And then I drag a bloated corpus, Swell'd with a dropfy like a porpus ; On a PRINTER'S being fent to Newgate, by-. ETTER we all were in our graves BE Than live in flavery to flaves; Worfe than the anarchy at fea, Where fishes on each other prey : Where ev'ry trout can make as high rants 5 10 On the little house by the church-yard of CASTLENOCK. WHOEVER pleafeth to inquire, Why yonder fteeple wants a fpire, The The philofophic caufe will fhow. Reck'ning roof, weather-cock, and all, † Mr Beaumont of Trim. 5 And tumbling topsy-turvy round, Light with its bottom on the ground. For, by the laws of gravitation, ΤΟ It fell into its proper station. THIS is the little ftrutting pile, From whence the neighb`ring farmer calls Sits with his knees up to his chin; A traveller, who by did pafs, A fchoolboy ran unto't, and thought, WARBURTON took it in his noddle, + Reverend Archdeacon Wall. 15 20 25 30 35 40 The Rev'rend Dr † Raymond guess'd, More probably than all the reft; That thing, I mean, among the kale; 55 THE clerk faid to her in a heat, What! fell my master's country-seat, Says Nancy, I can make for Mifs 60 Upon ftealing a CROWN when the DEAN was afleep. D By Dr SHERIDAN. EAR Dean, fince you in fleepy wife Have op'd your mouth, and clos'd your eyes, Like ghost I glide along your floor, And foftly fhut the parlour door; Who knows what money you might lose ? + Minifter of Trim. The waiting woman. 5 Since oftentimes it has been found, A dream has giv'n ten thousand pound. That all you lose belongs to me. The DEAN'S Anfwer. So, about twelve at night, the punk Steals from the cully when he's drunk ; Nor is contented with a treat, Without a privilege to cheat. Nor can I the least diff'rence find, 5 But that you left no clap behind. But jeft apart, reftore, you capon ye, My twelve thirteens † and fixpence ha'penny. As fteal you can one, how 'twould please ye! I thought the Lady at St Cath'rines Knew how to fet you better patterns; For this I will not dine with Agmondifham, F Saturday night. dish'em. * An EPITAPH on Dr Swift's Doc. Of all the dogs array'd in fur, Here under lies the trueft cur. + An English fhilling paffes for thirteen pence in Ireland. Lady Montcafhel. 15 Agmondifham Vefey, Efq; a very worthy gentleman, for whom the author had a great esteem. 5 He knew no tricks, he never flatter'd; 10 15 The author and his friends ufed to divert themselves for amusement in making riddles; fome of which have been printed, and were well received: as we hope the following will be, altho' we cannot tell the authors of each. [See vol. 6. p. 296.] I A RIDDLE. WITH borrow'd filver fhine, What you fee is none of mine. But fprung, (and I this truth maintain), My beauty to the fhades below. Most wondrous forms you fee me wear, A fifh, a fowl, a cloud, a field, 5 10 15 |