FACE BoP MR [507 
Scream’d as the tempest shook her secret nest. 
He, silent, led her en, and often paus’d 
And pointed, that her eye might contemplate 
At leisure the drear scene. 
THE SORROWS OF SUNDAY; an Exzecy. 
From the Royal Tour, or Weymouth Amusement. By Peter Pindar; Esq. 
The intended Annihilatisn of Suvday’s armless Amusement, by three or 
Jour mast cutrageously zealous Members of Parliament, gave birth ts the 
following Elegy pe The Hint is borrowed froma sonal compasitioe intituled 
& The Tears of Old May-Day.”’ 
ILD was the breath of morn: the blushing sky 
Receiv’d the lusty youth with golden hair, 
Rejoicing in his race, to run, to fly ; 
As Scripture says, ‘‘ a bridegroom débonnaire ;”” 
When, full of tears, the decent Sunday rose, 
And wonder’d sad on Kensington’s fair green : 
Down in a chair she sunk with all her woes, 
And touch’d with tenderest sympathy, the scene. 
«© O hard Sir Richard Hill!’’ exclaim’d the dame ; 
© Sir William Dolben, cruel man!’? quoth she ; 
s¢ And Mr. Wilberforce, for shame! for shame ! 
To spoil my little weekly jubilee. 
s¢ Ah! pleas’d am I the humble folk to view ; 
Enjoying harmless talk, and sport, and jest ; 
Amid these walks their footsteps to pursue, 
Tosce them smiling, and so trimly drest. 
© Since the Lord rested on the seventh day, 
Which sheweth that Omnipotence was tir’d; 
As Moses, in old times, was pleas’d to say, 
(And Moses was most certainly inspir’d ;) 
6€ Why should not man too rest ?”? * No!’ cries Sir Dick ; 
€ At brother Rowland’s let him knock his knees, 
Pray, sweat, and groan; of this damn’d world be dick j 
Of mangy morals crack the lice and fleas ; 
* Break Sin’s vile bones—pull Satan by the nose ; 
Scrub, with the soap and sand of Grace, the soul : 
Give unbelief, the wretch, a rat’s-bane dose ; 
And stop, ‘with malkins of rich Faith, each hole. 
€ Spit in foul Drunkenness’s beastly mug ; 
Kill, with sharp prayers, each offspring of the Devil ; 
‘Give to black blasphemy a Cornish hug ; 
And box, with bats of Grace, the ears of Evil. si 
Susan, the constant slave to mop and broom ; 
And Marian, to the spit’s and kettle’s art ; 
Ah! 
