The dice are thrown, chufe this or that
('Tis all alike to honest Mat);
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.
After fome thought, fome Portuguese *,
Some wine, the younger thus replies:
Fair are your words, as fair your carriage,
Let me be free, drudge you in marriage;
Get me a boy call'd Adrian,
Truft me, I'll do for 't what I can.
Home went well pleas'd the Suffolk tony,
Heart free from care, as purfe from money;
He got a lufty fqualling boy,
(Doubtless the dad's and mamma's joy).
In short, to make things fquare and even,
Adrian he nam'd was by Dick Stephen.
Mat's debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
And fends you in a bill of charges,
A cradle, brother, and a basket,
(Granted as soon as e'er I ask it);
A coat not of the fmalleft fcantling,
Frocks, ftockings, fhoes, to grace the bantling
These too were fent (or I 'ın no drubber)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;
Yet these won't do, fend t' other coat,
For, faith, the firft's not worth a groat,
Difmally fhrunk, as herrings fhotten,
Suppos'd originally rotten.
Pray let the next be each way longer,
Of stuff more durable, and ftronger;
Send it next week, if you are able.
By this time, Sir, you know the Fable.
From this, and letters of the fame make,
You'll find what 'tis to have a name-fake.
Cold and hard times, Sir, here, (believe it).
I've loft my curate too, and grieve it.
At Eafter, for what I can fee,
(A time of eafe and vacancy)
If things but alter, and not undone,
I'll kiss your hands, and vifit London.
Molly fends greeting; fo do I, Sir;
Send a good coat, that's all; good-by, Sir.
First printed in the EXAMINER, 1710.
PHINX was a monster that would eat
Whatever ftranger she could get;
Unless his ready wit disclos'd
The fubtle Riddle the propos'd.
Oedipus was refolv'd to go,
And try what strength of parts would do.
Says Sphinx, On this depends your fate;
Tell me what animal is that,
Which has four feet at morning bright,
Has two at noon, and three at night?
'Tis Man, faid he, who, weak by nature,
At first,creeps, like his fellow-creature,
Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two;
In age, at length, grows weak and fick,
For his third leg adopts a stick.
Now, in your turn, 'tis juft, methinks,
You should refolve me, Madam Sphinx.
What greater stranger yet is he,
Who has four legs, then two, then three;
Then lofes one, then gets two more,
And runs away at last on four?
EPIGR A M, Extempore,
To the Master of ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE*, 1712.
Ifood, Sir, patient at your feet,
Before your elbow-chair;
But make a bishop's throne your feat,
I'll kneel before you there.
One only thing can keep you down,
For your great foul too mean;
You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne,
Pay homage to the Queen.
See the hiftory of this epigram, Gent. Mag. 1774, P. 16.
+ Mr. Prior, though he paid a becoming deference to the Master of St. John's as a Fellow of that College, thought fome refpect was due to the public character which he had just before fuftained in France.
WHEN Nell, given o'er by the Doctor, was dying,
And John at the chimney ftood decently crying; 'Tis in vain, faid the woman, to make fuch ado, For to our long home we must all of us go!
True, Nell, reply'd John; but, what yet is the worst
For us that remain, the best always go first:
Remember, dear wife, that I faid fo last year,
When you loft your white heifer, and I my brown mare!
WHEN Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat,
As full of champagne as an egg 's full of meat,
He wak'd in the boat; and to Charon he faid,
He would be row'd back, for he was not yet dead.
Trim the boat, and fit quiet, ftern Charon reply'd:
You may have forgot, you was drunk when you dy’d.
WIVES by the Dozen.
DEATH! how thou fpoil'ft the best project of life!
Said Gabriel, who ftill, as he bury'd one wife,
For the fake of her family, marry'd her coufin;
And thus, in an honeft collateral line,
He still marry'd on till his number was nine,
Full forry to die till he made up his dozen.
POOR Hal caught his death, ftanding under a fpout, Expecting till midnight, when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And curs'd was the weather that quench'd the man's flame.
Whoe'er thou art, that read'ft thefe moral lines, Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.
UOTH Richard in jeft, loeking wiftly at Nelly,
Methinks, child, you feem fomething round in
the belly!
'Nell anfwer'd him fnappifhly, How can that be,
When my husband has been more than two years at fea?
Thy husband! quoth Dick: why that matter was carry'd
Moft fecretly, Nell; I ne'er thought thou wert marry'd.
On a F ART, let in the Houfe of Commons.
READER, I was born, and cry'd;
I crack'd, I fmelt, and fo I dy'd.
Like Julius Cæfar's was my death,
Who in the Senate loft his breath.
Much alike entomb'd does lie
The noble Romulus and I:
And when I dy'd, like Flora fair,
I left the Commonwealth my heir.
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