And then I drag a bloated corpus,

Swell'd with a dropfy like a porpus ;
When, if I cannot purge or ftale,
I must be tapp'd to fill a pail.

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
O'er his inferiors as our tyrants;
And swagger while the coaft is clear:
But should a lordly pike appear,
Away you see the varlet fcud,
Or hide his coward fnout in mud.
Thus, if a gudgeon meet a roach,
He dare not venture to approach;
Yet ftill has impudence to rise,
And, like Domitian, leap at flies.

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On the little house by the church-yard of CASTLENOCK.

WHOEVER pleafeth to inquire,

Why yonder fteeple wants a fpire,
grey old fellow, poet Joe†,

The

The philofophic caufe will fhow.
Once on a time a western blaft
At least twelve inches overcast,

Reck'ning roof, weather-cock, and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;

† Mr Beaumont of Trim.

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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,
You fee juft by the church-yard ftile;
The walls in tumbling gave a knock;
And thus the steeple got a shock:

From whence the neighb`ring farmer calls
The steeple, Knock, the vicar, + Walls.
THE Vicar once a-week creeps in,

Sits with his knees up to his chin;
Here conns his notes, and takes a whet,
Till the small ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pafs,
Obferv'd the roof behind the grass;
On tiptoe flood and rear'd his snout,
And faw the parfon creeping out;
Was much furpris'd to see a crow
Venture to build his neft fo low.

A fchoolboy ran unto't, and thought,
The crib was down, the blackbird caught.
A third, who loft his way by night,
Was forc'd for fafety to alight;
And stepping o'er the fabric-roof,
His horse had like to spoil his hoof.

WARBURTON took it in his noddle,
This building was defign'd a model
Or of a pigeon-house, or oven,
To bake one loaf, or keep one dove in.
THEN Mrs Jehnfon gave her verdict,
And ev'ry one was pleas'd that heard it:
All that you make this ftir about,
Is but a still which wants a fpout,

+ Reverend Archdeacon Wall.

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The Rev'rend Dr † Raymond guess'd,

More probably than all the reft;

That thing, I mean, among the kale;
And here's to buy a pot of ale.

55

THE clerk faid to her in a heat,

What! fell my master's country-seat,
Where he comes ev'ry week from town?
He would not fell it for a crown.
Poh! fellow, keep not fuch a pother,
In half an hour thou'lt make another..

Says Nancy, I can make for Mifs
A finer house ten times than this;
The Dean will give me willow-sticks,
And Joe my apron-full of bricks.

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;
For fhould I break your fweet repose,

Who knows what money you might lose ?

+ Minifter of Trim.

The waiting woman.

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Since oftentimes it has been found,

A dream has giv'n ten thousand pound.
Then fleep, my friend, dear Dean, fleep on,
And all you get shall be your own.
Provided you to this agree, >

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,

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But that you left no clap behind.

But jeft apart, reftore, you capon ye,

My twelve thirteens † and fixpence ha'penny.
To eat my meat, and drink my medlicot,
And then to give me such a deadly cut-
But 'tis obferv'd, that men in gowns
Are most inclin'd to plunder crowns;
Could you but change a crown as easy

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,
And for his victuals let a ragman

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.

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Agmondifham Vefey, Efq; a very worthy gentleman, for whom the author had a great esteem.

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He knew no tricks, he never flatter'd;
Nor those he fawn'd upon, befpatter'd :
So far a courtier, he would wait
And condefcend to lick a plate;
But never ftrove, O Swift, when fed,
To bite the hand which gave him bread.
Oн, that your dogs, who walk on two,
Had only been but half as true!
Thro' thick and thin, replete or hollow,
Thy steps unerring he would follow;
While they who pride in being scholars,
Defert thee now with golden collars;
Or, like Acteon's horrid pack,
Return, to fall upon thy back.

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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.
First I fhew you but a quarter,
Like the bow that guards the Tartar,
Then the half, and then the whole,
Ever dancing round the pole.
And what will raise your admiration,
I am not one of God's creation,

But fprung, (and I this truth maintain),
Like Pallas, from my father's brain.
And after all, I chiefly owe

My beauty to the fhades below.

Most wondrous forms you fee me wear,
A man, a woman, lion, bear,

A fifh, a fowl, a cloud, a field,
All figures heav'n or earth can yield;

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