Here I was, my good masters, my name's Teddy Clinch,
My cattle are sound, and I drives to an inch;
From Hyde Park to White Chapel I well know the town,
And many's the time I've took up and set down:
In short, in the bills I'll be bound for't there's not
A young youth who, like Teddy, can tip the long trot.

II.

Oh the notions of life that I see from my box,
While faces of all kinds come about me in flocks:
The sot whom I drive home to sleep out the day,
The kind one who plies for a fare at the play;

I.

   See Jesus in a manger lies!
 Archangels gaze with sweet surprize,
  At their Creator's mortal birth;
 Hark! hark! the heav'nly arches ring,
When GOD their King, when GOD their King
  Appears among the sons of earth.

II.

 Angels descend, with joy proclaim
  To mortals his incarnate name,
And bids the world forget their fear;
 Lift up your eyes, O Adam's race,
  An act of grace, an act of grace
 By Jesus comes, O sinners hear.

III.

  Sinners behold your only friend,

When we are asleep, at rest and asleep,
Where do our thoughts and wishes keep?
Where is memory's dreaming-bed,
And where does love lay down her head,
And hope, and happiness, and sorrow?
Where do they go until to-morrow?
Do they sleep? Do they rest?
O crowding knowledge, close compressed
In the many-folded brain,
What ghostly bound, what exquisite chain
Holds you and binds you in till day?
Binds you fast, lest you drift away.

I leave thee, love! In vain hast thou
 The God of life implored;
My clinging soul is torn from thine,
 My faithful, my adored!
My last gift,—I have on it breathed
 In blessing and in prayer;
So lay it close, close to thy heart,
 This little lock of hair!

I know thou wilt think tenderly
 And lovingly on me,
Thou wilt forget my waywardness,
 When I am gone from thee;
Thou wilt remember all my love,
 Which made thee think me fair;
Thou wilt with many tears be-gem
 This little lock of hair!

I.

  A GOD omnipotent I own,
   Eternal things allow;
But what of GOD have I e'er known?
 Or how's my standing now?

II.

I say that Christ for sinners died,
  And that a truth may be;
 But if not to my soul apply'd
   'Tis not a truth to me.

III.

I say he gives his people rest,
 And gives them life divine;
But if this life I ne'er possess,
 How is the blessing mine?

IV.

 I talk of everlasting death,
 And thousands of despair,
And do not know but the next breath,

YOU 've seen the Play — and I'll unfold the P OET ,
To whom (stray'd sheep of a pure flock ) we owe it,
He's a chance blessing — somewhat strangely flung us!
Dropt, from the clouds of innocence , among us!
Slipt through the K IRKS loose pale, we gave him quarter;
Poor soul! he had like to've been the muse's Martyr:
When stage-plays! and abominations! took him,
Grace , and the shepherds of the S AINTS forsook him.
'Twas given thenceforth, to S ATAN'S power, to win him;
— The root of the sound matter was not in him.

That Macro's looks are good let no man doubt,
Which I, his friend and servant — thus make out:
In ev'ry line of his perfidious face
The secret malice of his heart we trace;
So fair the warning, and so plainly writ,
Let none condemn the light that shows a pit.
Cocles, whose face finds credit for his heart,
Who can escape so smooth a villain's art?
Adorn'd with ev'ry grace that can persuade,
Seeing we trust, tho' sure to be betray'd:
His looks are snares, but Macro's cry Beware;
Believe not tho' ten thousand oaths he swear.

Here sleeps in peace, beneath this rustic vase,
The tenderest lover a husband could prove;
Of all this distress, alas! I am the cause,
So much I ador'd him, heaven envied my love.

The sighs I respire ev'ry morn I arise,
The misery I cherish, the grief, and the pain,
The thousand of tears that fall from my eyes,
Are all the sad comforts for me that remain.

II.

When, his colours display'd, honour call'd him to arms,
By tender persuasions I kept him away,

A Mother drives a mother from her home!
With tears the patriarch sees that dawning day;
With tears the child receives an outcast's doom;
With tears his mother leads him far away!

The desert welcomes those by men outcast;
The desert sees her want and hears her cry,
" Beneath this parched shade, rest, child, thy last!
Let not thy mother see her darling die! "

Tears are but dew-drops at gray morning-tide,
And God has beams of love to dry them all;
Deserts are wide, but his reign far more wide

Now rest for the wretched. The long day is past,
And night on yon prison descendeth at last.
Now lock up and bolt. — Ha, jailer! look there!
Who flies like a wild-bird escaped from the snare?
A woman, — a slave! Up! out in pursuit,
While linger some gleams of the day!
Ho! rally thy hunters, with halloo and shout,
To chase down the game, — and away!

A bold race for freedom! — On, fugitive, on!