Tom prais'd his friend, who chang'd his state,
For binding fast himself and Kate
"Wedlock's the end of life," he cried,
"Too true, alas!" cried Jack, and sigh'd,—
""Twill be the end of mine."
A CAUTION.
He who marries once may be
Pardon'd his infirmity;
He who marries twice is mad;
But, if you should find a fool
Marrying thrice-don't spare the lad-
Flog him-flog him, back to school.
SENT TO A FRIEND ON RECEIVING A BRACE OF WOODCOCKS.
My thanks I'll no longer delay
For birds, which you've shot with such skill;
But, though there was nothing to pay,
Yet each of them brought in a bill!
I mean not, my friend, to complain,-
The matter was perfectly right;
And, when bills such as these come again,
I'll always accept them at sight.
BY PROFESSOR PORSON.
Since mountains sink to vales, and valleys die,
And seas and rivers mourn their sources dry,
"When my old cassock," says a Welsh divine,
“Is out at elbows, why should I repine?"
THE LAW ANTICIPATED.
Gaol Chaplain.-Cut his own throat. My blood you freeze! Ketch. Confound the scrub! He grudg'd our fees.
ON THE MARRIAGE STATE.
In marriage are two happy things allow'd:
A wife in wedding-sheets, and in a shroud.
How can a marriage state, then, be accurs'd,
Since the last day's as happy as the first?
Quoth a starv'd poet to a thievish spark,
Who search'd his house for money in the dark,-
"Forbear your pains, my friend, and go away;
You'll not find now, what I can't in the day."
LINES ON A WINDOW, BY A LADY.
The power of love shall never wound my heart,
Though he assails me with his fiercest dart.
The lady has her resolution spoken,
Yet writes on glass, in hopes it may be broken.
TO A LADY WHO SAID SHE WOULD BOX
MY EARS.
Firm to your threat, Matilda, stand;
The promise made, maintain it;
And fail not to bestow your hand
On one who won't disdain it.
RECEIPT TO KILL THE DEVIL.
The Devil would you kill,
Give him a lawyer's bill;
Or an amateur flute,
Or a Chancery suit;
Or the tongue of a shrew,
Or a deep bas-bleu;
Or some London port wine,
Or a Methodist divine;
Or a speech from a peer,
Or la maladie du mer.
But, should all these fail,
And he still wag his tail,
You've a sure means behind :
Give him an east wind.
DUNCOMB, THE VENDER OF DUNSTABLE LARKS,
His Answer in Hay-time relating to the Weather.
"Well, Duncomb, how will be the weather?”
"Sir, it looks cloudy altogether;
And, coming 'cross our Houghton Green,
I stopp'd and talk'd with old Frank Beane;
While we stood there, sir, old Jan Swaine
Went by, and said, he know'd 'twould rain.
The next that came was Master Hunt,
And he declar'd he knew it won't.
And then I met with Farmer Blow,
He told me plainly he didn't know:
So, sir, when doctors disagree,
Who's to decide it, you or me?"
You say, you nothing owe, and so I
He only owes who something has to pay.
WRITTEN WHEN IN A DISPOSITION TO BE FACETIOUS.
"I'm faint, I'm very ill," said Bob;
"I feel dispos'd to leave the room."
"Are you?" said Dick, and scratch'd his nob;
"You're indispos'd, then, I presume?"
Woman's the soul of love, I've heard men say;
Then 'tis no wonder if she flies away.
ON A GAMING-HOUSE.
To this dark cave three gates pertain--
Hope, infamy, and death, we know:
'Tis by the first you entrance gain,—-
By the last two alone you go.
Says fair Ophelia, with surprise,
"How dark have lately grown my eyes!"
"True," sighs a lover, "they're array'd
In mourning for the deaths they've made.”
Friendship is like the cobbler's tie,
That joins two soles in unity;
But love is like the cobbler's awl,
That pierces through the sole and all.
I saw the village sexton with his spade,
Busy with earth,-and a small grave he made:
I marvell'd much, that the man's face should show
Such signs of contemplation and of woe;
For I, indeed, had oftentimes heard said,
That sextons soon grow harden'd to their trade.-
Harden'd as clay they dig, unus'd to be
Sorrowful as the being I did see;
Making a home for some poor tenant's bones,
Which must soon lay there, amongst skulls and stones.
I ask'd the man why such stern look he wore-
Why did I so?-I made him weep the more.
He said, the grave he made was for a sweet boy,
His only child, which death did late destroy.
I told him not to wail, that God oft sent
An angel down to claim the innocent;
But sinners he let live, that so they might repent.
He said, he dug for him a place of rest,
And hop'd that on the cold but gentle breast
Earth would fall light: for that a prettier lamb
Ne'er walk'd from life's fold, or dropp'd into the tomb.
I talk'd the man to peace, and said, the worm
Should leave his child alone, nor harm its form.—
And thus I left him.
Richard complain'd to Tom one day,
That Bill had ta'en his character away.
"I take your character away?" says Bill," Why, zounds! I would not have it for fifty pounds!"
ON LADIES' EVENING DRESSES.
When dress'd for the evening, the girls now-a-days
Scarce an atom of dress on them leave,
Nor blame them-for what is an evening dress,
But a dress that is suited for "Eve?"
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