Thus have I seen a child, with smiling face,
A little daisy in the garden place,
And strut in triumph round its fav'rite flow'r;
Gaze on the leaves with infant admiration,
Thinking the flow'r the finest in the nation,
Then pay a visit to it ev'ry hour:
Lugging the wat'ring-pot about,
Which John the gard'ner was oblig'd to fill;
The child, so pleas'd, would pour the water out,
To show its marvelous gard'ning skill;
Then staring round, all wild for praises panting,
Tell all the world it was its own sweet planting;
And boast away, too happy elf,
How that it found the daisy all itself!
ANOTHER ON THE SAME.
In SIMILE if I may shine agen-
Thus have I seen a fond old hen
With one poor miserable chick,
Bustling about a farmer's yard;
Now on the dunghill laboring hard,
Scraping away through thin and thick,
Flutt'ring her feathers—making such a noise!
Cackling aloud such quantities of joys,
As if this chick, to which her egg gave birth,
Was born to deal prodigious knocks,
To shine the Broughton of game cocks,
And kill the fowls of all the earth!
EPITAPH ON PETER STAGGS.
Poor Peter Staggs, now rests beneath this rail,
Who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale;
For twenty years he did the duties well,
Of ostler, boots, and waiter at the "Bell."
But Death stepp'd in, and order'd Peter Staggs
To feed his worms, and leave the farmers' nags.
The church clock struck one—alas! 't was Peter's knell,
Who sigh'd, "I'm coming—that's the ostler's bell!"
TRAY'S EPITAPH.
Here rest the relics of a friend below,
Blest with more sense than half the folks I know:
Fond of his ease, and to no parties prone,
He damn'd no sect, but calmly gnaw'd his bone;
Perform'd his functions well in ev'ry way-
Blush, CHRISTIANS, if you can, and copy Tray.
ON A STONE THROWN AT A VERY GREAT MAN, BUT WHICH MISSED HIM.
Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head
From a flint so unluckily thrown-
I think very different, with thousands indeed,
'T was a lucky escape for the stone.