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Upon the ground,
The shilling soon was thrown ;
For there is one pound one.
I wonder not,
head be found, Since that's the way, Your debts you pay,
One thilling in the pound.
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.
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,
That none could controvert it.
“ No, Sir” says Johnson, “ tis not fo; That's your mistake, and I can fhew An instance, if you
; 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 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,
By studious imitation :
till I make thee mine,
The art of pleasing, teach me, Garrick,
A fecond time read o'er;:
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.