_She._--Yet if you should be cast away,
Without a cloak, or victual,
Remember me, a little, pray,
You'd better pray a little.

But tho' you wish us now to splice,
Our hands--your love won't hold,
For when you get among the ice,
I'm sure you will grow cold.

I have your money--here's a kiss,
I will be true to you,
But one word more, "adieu" it is,
Cries Jack, it is a do. MAY.

* * * * *


BARDS, OR POETS OF THE ANCIENT BRITONS.

(_For the Mirror._)


Hail! to the Bards, who sweetly sung
The praises of dead peers
In lofty strains, thus to prolong
Their fame for many years. LUCAN.

This sect appears to have descended from _Bardus_, son of _Druis_, king