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They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts;
His acts being seven ages. First the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel ;
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth! And then the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd! a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound! Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing!

Shakspeare.

The Chameleon.

OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly serv'd at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post;
Yet round the world the blade had been
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finish'd tour,

Grown ten times perter than before ;
D d

Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will stop
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,
I've seen, and sure I ought to know”.

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So begs you'd pay a due submission, ti boats mi
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this and then of that,

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Discours'd a while, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature. bea
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never liv'd beneath the sun!
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its tooth with triple claw disjoin'd;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"

"Hold there, the other quick replies,
'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes;
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen, it, Sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue.
At leisure I the beast survey'd,
Extended in the cooling shade.'

"Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I assure ye", "Green! cries the other in a fury— Why, Sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes;" " "Twere no great loss, the friend replies, For, if they always serve you thus, You'll find 'em but of little use!" at So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows When luckily came by a thirdTo him the question they referrid And begg'd he'd tell 'em if he knew,

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Whether the thing was green or blue, so s

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"Sirs!" cries the umpire," cease your pother, The creature's neither one nor t'other, I caught the animal last night, And view'd it o'er by candle light: I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet→→→ You stare!-but, Sirs, I've got it yet, And can produce it." Pray, Sir, do I'll lay my life the thing is blue." . "And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well, then, at once to end the doubt," Replies the man, « I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." He said; then full before their sight Produc'd the beast, and lo-'twas white !

Merrick.

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Lodgings for Single Gentlemen.

WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen " Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face: Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,

Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hir'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appear'd like a tun ;-
Or like two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated:
But all the night long he felt fever'd and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.-

Next night, 'twas the same!—and the next !—and the

next!

He perspir'd like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd;

Week pass'd after week, till, by weekly succession, His weakly condition was past all expression.

THE THESE pl zoa In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt

him;

For his skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him! So he sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, "I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea."

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The Doctor look'd wise:-" A slow fever," he said:
Prescrib'd sudorifics-and going to bed.-
"Sudorifics in bed!" exclaim'd Will," are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

Will kick'd out the Doctor:-but, when ill, indeed,
E'en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host, he said-" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago?

"Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will, with grin,

"That with honest intentions you first took me in: But from the first night-and to say it I'm boldI've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold !”

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Quoth the landlord, Till now, I ne'er had a dispute;

I've let lodgings ten years,-I'm a baker to boot;
In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately over my oven."

"The oven!!!"—says Will ;-says the host,"

this passion?

Why

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion! Why so crusty, good Sir?"" Zounds!" cried Will in a taking,

"Who would not be crusty, with half a year's bak ing?"

Will paid for his rooms;-cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half-a-year,"

"Friend, we can't well agree;-yet no quarrel”Will said;

"But I'd rather not perish, while you make your

bread."

Colman.

Toby Tosspot.

ALAS! what pity 'tis that regularity
Like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity.
But there are swilling wights in London town,
Term'd-Jolly dogs-Choice spirits-alias swine,
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.

These spendthrifts, who life's pleasure thus run on,
Dozing with headachs till the afternoon,
Lose half men's regular estate of sun,

By borrowing too largely of the moon.

One of this kidney,-Toby Tosspot hight-
Was coming from the Bedford, late at night:
And being Bacchi plenus,-full of wine,
Although he had a tolerable notion,
Of aiming at progressive motion,

'Twas'nt direct

'twas serpentine.

He work'd with sinuosities along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork.

At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate,

When reading, "Please to ring the bell,"

And being civil beyond measure,
"Ring it!" says Toby-" very well;
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure."

Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk that almost jerk'd it down

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