III.

On a READER of his own VERSES.

Hoarse Mævius reads his hobbling Verse
To all and at all times,

And deems them both divinely smooth,
His Voice as well as Rhymes.

But folks say, Mævius is no Ass!

But Mævius makes it clear,

That he's a Monster of an Ass

An Ass without an Ear.

IV.

If the guilt of all lying consits in deceit
Lye on 'tis your duty, sweet Youth!
For believe me, then only we find you a cheat
When you cunningly tell us the truth.

V.

Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing,
But prithee where lies Jack's estate?
In Algebra, for there I found of late

A quantity call'd less than nothing,

VI.

As Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking
Whom should we see on t'other side pass by
But Informator with a stranger talking,

So I exclaim'd, Lord what a Lye!

Quoth Dick-what can you hear him?-hear him! stuff! I saw him open his mouth-an't that enough?

VII.

To a PROUD PARENT.

Thy Babes ne'er greet thee with the Father's name;
My Lud! they lisp. Now whence can this arise?
Perhaps, their Mother feels an honest shame,
And will not teach her Infant to tell Lies.

VIII.

Hippona lets no silly flush

Disturb her cheek, nought makes her blush.
Whate'er obscenities you say,

She nods and titters frank and

gay.

Oh Shame awake one honest flush

For this, that nothing makes her blush.

IX.

Thy lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast,
It don't surprise me in the least

To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast.

But that so dainty clean a beast licks thee-
Yes-that surprizes me.

X.

Jem writes his verses with more speed
Than the Printer's boy can set 'em ;
Quite as fast as we can read,

And only not so fast as we forget 'em.

XI.

Doris can find no taste in tea,

Green to her drinks like Bohea;

Because she makes the tea so small

She never tastes the tea at all.

XII.

What? rise again with all one's bones?
Quoth Giles, I hope you fib?

I trusted when I went to Heaven

XIII.

On a BAD SINGER.

Swans sing before they die-'twere no bad thing
Should certain persons die before they sing.

XIV.

Occasioned by the last.

A joke (cries Jack) without a sting-
Post obitum can no man sing.

And true, if Jack don't mend his manners,
And quit the atheistic banners,

Post obitum will Jack run foul
Of such Folks as can only bowl.

XV.

On a MODERN DRAMATIST.

Not for the Stage his plays are fit
But suit the closet, said a Wit.
The Closet? said his friend, I ween

The Water-Closet 'tis you mean.

XVI.

To be rul'd like a Frenchman the Briton is loath,
Yet in truth a direct Tory governs them both.

1798,

XVII.

On a very Ugly WOMAN.

How happy for us mortals 'twere
Had Eve been such a woman !

The Devil ne'er had tempted her
And she had tempted no man,