So there I fat ftuck, like a horfe in a pound,
While the bacon and liver went merrily round:
But what vex'd me moft, was that d-'d Scottish

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,
Had fhut out the pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus--but let fimiles drop-
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
To fend fuch good verses to one of your tafte;
You've got an odd fomething--a kind of dis-
cerning-

A relifh- -a tafte—ficken'd over by learning;
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very flightly of all that's your

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,-
I don't think, he'll wifh to come back..

+ 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—
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy feldom paffed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She ftrove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning;

And never follow'd wicked ways—
Unless when she was finning.

At church, in filks and fatins new,
With hoop of monftrous fize;
She never flumber'd in her pew-

But when she shut her eyes.

Her

Her love was fought, I do aver,
By twenty beauxs and more;
The king himself has follow'd her-
When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all; }

The doctors found, when he was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.

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.