went round.

Each such a man for sense and wit,
When either drunk or mellow,

Whom you might call, if you think fit,

A dev'lish clever fellow.

They did not stop,-because these two

Such impudence possess'd,

That both intruding, fain would know, What doctrine I profess'd.

I found the question was not hard,
Yet thought it rather odd;

So very seriously declar'd,

That I believ'd in GOD.

They sneer'd at such an answer given,

And said one will not do,

And that no man could enter Heav'n,

Who had not more than two!

'Tis there we split, my friends! said I,

Then let my Creed alone,

As I do your's, and live and die

As bigots to your own.

Be friends, and let all discord cease;

And now accept this charge,

That you, this night, lie down in peace With all the world at large.

And mind your lasts, you cobbling fools! Your lap-stones, awls, and leather;

And talk but of these useful tools,

When you get drunk together.

TO MR.

TAKE not these humble lines amiss,
Which I in verse have penn'd,

Who would not, in a case like this,

Congratulate a friend?