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On a READER of his own VERSES.
Hoarse Mævius reads his hobbling Verse
And deems them both divinely smooth,
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.
If the guilt of all lying consits in deceit
Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing,
A quantity call'd less than nothing,
As Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking
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?
To a PROUD PARENT.
Thy Babes ne'er greet thee with the Father's name;
Hippona lets no silly flush
Disturb her cheek, nought makes her blush.
She nods and titters frank and
Oh Shame awake one honest flush
For this, that nothing makes her blush.
Thy lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast,
To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast.
But that so dainty clean a beast licks thee-
Jem writes his verses with more speed
And only not so fast as we forget 'em.
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.
What? rise again with all one's bones?
I trusted when I went to Heaven
On a BAD SINGER.
Swans sing before they die-'twere no bad thing
Occasioned by the last.
A joke (cries Jack) without a sting-
And true, if Jack don't mend his manners,
Post obitum will Jack run foul
On a MODERN DRAMATIST.
Not for the Stage his plays are fit
The Water-Closet 'tis you mean.
To be rul'd like a Frenchman the Briton is loath,