A DRUNKARD'S SAVING CLAUSE.

Dick, often drunk, when sick, most gravely swore,
That while he breathed he never would drink more;
Dick daily tipsy grows, nor perjured thinks
Himself, but says he breathes not whilst he drinks!

ON A WATCHMAN.

Sound sleeps yon guardian of the night;
The hour's uncall'd; youth rests no sweeter:
I thought he was a watch. "You're right;
But a stop-watch, not a repeater."

THE ANGLER.

A fishing-rod has been described to be
Found very often near some muddy pool:

A line we usually at one end see,

At the other commonly a fool:

This has been said; and, if a bouncer, why,-
The reader has it quite as cheap as I.

THE REMEDY.

Sir Roger was ill, his case was quite bad,
My lady a crying, the children all sad:

"Lord, madam," says John, "the doctor call in,-
'Tis a shame not to do it, to neglect it's a sin."
The doctor was call'd, he determin'd his case,
Felt his pulse, and then swore, that death sat in his face:
There's naught to be done; with bills I'll not swell
His account; so departed the patient did well.

THE BOASTING MULE.

A FABLE.

An upstart mule, high bred and vain
(For brutes are just like mortal men),
To other beasts was bragging,
That how, "his father was a horse,
And always first upon the course,
Nor ever did come lag in.

"He ne'er was us'd to slacken pace;
Whene'er he ran, 'twas like a race;
For speed-he ne'er did lack it:
I've seen him put against the field,
E'en Aaron's self been forc'd to yield,
As well as Whistle-Jacket.

"And though I say it who should not,
I differ from him not a jot,

Except in size and main."
But, turning round, he saw an ass,
Which accidentally did pass,

And knew his son again.

This made his muleship drop his ears,
To hear the neighbours' flaunting jeers,
About his noble birth;

And glad he was to quit the place,
Asham'd to own his dirty race,

And leave them to their mirth.

A PERFECT GREYHOUND.

Gervase Markham, in his Country Contentments, printed in 1615, gives the following quaint advice to Greyhound-choosers: you I will have a good tike,

If

Of which there are few like,

He must be headed like a snake,

Neck'd like a drake,

Back'd like a beam,

Sided like a bream,

Tailed like a batt,
And footed like a cat.

BEN JONSON AND THE LANDLORD.

Many facetious things are recorded of " rare Ben;" among others, this: A vintner, to whom he was in debt for many a "boozing bout," invited him to dinner, and told him afterwards, that if he would give him an immediate answer to the following questions, he would forgive him his debt. The vintner, who must have been a generous-hearted fellow, then asked him, "What God is best pleased with; what the devil is best pleased with; what the world is best pleased with; and what he (the vintner,-honest soul!) was best pleased with?" -Ben, without hesitation, gave this poetical reply :

:

"God is best pleased when men forsake their sin;
The devil's best pleased when they persist therein;
The world's best pleased when thou dost sell good wine;
And you're best pleased when I do pay for mine."

The reckoning, which was a large one, was immediately flung behind the fire.

APPLICABLE TO MANY.

Frank, who will any friend supply,
Lent me ten guineas." Come," said I,

"Give me a pen, it is but fair,

You take my note."-Quoth he, "Hold there,
Jack! to the cash I've bid adieu

No need to waste my paper too."

PASQUINADE.

Fuller, in his Church History, gives the following pasquinade, ridiculing the covetousness of Dr. Bancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury :

Here lies his grace, in cold clay clad,
Who died for want of what he had.

LINES TO A CAGED ROBIN IN A COFFEE

HOUSE.

My pretty, pretty Bob,

Why should mankind thus rob
A beauteous thing, like thee,
Of darling liberty?

It prompts my deepest sigh
To view thy speaking eye
Look out for bush and briar,
Amid thy prison's wire.
No bush nor briar is here,
No lovely atmosphere,
In which to peck and sing,
And thoughts familiar bring.
Perchance, some winter's day,
Thou hadst no food, no stay;
But trusted man, and came
Within his threshold tame,
And, whistling, asked a meal.
And, hopping on, didst steal
Around his hearth, and look
Grace for the crumb he took.
Was't then, by treach'ry plann'd,

That any barbarous hand

Could snatch thee up, and place thee

Where no fond mate could trace thee?

The vernal hours may come,

But still no nat'ral home
For thee, poor bird, is left.
Of all that's dear bereft,
Thy wild half-stifled song
Thou shalt not thus prolong;
I'll ope thy cage, possess thee,
And liberty shall bless thee
Again, my pretty Bob.

A PARODY.

When port and sherry's gone and spent,
Then Barclay's beer 's most excellent.

SHORT AND LONG.

"Your girl is very short," cried Tom,
"Though slender round the waist;"
Quoth Dick "to have a mistress long
Would never suit my taste."

ANOTHER.

"Waiter, these pipes are short," said tippling Mister Strong; "That's not unlikely, sir; master ha'n't bought them long."

ON THE DEATH OF A PHYSICIAN.

"Doctor Doublefee's dead!-all the village will cry," Said a man who by funerals thrives: "For one, I can't say that I'm sorry," cried I, "Because it may save many lives."

ON SEEING THE NAME OF RICHES IN THE
LIST OF BANKRUPTS, FEB. 28, 1826.

Long have I griev'd for dismal times,
And scarce could make my 'custom'd rhymes,
So sorely was I fretted;

Riches are scarce, we've long been told,
But now a wonder we behold,

For Riches is gazetted!

THE WAY TO TEMPLE BAR.

Tom, who had visited the Fleet,
Just parted tipsy from his host,
And, as he reeled along the street,
He beat his head against a post.
A stranger cried, not standing far,
"That is the way to Temple Bar."