So there I fat ftuck, like a horfe in a pound, rogue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his brogue, nit And, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poison' e qu A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on: Pray, a flice of your liver, tho' may I be curft! Ida But I've eat of your tripe, 'till I'm ready to burft; The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, I could dine on this tripe seven days in the week: rak I like thefe-here dinners fo pritty and fmall; art, But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all. Ey. Oh! oh! quoth my friend, he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for fomething that's nice: There's a pafty--a pafty! repeated the Jew; ge rge. I don't care, If I keep a corner for❜t too. What the de'il, mon, a pasty! re-echo'd the Scot, ne, Though splitting, I'll ftill keep a corner for that. We'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out, me. We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about. While thus we refolv'd, and the pafty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; de A vifage fo fad, and fo pale with affright, Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night. t. But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her? П 10 That he came with fome terrible news from the baker; M 26588B And fo it fell out, for that negligent floven, A relifh- -a tafte—ficken'd over by learning; own: So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs, You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. THE CLOWN'S REPLY. JOHN TROT was defired by two witty Peers To tell them the reason why affes had ears? "An't please you, "quoth John, " I'm not giv'n to letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er from this time I fhall ne'er fee your graces, As I hope to be fav'd! without thinking on affes." Edinburgh, 1753 EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON..† . HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack; He led fuch a damnable life in this world,- + This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wafted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot foldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his difcharge, and became a fcribbler in the newsHe tranflated Voltaire's Henriade. papers. M 2 AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. GOOD people all, with one accord, Lament for madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word— The needy feldom paffed her door, She ftrove the neighbourhood to please, And never follow'd wicked ways— At church, in filks and fatins new, But when she shut her eyes. Her Her love was fought, I do aver, But now her wealth and finery fled, The doctors found, when he was dead- Let us lament, in forrow fore, For Kent-street well may say, That had fhe liv'd a twelve-month more-She had not dy'd to day. |