The Stationers Company, in Goldsmith's Almanack for this year, having made the Sun set one hour sooner than he has been in the habit of doing, since the 1st of January, occasioned the following

EPIGRAMS.

[From the General Evening Post, Jan. 30]

Y E nice calculators, pray what have we done,

To be cribh'd of our legal allowance of sun Have we, or has he, your sage noddles offended, That we must be punish'd, or he must be mended ? Or think ye we have such abundance of heat, That ye make a curtailment by way of a treat? Poor Sol! while thy rays might with pleasure be sled, The Stationers Company-send thee to bed.

GALILEO, JUR.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Feb. 1.]

WHILE Ministers contrive to blind
John Bull-that helpless being-

The Stationers put out the sun,
Since nothing's left worth seeing.

PUN

BLINKUM.

ON THE LATE ORDER IN COUNCIL, THAT "NO FLAG OF TRUCE FROM FRANCE SHALL IN FUTURE SUFFERED TO LAND A MESSENGER AT DEAL."

BE

THOUGH the French think the game they can win at

their ease,

And to former successes appeal;

Yet the cards let them shuffle and cut as they please,

They shall not be admitted to Deal!

IV'oburn.

P.

ON

ON THE SHUTTING UP OF SERGEANTS' INN

CHAPEL.

[From the same.]

UR old-fashion'd Judges, who, like other men,

OUR

Had sins to deplore, said their prayers now and then; Nay a chapel they open'd, where each in his pew Heard their preachers expound, and then paid them their due. But our new-fashion'd Judges, in law and decorum So superior to all that wore ermine before 'em, Are so much more religious to boot, 't is agreed They 've no sins to deplore, and no orisons need. Let barristers kneel down and plead for their souls, At Lincoln's Inn Chapel, or that of the Rolls; But their Lordships maintain, 't is sufficient for them, To pray for the souls of the rogues they condemn: And since none of those whom they zealously strive To commend in their prayers, ever afterwards thrive, To pray for themselves they discreetly forbear, And have piously shut up their own house of prayer. Thus Pug, when the Cat's paw had burnt to the bone, Ate his chesnuts, but sing'd not a hair of his own.

IMPROMPTU

1

ONGA' LATE SENATORIAL SERMON BY A NEW-MADE

BISHOP.

[From the Oracle:]

TWAS well enough that Goodenough
Before the House should preach;

For sure enough full bad enough

Are those he had to teach!

ON READING THE ORDER FOR A FAST DAY. [From the Morning Post.]

WHILE taxes are so very high,

And seem so long to last;

Methinks 't is needless to apply.
The order for a fast.

Lath Rd.

V

I AND

I AND THE EMPEROR!
[From the Morning Herald, Feb. 13.]

AS arm in arm we friendly walk'd,
And on war-matters freely talk'd,
The Emp'ror said to me,

My Lord, since Nap we cannot beat,
Though you are come, we ought to treat,
I think, for amity."

Says I, "Imperial Sire, we ought:
The wisdom of so bright a thought
What statesman dare deny?

Your thoughts and words mine shall obey,
So every thing you think and say,

That think, and that say I!"

THEATRICAL EXTRAORDINARY.
[From the Morning Post, Feb. 15.]

NIM

IT was at first supposed that the Court of Portugal intended to get up Two Faces under a Hood; however, by particular desire, they were induced to change it for the Regent; the English Fleet next appeared with universal applause; this was followed by the Tempest; and it is expected the season will close with Abroad and at Home. They now intend to perform on a new theatre; as the old one, where they were only tenants at will, has been taken over their heads, by a grasping manager, who has contrived to get possession of most of the country theatres; here, however, as all the scenery and decorations are removed, he finds nothing but empty benches,

THE MEN OF TALENT.

[From the Morning Post, Feb. 18.]

"TIS said by those who knew the matter,
Ere men or monkies 'gan to chatter,
There was (but where I cannot trace)
One vast vacuity of space;

A gloomy

A gloomy gulf ungirt with coast,
Confusion

Where Damel'd the roast,

With sway as absolute and strong
As Kouli Khan or Kien Long:
In that dark age, 't is boldly stated,
Blank Chaos with old Night was mated,
And Anarchy and Ruin rose
The offspring of the bridal throes,
Thus, (to exert that ancient charter
Which bards should never sell or barter,)
To show, by simile complete,

How little things may ape the great;
When, lately palm'd upon the nation,
Fell Talent held th' Administration,
In mental clouds the demon flounder'd,
As ships in fogs are often founder'd;
Whilst empty Dulness o'er the brain
Spread unoppos'd a dismal reign.

This demon Talent was the same
That erst had own'd another name;~
But Fame (who will sometimes miscarry).
Was brib'd the ancient term to vary;
And Ignorance, in borrow'd plumes,
Fair Talent's name and garb assumes.
Yet, think it not mal-apropos,
That Talent should be cheated so;
For slight reflection will proclaim
The justice, though unmeant, of Fame,
Who, by just metaphoric rule
Drawn from the cranium of a fool,
Had giv'n to Dulness but her due,
And nam'd her, to her nature true;
For who will not in Talent find
The semblance of a heavy mind?
A Talent was a weight, 't is said,
And ten to one 't was made of lead;
Which makes our simile the better,
And takes away the Muse's fetter,
And proves, (nor Euclid could more plain,)
That Talent brooding o'er the brain,

I 4

Is but in other words to say,

That weighty Dulness bears the sway.
And who that recollects the time
When this said demon rul'd our clime,
Knows not what care was had to state,
That she was both of rank and weight?
Which was but honestly to own,
What by my simile I've shown.

WHEN Charles, of talents great and true,

Harangued in manly strains;

No paper-arguments he drew

But drew upon his brains.

But Foxites now for fire give 'smoke,

And constant bawl for

papers;

While W-nd-m strives to eut joke,

And P-tt-y's" cutting capers."

These paper-orators, in fine,

How fallen their condition!

Have dubb'd themselves, at Laughter's shrine,

Apaper-opposition.

PUNCTUM SALIENG

THE PAPER MANIA.

ADDRESS OF OFFICIAL CLERKS TO "THE TALENTS."

[From the same, Feb. 20.]

WHEN will your Honours give us rest?
For though we write,
Morn, noon, and night,

Mountains of papers you request:

"Toil and trouble,

Boil and bubble"

Oh! were your Honours 'mong the blest!

Remember,