Qualis ab Incepto. Fati valet Hora benigna. WHEN Tom call'd in, one day, on Ned, Who sigh'd, but dar'd not shake it! Brevis esse laboro. Wisdom speaks little, but that little well; On a Cobweb. By never-failing cunning taught, By never-ceasing rashness led, The fly pursues his way; Nature and Instinct. HATCHED from alien eggs, along the meads, And restless, round and round the margin flies; Latin Learning of little Use*. YOUR venerable chaplain once, Train'd here the scholar, lash'd the dunce, A master and a friend. To profit by his well-known care, Before a week its course had run, The butcher came again: "Take back your book, give back my son," He cried with might and main. "Larning!" 'tis money thrown away, Such larning to procure; The book don't show, the boy can't say, What's Latin-for a skewer." More's meant than meets the Ear. WHEN doctors, twenty years ago, A bodkin-sword's diminutive stump, Nothing new under the Sun. THERE's nothing new beneath the sun, So ancient wits' decisions run: But wit no match for facts is; For I know things, and so do you, Though everlasting, ever new! What think you, Sir, of taxes? Ancient and Modern Poets distinguished. "TWIXT those poets of old, and our poets of late, One perpetual distinction holds true: The new, in a twinkling, are all out of date, The old-will for ever be new ! The Power of Verse. READ! read! the thread-bare poet cries, Poet! thy boast would seem more true, Spoken at Merchant Taylors' School. The Progress of Wigs. WHEN Charles the First the sceptre bore, Each grave divine, I trow, A silken cap all sable wore, With nine straight hairs below. The Restoration's jovial day Chang'd, with the men, the mode, In Anna's reign, from general view These too incurr'd, by lapse of years, But now! forgive the conscious muse, You need not here be told. Though new their taste, while they adopt Their good forefathers' ways; The frizz'd, the curl'd, the bald, the cropt, Have all their claim to praise. The Effect of Pulpit Eloquence. A VETERAN gambler, in a tempest caught, Once in his life a church's shelter sought, Where many a hint pathetically grave, On life's precarious lot the preacher gave. The sermon ended, and the storm all spent, Home trudg'd old Cog-die, reasoning as he [declar'd, "Strict truth," quoth he, “this rev'rend sage I feel conviction, and will be prepar'd; Nor e'er henceforth, since life thus steals away, Give credit for a bet-beyond a day!" went. Case in the Constitutional Court. A FARMER, as records report, "Our former priest, my Lord," he said, Each Sunday the year round, Some Greek in his discourses read, "You're skill'd in languages, I guess," Th' amaz'd diocesan cry'd : "I know no language, more nor less," The surly clown reply'd: "But Greek, I've heard the learned say, Surpasses all the rest; And since 'tis for the best we pay, All not Gold that glitters. WHY sleeps, benumb'd, the conscious mind, When social good craves virtue's zeal; Whoe'er can benefit mankind, Is Heav'n's trustee, for human weal. To hide true worth from public view, Is burying diamonds in their mine: All is not gold that shines, 'tis true; But all that is gold-ought to shine! On Hope. ANON. HOPE, heav'n-born cherub, still appears, A LONG way off Lucinda strikes the men ; And one sees clear, On a Person not celebrated for his Veracity. On Tuesday next, says Tom to Ned, I'll dine with you and take a bed. You may believe him, Will replies, Where'er Tom dines he always LIES. By Mr. P. DoDd. JOE hates a hypocrite. It shows Self-love is not a fault of Joe's. To a living Author. YOUR Comedy I've read, my friend, Imitated from the French. By Mr. P. DODD. His last great debt is paid-poor Tom's no more, Last debt? Tom never paid a debt before. By THEOPHILUS SWIFT, Esq. The rooted aversion entertained by the late Judge Robinson, of the King's Bench, in Ireland, to the volunteers of that country, in the year 1780, is well known. The following epigram was occasioned by a circumstance that actually took place about that period in the court where he was then sitting. THAT soldier so rude, he swaggers in scarlet; Put him out of the court; I'll imprison the varlet." "A soldier I'm not," quoth the hero in red; “No soldier, my Lord, but an officer I, A captain who carries his sword on his thigh." Stern Robinson then, with sarcastical sneer, Roll'd his sharp-eagle eye on the vain volunteer, And, "Tipstaff," he cried, as the captain grew bolder, "Out, out with that officer who is no soldier." Bargains. On Two beautiful Sisters who were drowned NED's thrifty spouse, her taste to please, at Sea. WHAT to the faithless ocean now is due? It gave one Venus, and has taken two! On a natural Grotto, near a deep Stream. HEALTH, rose-lipp'd cherub, haunts this spot, She slumbers oft in yonder nook: If in the shade you find her not, Plunge and you'll find her in the brook! On a Lady who beat her Husband. COME hither, Sir George, my picture is here, What think you, my love? don't it strike you? "I can't say it does, just at present, my dear, But I think it soon will, it's so like you." What is an Epigram. WHAT is an epigram? a dwarfish whole: Its body brevity, and wit its soul. With rival dames at auctions vies; Is charm'd with ev'ry thing she sees, And ev'ry thing she sees she buys. Ned feels at ev'ry sale enchanted, Such costly wares! so wisely sought! Bought because they may be wanted, Wanted because they may be bought. A Question and an Answer. JACK drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing, But, prithee, where lies Jack's estate?- On a ready Writer. JEM writes his verses with more speed Than the printer's boy can set 'em. Quite as fast as we can rad, And only not so fast as we forget 'em. The Thief. I tell, with equal truth and grief, There's no repeating all her wiles: These were her infant spoils; a store And then rise beams that light the day; Beauty's Value. SHAKSPEARE. BEAUTY is but a vain, a fleeting good, A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; A flow'r that dies when almost in the bud, A brittle glass that breaketh presently. A fleeting good, a gloss, a glass, a flow'r, Lost, faded, broken, dead, within an hour. As goods when lost we know are seldom found, As fading gloss no rubbing can excite; As flow'rs when dead are trampled on the ground, As broken glass no cement can unite; So beauty, blemish'd once, is ever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pains, and cost. On the frequent Defeats of the French Army in the last War. An Epigram. 1760. THE toast of each Briton in war's dread alarms, O'er bottle or bowl, is success to our arms. Attack'd, put to flight, and soon forc'd from each trench, Success to our legs is the toast of the French. Epitaph on a Scolding Wife. HERE lies my wife; poor Molly! let her lie: She finds repose at last-and so do I. A Sailor having been sentenced to the Cat o' | Nine Tails, when tied ready for Punishment, spoke the following Lines to his Commander, who had an aversion to a Cat. By your honor's command, an example I stand Why, your honor's aversion is mine: O save me from that which has nine! On a certain Lady's Study. To Chloe's study shall we go? PRAY say what's that which smirking trips this way. That supple servile thing?-O! that's a Lord! Either in grave debate, or hardy fight, Epitaph on a beautiful and virtuous young Lady. An Epitaph on a poor but honest Mun. On one without a name, Quarter'd therewith was innocence, In the great day of wrath, though pride An Epitaph on a very idle Fellow. HERE lieth one that once was born and cried, Liv'd several years, and then-and then-he died. The Picture of Slander. WHAT mortal but Slander, that serpent, hath stung, Epigram to a pretended Friend, and real Enemy. THY hesitating tongue and doubtful face Show all thy kindness to be mere grimace. Throw off the mask; at once be foe or friend; 'Tis base to soothe, when malice is the end; The rock that's seen gives the poor sailor dread, But double terror that which hides its head. On a Tombsone in Essex. And Mary his wife; They abounded in riches; And the wife WORE THE BREECHES. |