fins of a dying turtle [mimicks him]-'pon my word, sir, 'twill never do. Pray, sir, are you of any profession? Dowlas. Yes, sir, a linen draper. Patent. A linen draper! an excellent business: a very good business-you'll get more by that than by playing; you had better mind your thrums and your shop, and don't pester me any more with your Richard and your-za, za, za,—this is a genius! plague upon such geniuses, I say. ANON. LOVE OF THE WORLD DETECTED. THUS says the prophet of the Turk, Good Mussulman, abstain from pork; No friend or follower of mine He meant not to forbid the head; Thus conscience freed from every clog, You laugh-'tis well-the tale applied Renounce the world-the preacher cries: While one, as innocent, regards A snug and friendly game of cards: And one, whatever you may say, Some love a concert or a race; And others shooting, and the chase. With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, TOBY TOSSPOT. ALAS! what pity 'tis that regularity But there are swilling wights in London town These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on, Lose half men's regular estate of sun, One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hight- COWPER. He worked with sinuosities along, Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork. At length, with near four bottles in his pate, IIe saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate, He waited full two minutes more; and then But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright, Pale as a parsnip-bolt upright. At length, he wisely to himself doth say "Tush! 'tis some fool las rung and run away;" Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor; And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd, IIe groped down stairs, and open'd the street-door, While Toby was performing peal the third. Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant And saw he was a strapper· - stout and tall; *Want nothing! sir, you've pull'd my bell, I vow As if you'd jerk it off the wire." Quoth Toby-gravely making him a bow, "I pull'd it, sir, at your desire." "At mine!". 66 COLMAN. LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, WILL WADDLE, whose temper was studious and lonely, But Will was so fat, he appear'd like a tun; He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated; Next night 'twas the same! and the next!—and the next! Ile perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd. In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him! So he sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny, "I've lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea!" The doctor looked wise;—" A slow fever,” he said; Prescribed sudorifics—and going to bed. "Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!" Will kicked out, the doctor:-but when ill indeed, "Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, Quoth the Landlord-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute; "The oven!" says Will,-says the host, "Why this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion! Why so crusty, good sir?" "S'death!" cried Will, in a taking, "Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?" Will paid for his rooms.-Cried the host, with a sneer, Well, I see you have been going away half a year." Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel—” Will said;"But I'd rather not perish while you make your bread." COLMAN. |