A SONG of SIMILIES.

I'VE

By the Reverend Dr. BACON.

'VE THOUGHTт; the fair Clarissa cries:
What is it like, Sir?-Like your Eyes.
"Tis like a Chair-'Tis like a Key—
"Tis like a Purge-'Tis like a Flea-

'Tis like a Beggar-like the Sun-
'Tis like the Dutch-'Tis like the Moon-
'Tis like a Kilderkin of Ale-

"Tis like a Doctor-like a Whale.

Why are my Eyes, Sir, like a SWORD? For that's the Thought upon my Word.Ah! witness ev'ry Pang I feel;

The Deaths they give their Likeness tell.

A Sword is like a Chair, you'll find, Becaufe 'tis moft an end behind.

'Tis like a Key, for 'twill undo one;

'Tis like a Purge, for 'twill run through one. 'Tis like a Flea, and Reafon good,

'Tis often drawing human Blood. Why like a Beggar you fhall hear, "Tis often borne before the Mayor.

'Tis

'Tis like the Sun becaufe 'tis gilt,
Befides it travels in a Belt.

'Tis like the Dutch we plainly fee,
Because that State, whenever we
A Push for our own Int'reft make,
Does inftantly our Sides forfake.
The Moon-Why when all's faid and done,
A Sword is very like the Moon:

For if his Majefty, (God blefs him)

When County Sheriff comes t' address him,
Is pleas'd his Favours to bestow

On him before him kneeling low,

This o'er his Shoulders glitters bright,

And gives the Glory to the Knight. [Night] "Tis like a Kilderkin, no Doubt, For 'tis not long in drawing out. 'Tis like a Doctor, for who will Difpute a Doctor's Pow'r to kill? But why a Sword is like a Whale, Is no fuch eafy Thing to tell.

But fince all Swords are Swords, d'ye fee,

Why let it then a Backfword be:

Which, if well us'd, will feldom fail

To raise up fomewhat like a Whale.

H

The S N

SNIP E.

An HUMOUROUS BALLAD.

By the Same.

Tune,-Abbot of Canterbury.

'LL tell you a story, a story that's true,

I'LL

A story that's difmal, and comical too ;

It is of a Friar, who fome people think,

Tho' as fweet as a nut, might have dy'd of a stink.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

This Friar would often go out with his gun,

And tho' no great markfman, he thought himself one; For tho' he for ever was wont to miss aim,

Still fomething but never himself was to blame.

Derry down, &c.

It happen'd young Peter, a friend of the Friar's,
With legs arm'd with leather, for fear of the briars,
Went out with him once, tho' it fignifies not
Where he hired his gun, or who tick'd for the shot.
Derry down, &c.

Away these two trudg'd it, o'er hills and o'er dales,
They popt at the partridges, frighten'd the quails;
But, to tell you the truth, no great mischief was done,
Save spoiling the proverb, as fure as a gun.
Derry down, &c.

But at length a poor Snipe flew direct in the way,
In open defiance, as if he would fay,

"If only the Friar and Peter are there,

"I'll fly where I lift, there's no reason to fear."
Derry down, &c.

Tho' little thought he that his death was fo nigh,
Yet Peter by chance fetch'd him down from on high;
His fhot was ramm'd down with a journal, I wist,
The first Time he charg❜d fo improper with Mist.
Derry down, &c.

Then on both fides the fpeeches began to be made,
As-I beg your acceptance-O! no fir, indeed -
I beg that you would fir,- for both wifely knew,
That one Snipe could ne'er be a fupper for two.
Derry down, &c.

What the Friar declin'd in a moft civil fort,

Peter flipt in his pocket; the de'el take him for't! But were the truth known, 'twould plainly appear, He oft times had found a longer bill there.

Derry down, &c.

Hid in his pocket the Snipe fafely lay,

While a week did pafs over his head, and a day,
Till the ropes for a toast too offenfive were grown,
And were smelt out by ev'ry nose but his own.

The Friar look'd wholesome it must be agreed,
So no one could fay, whence the ftink should proceed;
Where the stink might be laid, tho' no one could fay,
'Tis certain he brought it and took it away.

Derry down, &c.
At fight of the Friar began the perfume,
And scarce he appeared but he scented the room:
Snuff-boxes were held in the highest esteem,
And all the wry Faces were made where he came.
Derry down, &c.

As the place he was in it was call'd this and that;
In his room 'twas a close-ftool, or else a dead rat ;
In the fields where he walk'd for fome carrion 'twas
'Twas a fart at the Angel and pafs'd for a jeft.

[gueft,

Derry down, &c. At length the fufpicion fell thick on poor Tray, Till he took to his heels and with speed ran away; Thought the Friar poor Tray I'll remember thee foon, If I live to grow sweet I'll give thee a bone.

Derry down, &c.

For he knew that poor Tray was moft highly abus'd, And if any, himself, thus deferv'd to be us'd:

For 'twas certainly he, whom elfe could he think;

"Twas certainly he that must make all the ftink.

Derry down, &c.

Se