FROM BOILEAU.

YOU say, without reward or fee,

Your uncle cured me of a dangerous ill.
I say, he never did prescribe for me,
The proof is plain-I'm living still.

FREEDOM FROM DEBT.

YOU say you nothing owe, and so I say,
He only owes who something has to pay.

TO A FOOL GOING TO TRAVEL.

YOU say you'll spend a thousand pound,
The world and men to know,

And take a tour, all Europe round,
Improving as you go.

Dear Jack, in search of others sense,

Discover not your own;
But wisely double the expense,
That you may pass unknown.

THE CREDIBLE WITNESS.

You say you're old, in hopes we'll say you're

young,

But 'tis your face we credit, not your tongue.

A VALUABLE COMMODITY.

YOU sell your wife's rich jewels, lace and clothes,
The price once paid, away the purchase goes;
But she a better bargain proves, I'm told;

Still sold returns, and still is to be sold.

A PUZZLING QUESTION.

YOU take me for a glutton and a sinner,
Who beat my cook, for spoiling of my dinner..
If, as a trifling cause on this you look,
Tell me a better cause to beat a cook?

THE PARSON CONFUTED.

YOU tell us, Doctor, 'tis a sin to steal!
We to your practice from your text appeal.
You steal a sermon, steal a nap; and, pray,
From dull companions don't you steal away.

SHILLY-SHALLY.

YOU will and you won't-half no and half yes, I'm quite at a loss for your meaning, dear Miss, Long enough in all conscience you've shuffled and shamm'd:

-Say Yes, and be kiss'd-or, say No, and be d-d.

THE READY REPLY.

YOUNG Corydon, a forward blade,
The offspring of a 'squire,
Address'd a lovely, blooming maid,
Whose father was a dyer.

"A dyer's daughter!" cries his dad,
"What marry her! O fye !"—
Why not, Sir?" says the honest lad,
You know we all must die."

BY A LADY,

On hearing a Gentleman say, he would never
dance with a plain Woman.

YOUNG Damon vows, nay, hear him swear,
He'll dance with none but what are fair;"

Suppose we girls a law dispense,
To dance with none but men of sense."

Suppose you should-pray, Ma'am, what then?"
Why, Sir, you'd never dance again.'

RETURNED WITH A MS. COMEDY TO THE
AUTHOR.

YOUR Comedy I've read, my friend,
And like the half you pilfer'd best;
But sure the Drama you might mend-
Take courage, man-and steal the rest!

A CLERGYMAN'S ANSWER

To a Young Lady, who sent him her Compliments on the Ten of Hearts.

YOUR compliments, Lady, I pray you forbear, Our old English service is much more sincere; You sent me ten hearts; the tithe's only mine; Give me but your own, you may burn t'other nine.

ONCE TOO MUCH.

YOUNG Courtly takes me for a dunce,
For all night long I spoke but once;
On better grounds I think him such-
He spoke but once, yet once too much.

TO THE AUTHOR OF A DULL EPIGRAM. YOUR Epigram, my friend, is out of joint. What wants it, pray?-Why, faith, it wants a point.

THE FATAL BEQUEST.

YOUR father, young Split-coin, they say
Allow'd you five hundred a year,
And it came like a corporal's pay,

Each week he made up the arrcar.

Twould keep you from starving, he thought;
For he knew your extravagance such,
That to-morrow you'd ne'er have a groat,
Though to-day you got ever so much.
But his will, in appearance less strict,
Outright gave you all he could give.
Why, already we see how you're trick'd-
Disinherited, Bob, as I live.

ON A VERY HOMELY LADY, THAT
PATCH'D MUCH.

YOUR homely face, Flippanta, you disguise
With patches, numerous as Argus' eyes:
I own that patching's requisite for you;
For more we're pleas'd, if less your face we view :
Yet I advise, if my advice you'd ask,

Wear but one patch; but be that patch a mask.

TO H. L.

FROM OWEN.

YOUR neighbour's wife best pleases you; and he Counts yours most fair; thus nobly ye agree: Tully to prove his words may now despair,

Some birds, it seems, think their own chicks' not fair.

PRIEST-RIDDEN.

YOUR Poll, Sir Knight, with deep concern you

own,

To mother church is such a bigot grown,

That she her Father visits-though forbidden, Ah, friend! I shrewdly fear thy wife's priest-ridden.

RONDEAU.

YOURS, Jenny, yours in every thought,
At length this fickle heart is caught:
This heart, that broke kind Kitty's chain,
Tho' studious to prevent my pain;

TO CLARISSA.

WHY like a tyrant wilt thou reign,
When thou mayst rule the willing mind?
Can the poor pride of giving pain

Repay the joys that wait the kind?
I curse my fond enduring heart,

Which, scorn'd, presumes not to be free, Condemn'd to feel a double smart,

To hate myself, and burn for thee.

A GOOD REASON FOR SITTING UP. WHY ne'er goes Dick to bed till four? You see his wife-I say no more.

ON ST. DAVID'S DAY.

WHY on St. David's day do Welshmen seek
To beautify their hats with verdant leek,
Of nauseous smell? For honour 'tis, hur say,
Dulce & decorum est pro patria.

Right, Sir, to die or fight, it is, I think;
But how is 't dulce, when you for it stink?

THE KINGS OF EUROPE.

WHY, pray, of late do Europe's Kings
No jester in their courts admit?
They're grown such stately solemn things,
To bear a joke they think not fit.
But though each court a jester lacks,
To laugh at monarchs to their face,
All mankind do, behind their backs,
Supply the honest jester's place.