JUSTIFICATION.
A FARMER once, who wanted much
A sturdy husbandman ;
And one, well qualified as such,
To suit his thrifty plan:
One who was sparing at his meat,
And sparing in his drink;
And, daily task-work to complete,
Would never flinch or shrink;
Induc'd a clodpole to apply,
Commended by a neighbour, As "Never hungry, never dry, "Nor ever tir'd of labour !"
But soon, when hir'd, and set to work,
He prov'd, to crown the bam,
As lazy as a cross-legg'd Turk,
Yet turkey-like, he'd cram!
For bacon-rack was quickly shrunk,
So well he 'd fill his dish;
And soon the cellar's stock was sunk,
He'd drink so like a fish!
Which made old Squeezum rail and rave,
Against his neighbour Muggs;
To bubble him like a lying knave,
With three such dd humbugs.
You "Never hungry! ne'er athirst!
"Of working never tir'd!"
I wish that both your skins had burst,
Ere such a pest I hir'd.
"Hold, zur, says Hobnail, doant ye vly "In such a deadly twoddle;
AN IRISH BLUNDER WITHOUT A BULL.
"If Measter Muggs have tould a lic, "Then vairly crack my noddle.
"Vor I do never hungry be, "Before my guts I vill,
"And drowth do never trouble me,
"Before I gets a zwill.
"And I did never work pursue,
"Till tir'd or overheated;
"Zo Measter Muggs have tould ye true,
"And you have not been cheated."
AN IRISH BLUNDER WITHOUT A BULL.
COLONEL Patrick O'Blaney, as honest a teague,
As ever took snuff to repel pest or plague,
Having got a French snuff box, of papier machee,
Which to open requir'd much pains, do you see;
Always kept a bent sixpence at hand in his pocket,
And call'd it his key, by the which to unlock it;
As by niggling and wedging it under the lid,
He came at his rappee that was under it hid:
But one day when he wanted a pinch for a friend,
He search'd for his tester, but all to no end,
Till at last 'twixt the pocket and lining he found it;
When in rage he cried-" Arrah, the devil con-
I'll engage you don't serve me the same trick again,
For to make me after thus hunting in vain."
So opening the box by the help of the tizzy,
And feaking his nose till his noddle was dizzy,
He chuck'd in the coin, and exclaimed with a shrug,
While tight went the rim down-" So there you
lie snug;
hide-and-seek friend, I beg leave to remind
That the next time I want you, I'll know where to
Paris, sometime since, a murd'ring map,
A German, and a most unlucky chap,
Sad, stumbling at the threshold of his plan,'
Fell into Justice's strong trap.
The bungler was condemn'd to grace the wheel, On which the dullest fibres learn to feel;
His limbs secundum artem to be broke Amidst ten thousand people, p'rhaps, or more; When ever Monsieur Ketch appli'd a stroke, The culprit, like a bullock, made a roar.
A flippant petit maitre skipping by,
Stepp'd up to him, and check'd him for his cryBoh!" quoth the German; "an't I 'pon the wheel? "D' ye tink my nerfs and bons can't feel?"
Sir," quoth the beau; "do n't, don't be in a passion; "I've nought to say about your situation; "But making such a hideous noise in France, "Fellow, is contrary to bienseance."
AN ANATOMICAL EPITAPH ON AN IN
(WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.)
HERE lies an head, that often ach'd:
Here lie two hands that always shak'd:
Here lies a brain of odd conceit;
Here lies a heart that often beat:
Here lie two eyes that daily wept, :
And in the night but seldom slept;
Here lies a tongue that whining talk'd
Here lie two feet that feebly walk'd;
Here lie the midriff and the breast,
With loads of indigestion prest;
Here lies the liver, full of bile,
That ne'er secreted proper chyle;
Here lie the bowels, human tripes.
Tortur'd with wind, and twisting gripes;
Here lies the livid dab, the spleen,
The source of life's sad tragic scene;
That left side weight that clogs the blood,
And stagnates nature's circling flood
Here lie the nerves, so often twitch'd
With painful cramps and poignant stitch;
Here lies the back, oft rackt with pains;
Corroding kidneys, loins and reins;
Here lies the skin, by scurvy fed,
With pimples and eruptions red; ·
Here lies the man from top to toe,
That fabric fram'd for pain and woe.
COCKING his tail, a saucy prig,
A Magpie hopp'd upon a Pig,
To pull some hair, forsooth, to line his nest;
And with such ease began the hair attack,
As thinking the fee simple of the back
Was by himself, and not the pig, possest.
The Boar look'd up as thunder black to Mag,
Who, squinting down on him like an arch wag,
Inform'd Mynheer some bristles must be torn;
Then busy went to work, not nicely culling;
Got a good handsome beakfull by good pulling,
And flew without a "thank ye" to his thorn
The pig set up a dismal yelling;
Follow'd the robber to his dwelling,
Who, like a fool, had built it midst a bramble : In manfully he sallied, full of might, Determin'd to obtain his right,
And midst the bushes now began to scramble.
He drove the magpie, tore his nest to rags,
And, happy on the downfall, pour'd his brags:
But ere he from the brambles came alack!
His cars and eyes were miserably torn,
His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn,
He could not count ten hairs upon his back.
A COUNTRY QUARTER SESSIONS.
THREE or four parsons, full of October,
Three or four 'squires, between drunk and sober;
Three or four lawyers, three or four liars;
Three or four constables, three or four cryers;
Three or four parishes bringing appeals,
Three or four writings, and three or four seals
Three or four bastards, three or four whores,
Tag, rag, and bobtail, three or four scores;
Three or four statutes, misunderstood;
Three or four paupers, all praying for food;
Three or four roads, that never were mended;
Three or four scolds-and the session is ended:
EPITAPH ON A BLACKSMITH.
My sledge and hammer lie declin’d;
My bellows too have lost their wind;
My fire's extinct, my forge decay'd;
My vice is in the dust all laid;
My coal is spent, my iron gone,
My nails are drove, my work is done.
My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest;
My soul, smoke-like, soars to be blest.
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