IN THE ODDITIES .

Sure sent the world a masquerade,
Wid shrugs and queer grimaces,
Where all mankind a roaring trade
Drive underneath bare faces?

Pray don't the lover, let me ask,
Hid by a fascine battery,
Steal hearts away? and what's his mask?
To be sure it is not flattery.

Then join the general masquerade,
That men and manners traces,
To be sure the best masks dat are made

CANTO II.

Now reader, be patient the while
That your musical maker of metre
May set forth the graces in style
Of Tabitha Towzer's friend Peter.

He's tall; like swamp cedar, I ween,
But shrub-oak was never so nurly:
Like crab-apple juice was his mien,
And they christened him Peter the Surly.

He went every winter to school,
But wrought on a farm in the summer;
Was not very far from a fool,

Bright and majestic spirit! faithful mate
Of all true virtue, and that generous fame
Which guards a spotless, seeks a glorious name
From love, not pride; but seeks, content to wait,
And prompt to share it — Angel of the State!
Sanctioning order with religious awe;
Taking the harshness and the sting from law,
Scorn from the lowly, envy from the great —
Come to this region of thine ancient sway!
With thine heroic and inspiring smile
Illume our perils and our fears beguile!
Was it not here that Alfred built his throne,

What is it makes a nation truly great?
Her sons, her sons alone; not theirs, but they
Glory and gold are vile as wind and clay
Unless the hands that grasp them, consecrate.
And what is that in man by which a State
Is clad in splendour like the noontide day?
Virtue: Dominion ebbs, and Arts betray;
Virtue alone endures. But what is that
Which Virtue's self doth rest on; that which yields her
Light for her feet, and daily, heavenly bread;
Which from demoniac pride and madness shields her,
And storms that most assail the loftiest head?

IN THE ODDITIES .

Of the ancients is't speaking my soul you'd be after,
That they never got how come you so?
Would you sariously make the good folks die with laughter?
To be sure their dogs tricks we don't know.

Wid your smalliliow nonsense, and all your queer bodderns,
Since whisky's a liquor divine,
To be sure the old ancients, as well as the moderns,
Did not love a fly sup of good wine.

My muse so sweet,
A song complete,
Bid echo sound symphonious;
And trill away
A melting lay
Which rival may
The kissing Bonefonius;

My passion's hot
As pepper-pot,
Or brandy mix'd with ginger!
The ardent fire
Of my desire,
Should I come nigh her
I really think would singe her!

My little love!
My duck! my dove!
Yield! yield to my caresses!
O let me glue
My lips to you
Till black and blue,
With rapture's sweet excesses!

While gods look down,
With envy frown,

Edgar Allan Poe
Was passionately fond of roe.
He always liked to chew some
When writing anything gruesome.

EPISTLE EXCUSATORY,

ADDRESSED TO JOSEPH DENNIE, ESQ. EDITOR OF THE PORT FOLIO, AS
AN APOLOGY FOR NOT MORE FREQUENTLY WRITING FOR HIS
POETICAL DEPARTMENT.


Since Simon's muse no longer chatters
Of politicks and other matters,
The anxious publick wish to know
Whether the bard, to shades below,
Has hied with jacobin commission
To raise a mob, in fields Elysian,
Or gone to organize a club
Of demos, under Beelzebub.

Some knowing ones presume to say

IN THE ODDITIES .

Resplendent gleam'd the ample moon,
Reflected on the glitt'ring lee,
The bell proclaim'd night's awful noon,
And scarce a ripple shook the sea,
When thus, for sailors, nature's care,
What education has denied,
Are of strong sense, a bounteous share,

IN THE ODDITIES .

Abergavney is fine, Aberistwith also,
And the lasses it is fine when to market they go;
The birds and the pretty finches sing fine in the grove,
But the finest bird of all is that little rogue luff.

Luff me I pray you now, luff me as your life,
And Taffy and Griddy shall soon be man and wife.

II.

The mountains are high, and the fallies are low,
And from Radnor to Glamorgan's a long fay to co;