p .A.PERS OF MmABEAG BuoNAP.ARTE LAMAR
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It matters not how fair a face, Nor what may be your mental grace, Beauty and wit can ne,·er save One victim from the hungry grave, For if they could old Albion's isle Would still be lit with Wortley's smile. And sweetest Shakspeare had not died, But still have sung on Avons tide. Yet there is that which neYer dies; The soul, the pow·r of Time defies, For it in endless youth will bloom Beyond the confines of the tomb, \Vhen Time grown craz'd, himself shall smite, And with his sythe, cut his wind pipe. ·I hnte the fool who always chatters On politics and public matters, 'Who cannot speak, but what he mentions States, Constitutions, nnd Conventions; You must your printer's boy excuse For in this way he lins no newc. 'Tis true that he might something say Of Jackson and Don CalM·a, And scrawl a few sarcastic things On Queens defunct, and drunken Kings, And from this height direct a glance At the affairs of Spain and France, South America, then viewing Tell you what they there are doing, How some for liberty are strugling, Some absconding, and some smugling; But all these things are growing old, They have an hundred times been told, And if you'll search, all public capers You'll find recorded in our papers. Solomon says there's nothing new, And 'pon my word I think so too, For nincompoops to legislate. And asses grow in pow'r and state; For candidates to 'lectioiieere And friends prove base and insincere; For Banks to fail, and Cashiers steal, And officers to serve with. zeal, Their private more than public weal: For the young men at midnight gloom, To roam the streets, when shines no moon, To smoke segars-with drunken head, To reel at one o'clock to bed: For girls of gay fifteen to wear In public, an affected air, And learn at home before the glass Each pretty trick and sweet grimace; All this is nothing new we know, It has been thus for years ago. The world's not altered in its course, Or if it has 'tis for the worse. Still do the rich as heretofore Monopolise the public pow'r; Still bows the merchant like an ape
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To ·sell a pin or bunch of tape, The meager jejune Doctor st[ i] II Gets licens of M. D. to kill, And still the tavern keepers dC>
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