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“In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; “And your bed is immediately—over my Oven.”

“The Oven!!!" says Will—-says the host, ' Why this passion? * In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. “Why so crusty good sir?”—“ Zounds’ cries Will in a taking, “Who would't be crusty, with half a years baking?'

WILL paid for his rooms; cried the host with a sneer

“Well. I see you’ve been going away half a year,

* Friend, we can’t well agree’— yet no quarrel"— Will said:

“But I’d rather not perish, while you make your bread.”

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A LoNDoN tailor. as 'tis said,
By buckram, canvas, tape and thread,
Sleeve-linings, pockets, silk and twist,
And all the long expensive list.
With which their uncouth bills abound.
Tho' rarely in the garment found ;
By these and other arts in trade,
Had soon a pretty fortune made ; .
And did what few had ever done,
Left thirty thousand to his son.

The son, a gay, young swagg’ring blade,
Abhorr'd the very name of trade,
And lest reflection should be thrown .
On him resolved to quit the town, }
And travel where he was not known.
In gilded coach and liv'ries gay,
To Oxford first he took his way ;


There beaux and belles his taste admire,
His equipage and rich attire :
But nothing as so much ador’d
As his fine silver-hilted sword ;
Tho' short and small, 'twas vastly meat,
The sight was deem’d a perfect treat.
Beau Ganter begg'd to have a look,
But when the sword in hand he took,
He swore by G-d it was an odd thing,
And look’d much like a tailor's bodkin.
His pride was hurt by this expression,
Thinking they knew his sires profession;
Sheathing his sword he sneak’d away,
And drove for Glo'ster that same day.
There soon he found new cause for grief,
For dining off some fine roast beef,
One ask'd him which he did prefer,
Some cabbage or a cucumber?
The purse-proud coxcomb took the hint,
Thought it severe reflection meant;
His stomach turn’d he could not eat,
So made an ungenteel retreat ;
Next day left Glo'ster in great wrath,
And bade his coachman drive to Bath.
There he suspected fresh abuse,
Because the dinner was roast goose,
And that he might no more be jeer'd
Next day to Exeter he steer’d,
There with some bucks he drank about,
Until he fear'd they found him out ;
His glass not full, as was the rule,
They said 'twas not a thimble full ;
The name of thimble was enough,
He paid his reck’ning and went off.
He then to Plymouth took a trip, *
And put up at the Royal Ship, }
Which then was kept by Caleb Snip.


‘Snip, Snip,” the host was often call’d,
At which his guest was so much gall’d,
That soon to Cambridge he removed,
There too he unsuccessful prov’d:
For tho’ he fill’d his glass or cup,
He did not always drink it up:
The scholars mark’d how he behav’d,
And said a remnant sha’nt be sav’d:
The name of remnant gall'd him so
That he resolv'd to York he'd go:
There fill’d his bumper to the top,
And always fairly drank it up:
“Well done,” says Jack, a buck of York,
‘You go thro’ stitch, sir, with your work.’
The name of stitch was such reproach,
He rang the bell, and call’d his coach.
But ere he went, enquiries made,
By what strange means they knew his trade.

‘You put the cap on, and it fits,” Reply'd one of the Yorkshire wits;

“Our words, in common acceptation,
* Could not find out your occupation;
‘’Twas you yourself gave us the clue,
“To find out both your trade and you.
Vain coxcombs, and fantastic beaux
• In ev’ry place themselves expose;
“They travel far at vast expense,
*To shew their wealth and want of sense ;
“But take this for a standing rule,
* There 's no disguise can screen a fool.”

EPIGRAM. "A DRUNKEN old Scot, by the rigorous sentence

Of the Kirk, was condemn’d to the stool of repentance;

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Mess John to his conscience his vices lac’d home,

And his danger in this and the world that’s to come;

“Thou reprobate mortal! why, doth thou not know,

“Where, after you’re dead, all you drunkards must go?'—

“Must go when we’re dead! Why, sir, you may Swear,

“We shall go, one and all, where we find the best beer.”

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I Do remember an old BATCHELoR,
And hereabouts he dwells—whom late I noted
In suit of sables, with a care-worn brow,
Conning his books—and mergre were his looks:
Celibacy had worn him to the bone;
And in his silent parlour hung a coat,
The which the moths had used not less than he.
Four chairs, one table, and one old hair trunk,
Made up the furniture ; and on his shelves
A grease-clad candle-stick, a broken mug,
Two tumblers, and a box of old segars;
Remnants of volumes, once in some repute,
Were thinly scatter'd round. to tell the eye
Of prying stranger—this man had no wife.
His tatter'd elbow gap'd most piteously;
And ever. as he turn’d him round, his skin
Did through his stockings peep upon the day.
Noting his gloom, unto myself I said,
An if a man did covet single life,
Recolo of joys that matrimony give,



Here lives a gloomy wretch would shew it him
In such most dismal colours, that the shrew,
Or slut, or ideot, or the gossip spouse, -
Were each an heaven, compar'd with such a life.


ONCE on a time, a monarch, tir’d with whooping,
Whipping and spurring,
Happy in worrying
A poor, defenceless, harmless buck;
The horse and rider wet as muck:
From his high consequence and wisdom stooping.
Enter'd through curiosity a cot,
Where sat a poor old woman with her pot.

The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny, in this same cot, illumin’d by many a cranny ; Had finish'd apple-dumplings for her pot. In tempting row, the naked dumplings lay ; When lo! the monarch, in his usual way, Like lightning, spoke, ‘What's this? what’s this? what? what?”

Then taking up a dumpling in his hand,
His eyes with admiration did expand:
And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple:
‘’Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed!” he cry’d
“What makes it, pray, so hard?” the dame reply'd,
Low curtsying, “Please your majesty, the apple.”

“Very astonishing, indeed! strange thing!”

(Turning the dumpling round, rejoin’d the king) ‘’Tis most extraordinary, then, all this is ; “It beats Pinetti's conj’ring all to pieces.

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