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My Leves's all Duns,
Attended by Bums,
And my Landlady too She's a Teazer,
At least four Times'a Day
She warns me away,
And what can a Man do to please her?
3:37 Here's the Victualler and Vintner, The Cook and the Printer,
ide:,,4 With their Myrmidons hovering about, Sir: The Taylor and Draper, With the Cur that sells Paper, That, in short, I dare not ftir put,
Books suré may go,
My Master Ovid's did fo,
And tell how doleful the Cafe is;
If it don't move your Pity,
To make short of my Ditty,
'Twill serve you to wipe your Arses.
Mart. Epig. 5. 1. 2.
Ne valeam, fi nox totis, Deciane, diebres,
Et tecum totis Noctibus effe velim.
N fome vile Hamlet let nie live forgot,
Small Beer my Portion, and no Wine my Lot :
To some worse Fiend in Church-Indentures bound,
Tban ancient Job or modern Sherlock found ;.
And with more Aches plagu'd, and Pains, and Ilse
Than fill our Salmon's Works, or Tilburgl's Bills;
If 'tis not still the Burden of my Prayer,
The Night with you, with yon the Day to share.
But Sir, (and the Complaint you know is true)
Two damn'd long Miles there lie 'twixt me and you ;
And these two Miles, by help of Calculation,
Make four, by that I've reach'd iny Habitation.
You're near Sage Wills, the Land of Mirth and Claret;
I live stow'd up in a White-Chrapel Garret :
Oft when Iv'e walk'il so far, your Hands to kiss,
Flatter'd with Thoughts of the succeeding Bliss,
I'm cold you're gone coche vexatious Hall,
Where with eternal Lungs the Lawyers bawla.it
Or else stole out, fome Female Friend to see;
Or, what's as bad, you're riot at Home for me.
Two Miles I've at your Service; and ibat's Civil i
But to trudge four, and miss you, is the Devil.
Advice to a Vintner.
Mart. Epig. 19. 1. 1.
The Hint taken from Quid te, 'Tucca, juvat.
Hat Planet difracts thee, avhat damnable Star,
To dash honest Bourdeaux with vile Bar-a-Bar.? Why should innocent Claret be murder'd by:Port, Thôu'lt surely be sentenc'd in Bacchus's Court. As for us drunken Rakęs, if we hang, or we drown, Or are decently poison', what Loss has the Town; But to kill harmless Claret, that does fo much Good, Is downright Effusion of crue Christian Blood: Ne'er think what I tell you is Matter of Laughter, Thcu'lt be curs’d for'c in this world, and damn'd fort
Mart. Epig. 23. 1. 1.
Si memini, fuerant tibi quatuor, Ælia, dentes.
Hen Gainmer Gurton first I knew,
Four Teech in all the reckond : Comes a damn'd Cough, and whips out two, And other two, a second.
II. Courage, old Dame, and never fear
MS9 The third, when e'er it comes; Give me but tocher Jugg of Beer,
And i'll ensure your Gums. stratoaksstatistieke serbestsetagets
An Imitation of Epigram 44. in Mart. Lib. 3:
Occurrit tibi nemo quod libenter, &c.
Hat Cousins, Friends, and Strangers fy thee,
Nay, thy own Sifter can't sit righ thee;
That all Men thy Acquaintance frun,
And into Holes and Corners run,
Like Irish Beau from Engliffs Dui,
The Reason's plain, and if thou’d'ft know it,
Thou’rt a anost damn'd repeating Pæt.
Not Bayliff fow'r, with horrid Beard,
Is more in poor Alfatia fear'd,
Since the stern Parliament of late
Has ftript of ancient Rights their State : cris
Not Tygers, when their Whelps are mifting;
Nor Serpents in the Sun-fhine hifting
Nor Snake in Tail that carries Rattle,
Nor Fire, nor Plague, nor Blood, nor Battle,
Iş half so dreaded by the Throng,
As thy vile perfecuting Tongue.
If e'er the restless. Glack that's in it.
Gives thy Head leave to think a Minute,
Think what a Penance we must lear,
Thy damn'd'Impertinence to hear.
Whether. I land, or run, or fit,
Thou still art i'ch' repeating Fit;
Weary'd, I seek a Nap to take,
But thy curs Muse keeps me awake. 13:34
At Church too, when the Organ's blowing:
Thy louder Pipe is still a goingia
H! Jemmy, you're a Beau : Not ) alone
28 Mr. BROWN'S MARTIAL.
Nor Park, nor Bagnio's from thee frec,
All Places are alike to thee.
Learn Wisdom once, at a Friend's Instance,
From the two Fellows at St. Dienstan's,
Make not each Man thou meet'st a Martyr;
But strike, like them, but once a Quarter. -
The 63d Epigram in. Martial, Lib..3..
Cotile, Bellus homo es, &c.
Say this, but 'tis the Talk of all the Town.
Prithee be free, and to thy Friend impart :
What is a Beau Ay, sir, with all my
He's one, who nicely curls and combs his Hair,
And visits Sedgwick monthly all the Year :
Sings bawdy Songs, and humms them, as along
Flanting he walks thro' the admiring Throng;
All the Day long fits with the charming Fair,
And whispers pretty Stories in their Ear.
Writes Billets-doux ; Thuns-all Men as he goes,
Left their unhallow;d Touch thou'd daub his Cloaths,
He knows your Miftrefs : Nay, at every Feast
He'll tell the Pedigree of every Gueft.
Is this a Beau? Faith, Jemmy, I'll be plain,
A Beau's a Bawble, deftitute of Brain.
The Contented WHOR E.
An Imitation of Epig. 66. in Mart. I. 12.
Formosa Pbillis no&te cum mibi tota.
Charming Celia's Arms I flewy
And there all Night I feasted ;
No God such Transports ever knew,
Nor Mortal ever tafted.