A Tanner's Epigram, addressed to a Physician, on his prescribing the Peruvian Bark.
When well, of bark I have my fill,
But that is nothing new;
When sick, then it's my portion still,-
You'll tan me through and through.
Jack Frost, the Bridge builder.
Much had been said, but nothing done,
To build a bridge o'er Raritan;
The Brunswickers asleep had dropt,
And snored till Parker waked them up:
He said he'd build a bridge above them,
And this he'd do because he loved them.
At this they all were much surprised,
They quickly roused and rubbed their eyes,
And said they would not thus be beat;
The bridge should be at French's street.*
Some thought that he meant to destroy
The town, or float it to Amboy;
Whilst others said the man they knew,
He only had himself in view.
Jack Frost, who had as yet been mute,
After they'd had a long dispute,
He interposed, and in one night,
He built a bridge both firm and tight:
To neither party did incline,
He built it at the Town and Mine:
And though some say the stuff is brash,
Yet it is firm, and took no cash;
* Commonly called Albany street.
The Raritan river was froze over very hard in one night.
Tho' built at night, and in bad weather,
Yet it is neatly put together.
This famous builder from the pole,
I like his plan-he takes no toll.
On hearing of Mr. Benjamin Cooper's being married,
at the age of 97, to his sixth wife.
Love's all powerful charms engage
The peasant and the king;
See blooming youth and hoary age,
Own its a pleasant thing.
'Tis true love's fire can't burn so bright
When life's decline appears;
Nor can there e'er be much delight
Enjoy'd at fourscore years.
But still unto life's latest hour,
Love some small charms will have;
And man will own its pleasing pow'r,
Till wedded to his grave!
From envy, hatred and malice, and all uncharitablez ness, good Lord deliver us."
Alas, what havoc have these vices made!
In every clime their dire effects are seen;
In every age the historic page has told,
From Abel's death, down to this present day,
How oft has man, when prompted by those fiends,
Oppress'd fair virtue's sons, e'en caused to bleed-
The blessed Jesus bled at every pore,
When in Gethsemane's garden he was seen;
And when, at last, he bowed his sacred head,
Envy and malice then triumphed aloud,
And cruel Jews, in league with hell, were pleased.
These vices rooted deep in slanderer's hearts,
When they are fully with their venom charged,
So anxious they are oft to give them vent,
That they recoil on their devoted heads.
Where virtue with a pleasing brightness shines,
And in meridian splendour is admired,
Fell envy lurks, full armed with slander's darts,
Oft dressed in smiles, it aims a fatal wound.
Not so we find the poisonous rattlesnake,
For he, more generous far than envious man,
Sounds an alarm before he gives the blow.
Ye, who in defamation take delight,
Let not your blistering tongues be loosed on me;
Deprive me not of my fair reputation:
Rather than that, I'd have you fire my house,
Take every farthing, lop off every limb,
But spare my more than life, spare my good name!
For it's a treasure wedded to my soul,
Of far superior worth to life itself,
Or all the treasures which this world can boast.
The above lines were occasioned by some evil-minded persons having attempted to injure the reputation of an Episcopal Clergyman of an unblemished character.
When it was proposed to have the streets of New-Brunswick paved, there was a party who gave it much opposition, which occasioned the following lines:
To pave, or not to pave, that's the question;
Whether it be better for us to pave,
And by such paving cleanse our dirty streets;
Or still bespattered must we trudge along,
Thro' thick and thin, as we've oft done before;
A poor, deserted town would be excused,
But one fast thriving should not thus appear.
To pave, I know 'twill cost some pounds, but then
Can money e'er be put to better use?
My house, my lot, in value'll be enhanced,.
They'll be worth more 'tis plain, by all the cost;
And I will see and feel its good effects
Throughout my life, whene'er I walk the streets.
It must be so I'll pave-but where's the cash?
Ah there's the rub!-
But not to pave my friends, ah there's the mud!
The want of cash, no doubt, will make some pause,
But they will meet with aid in such a cause;
'Tis not for us to trample in the mire,
Turtles and swine such elements require,
I'm now resolved, and cheerful will unite
To pave our streets, and have some lamps to light,
That I may walk secure by day or night.
July 27th, 1790.
On the Death of Captain William Cook,
When Cook in the Elias* put to sea,
Bound for Jamaica, not eternity,
How bright the prospect which he had in view,
How pleased his vessel was well rigged and new,
With royals set, and every gallant sail,
All spread with joy to court the favoring gale;
Swiftly he sailed upon the foaming main,
With golden dreams, perhaps, of future gain;}
But O! how soon the clearest sky's o'ercast,
One cruel, sudden, unexpected blast,
Laid low his bark, she could not right again;
Her tow'ring masts were buried in the main.
Experienced Cook could not delay his doom,
He quickly sunk into his watery tomb.
He was asleep in hss cabin, when the brig upset,
His crew were saved, and all got safe on shore,
And do with tears their captain's death deplore:
O! when his loved Maria* comes to know
The tragic news, 'twill fill her heart with wo;
May she with Job resign to Him who gave,
Nor sink, o'erwhelmed with sorrow, to the grave
May blest Religion banish all her fears,
Brighten her prospects through this vale of tears,
The widow's God can quickly give relief,
And stop the torrents of impetuous grief.
Alas, how vain is all that earth can give;
Perhaps, when fortune smiles we cease to live.
Just as the morning cloud or early dew,
So transient are the joys which we pursue.
Let's strive the one thing needful to secure,
Then we'll be rich, tho' men should count us poor;
Then we may join the blest on heaven's shore,
Where storms and pain and grief disturb no more.
Oct. 18th, 1790.
On seeing Governor Patterson on board his barge, which was elegantly decorated with laurel, and a variety of the most beautiful flowers; and rowed by twelve men, all dressed in white, July 4th, 1791.
On Raritan's smooth gliding stream we view,
With pleasure view, the man whom we admire,
On this auspicious day, with laurel crowned.
How gracefully the honoured barge moves on;
See Neptune's hardy sons, all clad in white,
Timing their oars to the melodious flutes.
-Not Cleopatra's celebrated barge,
When she, full armed with each bewitching charm,
A tyrant bound in the soft chains of love,
* His wife was then at Shelburn, in-Nova Scotia.
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