Upon the ground,
Within the pound,

The shilling soon was thrown ;
Behold, says Foote,
The thing's made out,

For there is one pound one.

I wonder not,
Says Quin, that thought
Should in


head be found, Since that's the way, Your debts you pay,

One thilling in the pound.


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Dialogue between a Nobleman, in

Dream, in which he fancied himself dead, and a dead Beg

gar buried by the Side of him. I DRE DREAMT that, buried in my fellow

clay, Close by a common beggar's fide I lay ; And, as fo mean a neighbour shock'd my

pride, Thus (like a corpse of quality) I cry'd : Away! thou scoundrel ; henceforth touch

me not ; More manners learn, and at a distance rot.' “Thou fcoundrel !" in a louder tone, cry'd

he, * Rroud lump of dirt, I scorn thy words

and thee; We're equal now, I'll not an inch resign ; This is my dunghill, as the next is thine.



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Dr. Barnard having advanced in conversa

tion with Sir Joshua Reynolds and other wits, that he thought “no man could o improve when he was past the age of “ forty-five;" Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was in company, immediately turned round to the facetious Dean, and told him that he was an instance to the contrary, for that there was great room for improvement in him (the Dean,) “ and wished * he'd fet about it :" upon which, the Dean the next day, sent the following elegant Bagatelle to Sir Joshua Reynolds and the same company.

Verses to Sir 7. Reynolds and Co. I LATELY

LATELY thought no man alive Could e'er improve past forty-five,

And ventur'd to affcrt it ;


The observation was not new,
But seem'd to me sa just and true,

That none could controvert it.

“ No, Sir” says Johnson, “ tis not fo; That's your mistake, and I can fhew An instance, if you

doubt it

; You, Sir, who are near forty-eight, May much improve, 'tis not too late,

I wish you'd set about it.”

Encourag'd thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts,


I should apply it ; Learning and wit feem'd past my reach, For who can learn when none will teach ?)

And wit- I could not buy it.

Then come, my friends, and try your skill, You can inform me if you will,

(My books are at a distance.) With


I'll live and learn, and then, Instead of books, I shall read men,

So lend me your assistance.


Dear Knight* of Plympton, teach me howe To suffer with unruffled brow,

And smile ferene like thine, The jest uncooth, or trueh severe, To fuch I'll turn my deafeft ear,

And calmly drink my wine..

Thou fay'rt, not only skill is gaind,
But genius too may be attain'd,

By studious imitation :
Thy temper mild, thy genius fine,

till I make thee mine,
By conftant application.

The art of pleasing, teach me, Garrick,
Thou, who reversest Odes Pindaric,

A fecond time read o'er;:
Oh! could we read thee backward too,
Last thirty years thou should'st review,

And charm us thirty more..

If I have thoughts, and can't exprefs 'em, Gibbons shall teach me how to dress 'em, In terins select and terfe ;


* Sir Joshua Reynolds.

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