NEW YEAR's VERSES, ADDRESSED TO The Customers of the PENNSYLVANIA EVENING POST, by the Printer's Lad who…

Through wet and dry, and heat and cold, By all mischances uncontroul'd, Howe'er the winds blew high or low, Through dirty streets, or streets of snow, I David, with the EVENING POST, Despising darkness, rain and frost, Your doors have 'tended twice a week, Lest you should have the news to seek, And plague your friends for that which we Bestow you for a trifling fee. THUS months run on, and seasons pass'd, The old Year has run out at last; Now once again, as Hermes true, (Prostrate the old Year eighty-two) I come to greet ye with the New: I am a brisk and trusty Lad; The war is long, and times are bad; Not all attempts dame Fortune crowns, On some she smiles, on others frowns, Yet still beneficent to all, Gives each his turn to rise and fall. Though on the land our foes we beat, And forc'd them early to retreat, Drove them from Beersheba to Dan, And made them quit their favourite plan, By sea they still our coasts invade, Distress our shores, obstruct our trade; This hurts us all, it is confest, And Towne and me among the rest. SINCE Fortune then so often wavers, And grants so sparingly her favours, 'Tis in your power, good natur'd friends, For her caprice to make amends, And place us for at least a day Beyond the limits of her sway, Regardless of her whims and fancies, Or whom she humbles or advances. I MIGHT go on, God knows how long, And plague you with my New Year song. Harrass you with unnumber'd rhymes, And moralize upon the Times; Inform you as last year went round That some were hang'd, and some were drown'd; That some grow rich, while others fail, That some are free, and some in jail; Assert that things are scarce and dear, A Shilling for a Quart of Beer:— But what would all our rhymes avail? Our subject is already stale, Our last campaign has nothing done That poets might descant upon, And I have little else to say, Except that time makes haste away, And we are past the New Year's day: As Time his circling path pursues Perhaps I'll bring you better news; Some new disgrace to British fleets, Mishaps, disasters, and defeats; So pray be kind, and I'll be steady, Our Press and Paper always ready, And the EVENING POST advance with vigour 'Till IT and I be something bigger.