ONCE more the humble carrier of your news,
Opens the eye-lids of his sleeping Muse:
Long has she sat, and nodded, dreamt and snor'd,
Resolv'd to havce her empty noodle stor'd;
For well she dreamt New-Year would come again,
When News Boy's hope - a BOUNTY to obtain.
The time is come - but first, Sirs, let me see
How matters stand betwixt my Muse and me.
Thank God we're friends; but yet she's plaguy dull
MY PURSE IS EMPTY, but her brain is full
Of might wonders, dark mysterious schemes,
That Clothe whispers to my Muse in dreams;
No trifling tit-bits to delude the pen,
But solid pudding - cut and come again.
Believe me, Sirs, its you shall have the news,
Red hot and glowing from my dreaming Muse;
Th' ensuing year I'll spin the wondrous tale,
And not a single word from you my friends conceal.
From Destiny's black margin you shall hear
The lot of Prussia, and brave Dumeurier;
The schemes of Austria, Brunswick's grand defeat,
The broils of Britain, and the Turk's retreat.
The cream of foreign news, each worthy line
Shall in the (New-York) WEEKLY MUSEUM shine.
Sometimes to change the scene, I'll pen a ditty,
Or shew the wond'rous works display'd in our city;
The far fetch'd schemes, what various plans are laid;
Th' intricate views in speculating trade:
How some who meanly from the dunghill rose,
By mighty SCRIPT - strut in embroider'd clothes;
Others to birth and honour make pretnesions,
Who owe their rise to pimping, bribes and pensions.
Such sweet variety our weekly poage shall grace,
To spread good homour o'er each readers face;
Weekly I'll tell how often Strephon dies,
Shot by the darts from fair Lucinda's eyes;
Deaths, births and weddings, shall recorded stand,
And every little good thing comes to hand.
Columbia's friend, the Moralist, Reformer,
Shall have their due, - each one shall have his corner.
What's good, - what's witty, wonderful and true,
With care I'll print, and dedicate to you:
For you, my patrons, morning, noon and night,
To please shall be my study and delight;
To please you is my choice, my pleasing talk,
That I may freely CUSTOM's BOUNTY ask.
Custom the News Boy's Bounty pleads with freedom,
And Holidays convince the world - we need 'em:
Without which, how could I the year begin,
With EMPTY PURSE, - my brain's not worth a pin?
With empty brain, how shall my Muse relate
The promis'd wonders from the book of Fate?
Therefore to cheer my heart, your mite bestow,
Let not your News Boy EMPTY HANDED go:
Tho' small the sum you'd please for to present,
I'll gladly take, with due acknowledgment;
And for the same, kind Heaven I will implore,
With Wealth in plenty to increase your store;
While I remain, with bows and nods most fervent,
My Patronts most obsequous
THE NEWS BOY.
NEW-YORK, January 1, 1793.