THE GATHERER.
Reading edition
"A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles."
SHAKSPEARE.
TOAST.
The Parting toast at one of the old gaming-houses in Marybone was "May as many of us as remain unhanged next spring, meet here again."
EPIGRAM
Translated from the French of Mr. Patris, who composed it a few days before his death. By J.C.
Last night I dreamt that worn away With sickness, I was dead, And that my carcass, cheek by jowl, Was by a poor man's laid. My stomach rose, methought, to see The wretch so near me lie, And straight his sauciness I chid, Like corpse of quality. Scoundrel, cried I, move farther off, And give your betters room, Avaunt, you scrub, and rot elsewhere, Foh! how you stink and fume. Scrub! quoth the saucy dog, that's well, Pray who's more scrub than you? Bethink you, Mr., where you are, And do not rant it so. Hither on equal terms all come, Here's neither rich nor poor, My muck's my own, and be assur'd, That your's can be no more.
SONG.
Oh, yes! I always dream of her, But never breathe her name; Her spirit always dwells with me, By night, by day the same! The cheerful smile no more is mine; I sorrow and regret; I strive in vain to banish love, But still I can't forget. My friends may try to rally me, And chase my grief away; I smile in sadness while they laugh, But heed not what they say. They must not know how deep I love, Nor win my secret yet; And when I smile amid the scene, 'Tis not that I forget. [pg 304] My lips can never break the spell; Her name is buried here! And yet perchance she may bedew My coffin with a tear! But if in climes away from her The sun of life should set, Her name will quiver on my lip, When I the world forget.
Z.
EPITAPH IN AWLISCOMBE CHURCHYARD, DEVONSHIRE.
Here lie the remains of James Pady, brickmaker, late of this parish, in hopes that his clay will be remoulded in a workmanlike manner, far superior to his former perishable materials. Keep death and judgment always in your eye, Or else the devil off with you will fly, And in his kiln with brimstone ever fry. If you neglect the narrow road to seek, Christ will reject you like a half-burnt brick.
Awliscombe.
J.S.
In the sea-fight off Minorca, in 1756, a gunner had his right hand shot off, just as he was going to fire off a gun. The brave fellow took up the match, saying, quite unconcernedly, "So then you thought that I had but one arm."
FLOWERS.
With each expanding flower we find Some pleasing sentiment combin'd; Love in the myrtle bloom is seen, Remembrance to the violet clings, Peace brightens in the olive green, Hope from the half-closed iris springs, Victory from the laurel grows, And woman blushes in the rose.
GOOD MORROW, A SONG.
Fly, night, away! And welcome day! With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft, Sunshine aloft, To give my love good morrow! Wings from the wind To please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Lark, stretch thy wing, And tow'ring sing, To give my love good morrow! Ye violets blue, Sweet drops of dew, That shine in every furrow, Fresh odours fling On zephyr's wing, To give my love good morrow! Bright Venus, spare Awhile thy car, Thy Cupid, dove, and sparrow, To waft my fair, Like my own star, To give the world good morrow!
G.R.
The great Duke of Marlborough, who was, perhaps, the most accomplished gentleman of his age, would never suffer any approaches to obscenity in his presence; and it was said, by Lord Cobham, that he did not reprove it as an immorality in the speaker, but resented it as an indignity to himself; and it is evident, that to speak evil of the absent, to utter lewdness, blasphemy, or treason, must degrade not only him who speaks, but those who hear; for surely that dignity of character, which a man ought always to sustain, is in danger, when he is made the confidant of treachery, detraction, impiety, or lust; for he who in conversation displays his own vices, imputes them; as he who boasts of a robbery to another, presupposes that he is a thief.—Hawkesworth.
Silence in love bewrays more woe Than words, tho' ne'er so witty; A beggar that is dumb, you know, May challenge double pity.
Sir W. Raleigh.
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