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will you have, sir ? Says I, you may well say that, after stealing my goose. He began to laugh. Says I, laugh an you please, but I tell you I don't half like such tricks upon strongers, if I do, I wish I may be shot! I then filled my plate with bacon and greens, and whenever I looked up or down the table, I held my plate fast with my left hand, if I didn't, I wish I may be shot! When we'd all done eating, and they'd taken away the table-cloth, what do you think there was? Why, there was another table-cloth underneath, if there wasn't, I wish I may be shot! Then I seed a man bringing along a great big glass thing full of little glass cups, with something in ’em that looked mighty good to eat; so says I, hello, mister, bring that air thing here, so he brought it; thinks I, let's taste 'em first. They were tetotaceous good and sweet, so I took twelve on 'em, if I didn't, I wish I may be shot !
Like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity.
Term’d-jolly dogs - choice spirits — alias swine,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.
These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run on,
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon, Lose half men's regular estate of sun,
By borrowing too largely of the moon.
One of this kidney — Toby Tosspot hight -
Although he had a tolerable notion
Of aiming at progressive motion, 'Twasn't direct --'twas serpentine.
He worked with sinuosities along, Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork.
At length, with near four bottles in his pate,
And being civil beyond measure,
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure.”
Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
He waited full two minutes more; and then
I'll pull it for the gentleman again.”
But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright,
Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head, Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed,
Pale as a parsnip — bolt upright.
At length, he wisely to himself doth say —
Calming his fears — “Tush ! 'tis some fool has rung and run away;"
When peal the second rattled in his ears !
Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor;
And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd, He groped down stairs, and open’d the street-door,
While Toby was performing peal the third.
Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant
And saw he was a strapper - stout and tall ;
Says Toby — “I want nothing, sir, at all.”
“Want nothing ! sir, you've pulld my bell, I vow,
As if you'd jerk it off the wire.”
" I pull'd it, sir, at your desire."
“At mine!” – “Yes, your's; I hope I've done it well :
High time for bed, sir; I was hastening to it ; But if you write up-'Please to ring the bell,' Common politeness makes me stop and do it.”
LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
WILL WADDLE, whose temper was studious and lonely,
He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
Next night 'twas the same ! — and the next ! -- and the next !
In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him!
The doctor look'd wise; -“A slow fever,” he said ;
Will kick'd out the doctor :- but when ill indeed,
“Look ye, landlord, I think,” argued Will with a grin,
Quoth the landlord — “Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ;
“The oven!” says Will. — Says the host, “Why this passion ? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion ! Why so crusty, good sir ?” “S’death!” cried Will in a taking, “Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ?”
Will paid for his rooms. — Cried the host, with a sneer, “Well, I see you have been going away half a year.” — “Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel — " Will said ; “But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread.”
THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.
A MAN in many a country town we know,
Professing openly with death to wrestle : Entering the field against the grimly foe,
Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle.
Yet some affirm, no enemies they are;
Then give each other plaguy knocks,
So (many a suffering patient saith)
Though the apothecary fights with death, Still they're sworn friends to one another.
A member of the Æsculapian line,
Or make a bill;
Or spread a plaster.
His fame full six miles round the country ran,
In short, in reputation he was solus ! All the old women call’d him “a fine man!”
His name was Bolus.
Benjamin Bolus, though in trade,
(Which oftentimes will genius fetter,) Read works of fancy, it is said, And cultivated the belles lettres.