A dunce, or what's inanimate, An English merchant *, who for trade Liv'd in a house of structure odd; One wing extending to the road, Which made a nook where people stood, This brought to mind their fuperftition; The late Sir Robert Godfchall. VOL. VI. H With With that he for a workman fends, But kneeling there, the cross adore. The King, foon after, hapt to dub With knighthood, a notorious scrub: (Ye Britons take my story right 'Twas Portugal that own'd the knight) So ill bestow'd a grace became Of converfation general theme: When at our Merchant's table one, On the fame fubject thus began ; "I must confefs, I'm at a lofs, "How the King came to give the cross "To fuch a wretch, the public fcorn!" (The cross their badge of knighthood worn) Our Merchant, with a fmile, replies, "'Tis done with reafon. Kings are wife; "The fame I've to my corner done, "That it might not be pifs'd upon." THE THE CURSE OF AVARICE. A SONG. WHAT man in his wits had not rather be poor, Environ'd from morning till night in a croud, Still repining, and longing for quiet each hour, With the means of enjoying his wifh in his pow'r, For a year must be pass'd; or a day must be come, He must add to his ftore this or that pretty fum, But his gains, more bewitching the more they increafe, eye : Such a wretch let mine enemy live, if he please, Let not even mine enemy die. A E PIGRAM. MISER fpied a mouse about his house; What do you here, fays he, my pretty mouse ? Smiling, replies the mouse, you need not sweat, I come for lodging, friend, and not for meat. THE HONEST CONFESSIO N. IT happen'd in a healthful year, A Doctor, fore oppress'd with want, A neighbour afk'd him why fo fad, O Lord! you quite mistake the cafe, Is 'caufe my friends are well. THE THE MORNING VISIT. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN LADY RATTLE AND LADY FAM. L. R. GOOD morning, dear coufin, pray how do you do? I hope you was fortunate last night at loo. L. P. No, trust me, I ne'er had fuch ill-luck before'; I loft a hundred fweet pieces, or more; The clock just ftruck five as I went to bed, L. R.-Oh! furprifing indeed! L. P. -Heaven grant me repose! 'Tis fome little wretch, fure, that nobody knows : For no one of any diftinction would be United to fuch a poor reptile as he. His recent behaviour must bar his pursuit ; By all he's conjectur'd a fool or a brute; And befides he's no Lord, 'tis all a mere fiction, |