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Good night, says Sue, to her sweetheart, Hugh;

Good night, says every one.

Some walk'd, and some did run;

Some loiter'd on the way,

And bound themselves by kisses twelve

To meet the next holiday.

EPIGRAM.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

HE jolly members of a toping club

Like pipe-staves are, but hoop'd into a tub;

And in a close confederacy link

For nothing else, but only to hold drink.

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We'll fall on the must, we'll fall on the presses,

We'll make the boards groan with our grievous caresses;

No measure, I say; no order, but riot;

No waiting nor cheating; we'll drink like a Sciot:

Drink, drink, and drink when you've done;

Pledge it and frisk it, every one;

Chirp it and challenge it, swallow it down:

He that's afraid is a thief and a clown.

Good wine's a gentleman;

He speedeth digestion all he can ;

No headache hath he, no headache, I say,
For those who talked with him yesterday.

A COAT OF ARMS.

FROM WESTMINSTER DROLLERY.]

GREAT pretender to gentility

Came to a herald for his pedigree:

Beginning there to swagger, roar, and swear,
Requir'd to know what arms he was to bear.

The herald, knowing what he was, begun
To rumble o'r his heraldry; which done,

Told him he was a gentleman of note,

And that he had a very glorious coat.

"Prithee, what is't?" quoth he, " and take your fees."

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Sir," says the herald, " 'tis two rampant trees,

One couchant; and, to give it further scope,

A ladder passant, and a pendant rope.

And, for a grace unto your blue-coat sleeves,
There is a bird i' th' crest that strangles thieves."

BE NOT A WIT.

TOM D'URFEY.

FATHER, says Dick, could you taste the delights
That myself and companions enjoy at nights,

Were you once but to hear the conundrums and quibbles,
The retorts and the puns, the lampoons and the libels,
The rhymes, repetitions, the songs, and the catches,
The whims and the flirts, and the smart witty touches,
That over the flask we most lovingly vent,

You would think a whole night most gloriously spent ;

And wou'd guess by our wit, and the course that we follow,
We cou'd all be no less than the sons of Apollo.

Ah! Dick, says the father, take care, I intreat ye,
Thou'dst better be hang'd of the two than be witty;
For if thou'rt once thought, by thy studies and labours,
To've acquir'd more wit than the rest of thy neighbours,
Thou'lt be sneer'd at by fools, and be fear'd by thy betters,
And hunted about by rogues, bailiffs, and setters.
Thy lodging must be in some nine-penny garret,
Thy drink, porter's guzzle much oftener than claret;
Thy coat must through all the four seasons be worn,
Till it's robb'd of its lap like a sheep newly shorn;
You must always seem pleasant, that is, if you can,
Keep your wits ready prim'd for a flash in the pan :
When your pockets are empty, your brains must project

Puns, quibbles, and tales, to supply the defect;

That whenever you meet with a generous chub,

You may sneak out a jest in the room of your club:

For a wit is no more than a merry Tom Fool,

A satirical scourger, or a flattering tool.

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