on of God, were
vexed by the divell) we be secretly admonished that they which spend
their lives in pleasures and deliciousnesse, such belly-gods as the
world hath many in these daies, that live like swine, shall one day be
made a prey for the divell; for seeing they will not be the temple of
God, and the house of the Holy Ghost, they must of necessitie be the
habitation of the divell. Such swine, sayth one, be they that make
their paradise in this world, and that dissemble their vices, lest
they should bee deprived of their worldly goods.

* * * * *

OLD POETS

* * * * *

[The author of the following stanzas is JOHN BYROM, an ingenious poet,
famous also as the inventor of a System of Stenography. He was born in
1691, and died in 1763. Byrom wrote poetry, or rather verse, with
extraordinary facility. His pastoral, entitled "Colin and Phoebe,"
first published in the "Spectator," when the author was quite young,
has been much admired. As literary curiosities, his poems are too
interesting to be neglected; and their oddity well entitles them to
the room they fill. The following poem is perfectly in the manner of
Elizabeth's age; and we have selected it as a seasonable dish for the
present number--trusting that its rich vein of humour may find a
kindred flow in the hearts of our readers.]

CARELESS CONTENT.

I am content, I do not care,
Wag as it will the world for me;
When fuss and fret was all my fare,
I got no ground as I could see:
So when away my caring went,
I counted cost, and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet:
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.

With good and gentle humour'd hearts,
I choose to chat where'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts:
But if I get among the glum,
I hold my tongue to tell the truth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain;
For Fortune's favour or her frown;
For lack or glut, for loss or gain,
I never dodge, nor up nor down:
But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about with equal trim.

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of ev'ry tide;
If simple sense will not succeed
I make no bustling, but ab