Imagens da página


That, reaching o'er thy side, so doleful throw,
The stomach's treasure to the fish below.

'Tis Madam Bacon, proud of wordly goods, Whose first spouse shav'd and bled—drew teeth, made wigs;

Who, having by her tongue destroy'd poor Suds,
Married a wight that educated pigs!

But hark! she speaks! extremely like a man!
Raising a furious tempest with her fan—

'Why, captain, what a beastly ship! Good God!
'Why, captain, this indeed is very odd!
'Why, what a grunting dirty pack of doings!
'For heaven's sake, captain, stop the creatures'
sp gs.'

Now hark! the captain answers—' Mistress Bacon 'I own I can't be with such matters taken;

'I likes not vomitings no more than you; 'But if so be that gentlefolks be sick. 'A woman hath the bowels of Old .Mcfc,

'Poor souls, to bung their mouths—'t were like a Jew.'

Majestic Mistress Bacon speaks agen!—
'Folks have no bus'ness to make others sick:

'I don't know, Mister Captain what you mean
'About your Jews, and bowels of Old Nick:

• If all your cattle will such hubbub keep,

'I know that I shall leave your stinking ship.

'Some folks have dev'lish dainty guts, good lord! 'What bus'ness have such cattle here aboard? 'Such gang indeed to foreign places roam! ''Tis more becoming them to sp-w at home.'

But hark! the captain properly replies—

'Wby, what a breeze is here, G-<1 d-mn my eyes!


'God bless us, Mistress Baci)n! who are you? 'Zounds, Ma'am, I say my passengers shall sp-w.*


(C. I. PITT.)

Once, when monopoly had made

As bad as now the eating trade,

A boy went to a baker's shop,

His knawing appetite to stop:

A loaf for two-pence there demanded,

And down a tiny loaf was handed.

The boy survey'd it round and round,

With many a shrug, and look profound:

At length—' Why, master,' said the wight,

'This loaf is very, very light."

The baker, his complaint to parry,
Replied with look most archly dry,
While quirk conceit sat squinting on his eye—

'Light, boy? then you 've the less to carry."

The boy grinn'd plaudits to his joke,
And on the counter laid down rhino,

With mien, that plainly all but spoke—
'With you I 'll soon be even, I know.'

Then took his loaf, and went his way;
But soon the baker bawl'd him back—
* You 've laid down but three halfpence Jack!
'And two-fence was the loaf's amount.
How 's this, you cheating rascal, hey?'

* Sir,' says the boy, 'you 've less to count .'*

Thus modern wits against each other fight,
In point deficient, and in substance light;
But so profuse and pond'rous are their stores,
To counf or carry, strength and patience bores!




Yotjng Slouch the farmer had a jolly wife,
That knew all the conveniences of life,
Whose diligence and cleanliness supplied
The wit which nature had to him denied:
But then she had a tongue that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made censorious persons of the town
Say, Slouch could hardly call his soul his own;
For, if he went abroad too much, she 'd use
To give him slippers and lock up his shoes.
Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturh'd or contradicted;
Yet still into his story she would break
With—' 'Tis not so ; pray give me leave to speak.'
His friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not diflf'ring much from calling of him fool;
Told him he must exert himself, and be
Jn fact the master of the family.

He said, 'That the next Tuesday noon would shew
* Whether he were the lord at home or no;
.' When their good company he would entreat
'To well-brew'd ale, and clean if homely meat.'

With aching heart home to his wife he goes,
And on his knees does his rash act disclose;
And prays dear Sukey, that one day at least,
He might appear as master of the feast.
'I '11 grant your wish,' cries she, 'that you may see
"T were wisdom to hegovern'd still by me.'

The guests upon the day appointed came,
Each bowsy farmer with hissimp'ring dame.
'Ho, Sue!' cries Slouch, 'why dost not thou ap-
'Are these thy manners when aunt Snap is here?1


'I pardon ask,' says Sue; I 'd not offend 'Any my dear invites, much less his friend.' Slouch by his kinsman Gruffy had been taught To entertain his friends by finding fault, And make the main ingredient of his treat His saying—* There was nothing fit to eat: 'The boil'd pork stinks, the roast beef's notenough,'The bacon 's rusty, and the hens are tough; 'The veal's all rags, the butter 's turned to oil; 'And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil. ''T is we are the first Slouches ever sat

• Down to a pudding without plumbs or fat.

'What teeth or stomach 's strong enough to feed

• Upon a goose my gt-annum kept to breed?

'Why must old pigeons, and they stale be drest, 'When there 's so many squab ones in the nest? 'This beer is sour; 't is musty, thick and Btale, 'And worse than any thing except the ale.'

Sue all this while many excuses made:
Somethings she own'd; at other times she laid
The fault on chance, but oft'ner on the maid.

Then cheese was brought. Says Slouch—' This

e'en shall roll; 'I 'm sure 't is hard enough to make a bowl: 'This is skim-milk, and therefore it shall go; 'And this, because't is Suffolk, follow too.'

But now Sue's patience did begin to waste;

Nor longer could dissimulation last.

'Pray let me rise,' says Sue, . my dear; I '11 find

'A cheese perhaps may be to lovy's mind.'

Then in an entry standing close, where he

Alone, and none of all his friends, might see;

And brandishing a cudgel he had felt,

And far enough on this occasion smelt—

'I 'II try, my joy,' she cried, 'if I can please

My dearest with a taste of hi9 old cheese!'

[ocr errors]

Slouch turn'd his head, saw his wife's vigorous hand
Wielding her oaken sapling of command,
Knew well the twang—' Is 't the old cheese roy~j
dear?' |

'No need, no need of cheese,' cries Slouch

swear, * I think I 've din'd as well as my lord mayor

[ocr errors]



A Stingy fellow, 'tis no matter who,

Had, *oncc upon a time,' some work to do;

He told a man, they called him Sam, 1 think,

That if he 'd do this job, he 'd give him drink,

Such as could tiot in any place be sold,

For it was then exactly ten years old.

The work is done, the miser gives the dram,

'How old do you call dis Massa,' says poor Sam,

'Ten years exactly,'—'Ten years!' in a rage

Says Sam, 'He be damn little of his age.'



A Son of a college for science renowned,
Who long had been reading and reading, and read-
Huge volumes as dry as the deserts of Zaara,
With abstinence much, and little good feeding,
At length became fond of a glass of Madeira,
Beer, brandy, or porter—whatever was found:

One Saturday evening, when socially met
With friends to his liking, caMdA fellows of college,
Each drank off his toast in a bumper of wine
'Till mirth had the better of reason and knowledge:

« AnteriorContinuar »