1796.) 
THE REMONSTRANCE AND PETITION 
OF ROVER,. 
A POOR DOG. 
alee -hearted, four, unpity ing Dent-n-« 
Will thy ftern fpirit ne’er relent ? 
The curfe of man and dog ! 
Tir’d, for a while, with Negro banging, 
Thoud’ft take a turn at fpaniel hanging, 
And flog, and hang, and flog. 
© ! thou haft got a dainty heart ! 
Go to Jack Ketch, and learn his art ; 
Halters are pretty trifles ; 
Learn how to pull a kicking leg, 
. Tuck up a puppy on a peg, 
Or give a hound the ftifles. 
And Ve that heart, which, hard as ftone, 
Felt nothing for poor Mungo’ S$ Moany 
Is grown fo mighty tender, 
That an old wedder cannot bleed, 
But Dent abhors th’ unrighteous deed; 
Of flocks the ftout defender. 
For Lambs are fuch foft paftoral creatures, 
And have fuch dear bewitching features ; 
What mortal can withftand ’em ? 
Tis their white coats this mercy brings, 
Had Nature dy’d them 4/ack, fweet things, 
We might have kill’d at random. 
_ Now, Lambkins, ye may fafely ftray ; 
This pious fhepherd guards your way : 
How jealous for his Mutton ! 
Curfe on the dog who picks a bone. 
Scarcely three fhillings can atone, 
Or fave thy weazand, Glutton. 
When Pitt, to fave thefe harmlefs dears, 
Has pull’d Ais Houfe about our ears, 
Away we-Curs muft fcamper. 
E’en Dafh*, the guard of Holwood geefe, 
Who, like his matter, loves to fleece, 
No more his guts muft pamper. 
Three fhillings for your dog per ann ! 
‘Good matter, fave me—if you can; 
» The threat’ning noofe throw by : 
O think how many thievifh curs, 
~ Though cloth’d, perhaps, in:richer furs, 
Want hanging more than I. 
Ah, let melive !---ndt great the coft ;--- 
If dogs a// die, the State is loft, 
For Pitt mutt have his taxes: 
And fhou’d we flip his fingers thro’, 
From Cats he’ll {queeze a fhilling too, 
To fave from cords and axes. 
Not much of fervice can I boatt ;--- 
Humble, and faithful at my pot; 
Kind fir, then pray relent. 
But if my neck cannot be fpar’d, 
I die,—ye cruel fates, how hard, 
I die by an i/-Deatt. * 

%* Mr. Pitt’s dog. 
+ A fudden ftroke, vulgarly : fuppofed, of 
witchcraft, aud por tentous death, 
MONTHLY Mac. No. HI, 

Original Poetry. 
225 
THE PROSTITUTE. 
AS trav’llers thro’ life’s varied paths we go, 
What fights we pafs of Wis iene and 
woe! 
Ah, deep, and many is the good man’s een 
Over thy hard fuff’rings, poor Humanity. 
What form is that which wanders up and 
down? 
Some poor unfriended orphan of the town ! 
Heavy indeed hath ruthlefs Sorrow preft 
Her cold hand at her miferable breatt ! 
Worn with difeafe, with not a friend to fave, 
Or fhed a tear of pity o’er her grave ; 
The fickly luftre leaves her faded eye ; 
She finks in need, in pain, and infamy ! 
Ah, happy innocent! on whofe chafte cheek 
The fpotlefs rofe of virtue blufhes meek ; 
Come, fhed, in mercy fhed, a filent tear, 
O’er a loft fifter’s folitary bici! 
She might have bloom’d, like thee, in vernal 
life ! 
She might have bloom’d, the fond endearing 
wife— 
The tender daughter! but Want’s chilling dew 
Blafted each {cene Hope’s faithful pencil drew ! 
No anxious friend fat weeping o’er her bed, 
Or afk’d the bleffing on her little head! 
She never knew, tho’? Beauty mark’d her face, 
What beggars woman-kind of every grace ! 
Ne’er clafp’d a mother’s knees with fond delight, 
Or lifp’d to Heaven her pray’r of peace at 
night ! 
Alas ! her helplefs childhood was confign’d, 
To the unfeeling mercy of mankind! 
March 3. L. 
ET tae 
ey) as) Be Ge Ny 
WRITTEN TO DISSUADE A YOUNG LADY 
FROM FREQUENTING THE TOMB OF HER 
DECEASED LOVER. 
Nofires non rumpit funus amores. 
Luc. Phar, lib. 5. 
Neque unquam 
Solvitur in formnos, oculifve aut pectore noctem 
Accpit. Vir. Afn. lib. 4. 
NOW thro’ the dufky air, on leaden wings, 
Sails the fad night, in blackeft clouds array’d. 
Hark ! in the breeze the gathering tempett fings. 
How drear it murmurs in the ruftling fhade j i 
Loud, and more loud, is heard the burfting found 
Of thunder, andthe peal of diftant rain ; 
While lightnings, gliding o’er the wild profound, 
Fire the broad bofom of the dafhing main, 
Now dies the voice of village mirth; no more 
Is feen the friendly lantern’s glimmering 
light ; 
Safe in his cot, the fhepherd bars his door 
On thee, Eliza! and the ftorm of night. 
In yon fequefter’d grove, whofe fullen fhade 
Sighs deeply to the blaft, doft thou remain, 
Still faithful to the fpot where he is laid, 
_ For whom the tears of deaucy flow in yain ! 
G § Ah, 

