THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

A TALE.

SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Bookworm led a college life;
A fellowship at twenty-five

Made him the happiest man alive:
He drank his glass and crack'd his joke,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,
Could any accident impair?

Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six?
Oh, had the Archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop!
Oh, had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze!
Oh-But let exclamations cease:
Her presence banish'd all his peace.
So with decorum all things carried,
Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then-was married.
Need we expose to vulgar sight

The raptures of the bridal night?
Need we intrude on hallow'd ground,
Or draw the curtains closed around?
Let it suffice that each had charms;
He clasp'd a goddess in his arms;
And though she felt his usage rough,
Yet in a man 'twas well enough.

The honey-moon like lightning flew;
The second brought its transports too;
A third, a fourth, were not amiss;
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss:
But, when a twelvemonth pass'd away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay;
Found half the charms that deck'd her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace;
But still the worst remain'd behind.-
That very face had robb'd her mind.

Skill'd in no other arts was she
But dressing, patching, repartee;
And, just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle.
'Tis true she dress'd with modern grace,-
Half-naked at a ball or race;

But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy nightcaps wrapp'd her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
To be a dull domestic friend?
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing?

In short, by night, 'twas fits or fretting;
By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy
Of powder'd coxcombs at her levy;
The squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations:

Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke
A sigh in suffocating smoke;

While all their hours were pass'd between
Insulting repartee and spleen.

Thus, as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown;

He fancies every vice she shows

Or thins her lip, or points her nose:
Whenever rage or envy rise,

How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes!
He knows not how, but so it is,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz;

And, though her fops are wond'rous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil.

Now, to perplex the ravell'd noose,
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for life,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty's transient flower,-
Lo! the small-pox, with horrid glare,
Levell'd its terrors at the fair;
And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face.

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright;
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes;

The squire himself was seen to yield,
And ev'n the captain quit the field.

Poor madam, now condemn'd to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old :
With modesty her cheeks are dyed;
Humility displaces pride;
For tawdry finery is seen
A person ever neatly clean;
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day;
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

THE GIFT.

TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH.

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual offering shall I make
Expressive of my duty?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift, who slights the giver?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give and let 'em;
If gems or gold impart a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.

I'll give but not the full-blown rose,
Or rose-bud more in fashion:
Such short-lived off'rings but disclose
A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,`
Not less sincere than civil,-

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid !—
I'll give thee to the Devil.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS,

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[The following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days; and may therefore rather be considered as an industrious effort of gratitude than of genius. In justice to the composer it may likewise be right to inform the public that the music was composed in a period of time equally short.]

OVERTURE.—A solemn Dirge.

Air-Trio.

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,
And waken every note of woe!
When truth and virtue reach the skies,
"Tis ours to weep the want below.

CHORUS

When truth and virtue, &c.

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and power,
The incense given to Kings,

Are but the trappings of an hour

Mere transitory things:

The base bestow them; but the good agree

To spurn the venal gifts as flattery.

But when to pomp and power are join'd

An equal dignity of mind;

When titles are the smallest claim;

When wealth, and rank, and noble blood,

But aid the power of doing good ;

Then all their trophies last-and flattery turns to fame.