Sidor som bilder

At the sides there was fpinnage and pudding made

hot; In the middle a place where the pafy-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averfion; And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Perfian, So there I fat ftuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me moit, was that I'd Scottish

fögue, With his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his

brogue, And, 'madam,' quoth he, "may this bit be my poifon; A prettier dinner I never fet eyes on ; Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curft, But I've eat of your tripe, till I'm ready to burst," “ The tripe, quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week : I like these here dinners so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all.” “Oho! quoth my friend he'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : There's a pafty"-"a pafty !” repeated the Jew; I don't care, if I keep a corner for't too." What the de'il, mon, a pasty! re-echo'd the Scot; Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that.” We'll'all keep a corner, the lady cried out;" We'll all keep a corner was echo'd about.” While thus we resolv'd, and the pasty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid;

A visage

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A visage so fad, and so pale with affright,
Wak'd Priam in drawing his curtains by night.
But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her?
That she came with some terrible news from the baker:
And so it fell out, for that negligent loven,
Had shut out 'the pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus-but let fimilies drop-
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
To send such good verses to one of your
You've got an odd something--a kind of discerning-
A relish-a taste-ficken'd over by learning;
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
That you think very slightly of all that's your own :
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs,
You may make a mistake, and think flightly of this.

tafte ;


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The wretch condemn’d with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies ;
And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way ;
And fill, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.


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MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain, To former joys, recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain ;

Thou, like the world, the oppreft oppressing;

Thy (miles increase the wretch's woe? And he who wants each other blefling,

In thee moft ever find a foe.


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OHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers, To tell him the reason why affes had ears? “ An't please you," quoth John, “ I'm not given

“.to letters, “ Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters, “ Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on affes. **

Edinburgh, 1753


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