You'll say, perhaps, I've lost one game,. And bid me try another-for the rubber'Permit me to inform you all, with shame, That you 're a set of knaves, and I'm a lubber.'

THE BREWER'S COACHMAN.

(TAYLOR.)

HONEST William, an easy and good-natur'd fel

low,

Would a little too oft get a little too mellow,
Body coachman was he to an eminent brewer-
No better e'er sat on a box, to be sure.

His coach was kept clean, and no mothers or nurses
Took that care of their babes that he took of his

horses.

He had these-ay, and fifty good qualities more;
But the business of tippling could ne'er be got o'er:
So his master effectually mended the matter,
By hiring a man who drank nothing but water.
Now, William, says he, you see the plain case;
Had you drank as he does, you'd kept a good place.
Drink water! quoth William-had all men done so,
You'd never have wanted a coachman, I trow.
They 're soakers, like me, whom you load with re-
proaches,

That enable you brewers to ride in your coaches.

REPARTEE.
(SWIFT.)

CRIES Sylvia to a reverend dean,

What reason can be given, Since marriage is a holy thing, That there are none in heaven? There are no women, he replied. She quick returns the jestWomen there are, but I'm afraid They cannot find a priest.

by jonathan suft, &.2..

CURIOSITY.

(PINDAR.)

WALKING one afternoon along the strand,

My wond'ring eyes did suddenly expand Upon a pretty leash of country lasses. "Heav'ns! my dear beauteous angels, how d'ye do? "Upon my soul, I'm monstrous glad to see ye.' "Swinge! Peter we are glad to meet with you; "We're just to London come-well, pray, how be ye?

"We're just a going, while 'tis light, "To see St. Paul's, before 'tis dark. "Lord! come-for once, be so polite, "And condescend to be our spark."

"With all my heart, my angels." On we walk'd, And much of London-much of Cornwall talk'd : Now did I hug myself, to think

How much that glorious structure would surpriseHow from its awful grandeur they would shrink, With open mouths, and marv'ling eyes!

As near to Ludgate-hill we drew,
St. Paul's just op'ning on our view;
Behold, my lovely strangers, one and all,
Gave, all at once, a diabolic squall,

As if they had been tumbled on the stones,

And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones.

After well fright'ning people with their cries,
And sticking to a ribbon shop their eyes-
They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun
And clatt'ring all together, thus begun.

"Swinge! here are colours then to please! "Delightful things, I vow to Heav'n!

126

DISAPPOINTED HUSBAND.

"Why! not to see such things as these, "We never should have been forgiv'n.

"Here, here, are clever things-good Lord! "And, sister, here, upon my word"Here, here! look! here are beauties to delight; Why! how a body's heels might dance "Along, from Launceston to Penzance, "Before that one might meet with such a sight!"

"Come, ladies, 't will be dark,” cry'd I—“ I fear; "Pray, let us view St. Paul's, it is so near"— "Lord! Peter, (cry'd the girls) do n't mind St. Paul! "Sure! you 're a most incurious soul

"Why, we can see the church another day: "Don't be afraid, St. Paul's can't run away.'

DISAPPOINTED HUSBAND.

A SCOLDING wife so long a sleep possess’d,

Her spouse presum'd her soul was now at rest;
Sable was call'd to hang the room with black,
And all their cheer was sugar, rolls and sack.
Two mourning staffs stood sentry at the door,
And silence reign'd, who ne'er was there before;
The cloaks, and tears, and handkerchiefs prepar'd,
They march'd in woeful pomp to the church-yard;
When see, of narrow streets, what mischiefs come!
The very dead can't pass in quiet home;

By some rude jolt the coffin lid was broke,
And madam from her dream of death awoke.

Now all was spoil'd! the undertaker's pay,
Sour faces, cakes and wine quite thrown away.
But some years after, when the former scene
Was acted, and the coffin nail'd again;
The tender husband took especial care
To keep the passage from disturbance clear;
Charging the bearers that they tread aright,
Nor put his dear in such another fright!

ODE TO A MARGATE HOY.

(PINDAR.)

Great is the loss of gentlefolks from Wapping,
Who, fond of travel, unto Margate roam,
To gain that consequence they want at home.

At Margate how like quality they strut!

Nothing is good enough to greet their jaws; Yet, when at home, are often forced, God wot, To suck like bears a dinner from their paws—

Forc'd on an old joint-stool their tea to take,
With treacle 'stead of sugar for their
for their gums;
Butt'ring their hungry loaf, or oaten cake,

Like mighty Charles of Sweden, with their thumbs.

But Hoy, inform me-who is she-on board,
That seems the lady of a first-rate Lord,

With stomach high push'd forth as if in scorn,
Like craws of ducks and gecse o'ercharged with'

corn

Dress'd in a glaring, gorgeous damask gown, Which, roses, like the leaves of cabbage, crown', With also a bright petticoat of pink,

To make the eye from such a lustre shrink?

Yes, who is she the Patagonian dame,
As bulky as of Heidelberg the tun;
Her face, as if by brandy taught to flame,
In blaze superior to the noonday sun-

With fingers just like sausages, fat things;
And loaded much like curtain rods with rings?
Yes, who is she that with a squinting eye
Surveys poor passengers that sick'ning sigh;
Sad, pale-nos'd, gaping, puling, mournful faces,
Deserted by the blooming smiling graces;

128

ODE TO A MARGATE HOY.

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

"Tis Madam. Bacon, proud of worldly 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 Nick,

"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"Why, what a breeze is here, G-d d-mn my eyes!