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SHEPHERD. But deer have horns; how must I keep her under?
Echo. Keep her under. SHEPHERD. How shall I hold her, ne'er to part asunder?
Echo. A-se under. SHEPHERD. But what can glad me, when she's laid on bier ?
Echo. Beer. SHEPHERD. What must I do, when woman will be kind ?
Echo. Be kind. SHEPHERD. What must I do, when woman will be cross ?
Echo. Be cross. SHEPHERD. Lord, what is she, that can so turn and wind ?
Echo. Wind. SHEPHERD. If she be wind, what stills her when she blows ?
Echo. Blows. SHEPHERD. But, if she bang again, still should I bang her?
Echo. Bang her. SHEPHERD. Is there no way to moderate her anger?
Echo. Hang her. SHEPHERD. Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell What woman is, and how to guard her well.
Echo. Guard her well.
HERE continueth to rot
Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY :
His matchless IMPUDENCE from the second.
Nor was he more singular in the undeviating pravity of his manners, than successful in accumulating
A MINISTERIAL ESTATE.
He was the only person of his time, Who could cheat without the mask of HONESTY ; Retain his primeval meanness when possessed of
TEN THOUSAND a year ; And, having daily deserved the GIBBET for what he did,
Was at last condemned to it for what he could
O indigO indignant reader ! Think not his life useless to mankind ! Providence connived at his execrable designs, To give to after ages a conspicuous PROOF and
EXAMPLE Of how small estimation is EXORBITANT WEALTH in
the sight of
JOHANNES jacet hic Mirandula-celera nói'unt
APPLIED TO F. C.
HERE Francis Chartres lies *-be civil!
PETER complains, that God has given
To his poor babe a life so short: Consider, Peter, he's in Heaven;
'Tis good to have a friend at court.
YOU beat your pate, and fancy wit will come: Knock as you please, there's nobody at home. * Thus applied by Mr. Pope : “ Here lies lord Coningsby."
EPITAPH OF BY-WORDS.
HERE lies a round woman, who thought mighty odd
EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH.
SIR, I admit your gen’ral rule,
WELL then, poor G-lies under ground !
So there's an end of honest Jack. So little justice here he found,
'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.
ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB,
WHENCE deathless Kit-Cat took its name,
Few criticks can unriddle : Some say
from PASTRYCOOK it came, And some, from car and FIDDLE. From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits; But from this pellmell pack of toasts
Of old cats and young KITS.
TO A LADY,
WITH THE TEMPLE OF FAME.
WHAT'S fame with men, by custom of the nation,