162

EPIGRAMS.*

I.

WOULD the Baptist come again
And preach aloud with might and main
Repentance to our viperous race!
But should this miracle take place,
I hope, ere Irish ground he treads,
He'll lay in a good stock of heads!

I

II.

OCCASIONED BY THE FORMER.

HOLD of all our viperous race

The greedy creeping things in place
Most vile, most venomous; and then
The United Irishmen !

To come on earth should John determine,
Imprimis, we'll excuse his sermon.

Without a word the good old Dervis
Might work incalculable service,

At once from tyranny and riot

Save laws, lives, liberties and moneys,

If sticking to his ancient diet

He'd but eat up our locusts and wild honeys!

III.

ON A READER OF HIS OWN VERSES.†

HOARSE MÆVIUS reads his hobbling verse

To all and at all times,

* Annual Anthology, Vol. 11. Bristol, 1800.
† Morning Post, Sept. 7, 1799; Keepsake, 1829.

And deems them both divinely smooth,
His voice as well as rhymes.

But folks say, Mævius is no ass!

But Mævius makes it clear
That he's a monster of an ass,

An ass without an ear.

IF

IV.

F the guilt of all lying consists in deceit
Lie on--'tis your duty, sweet youth!
For believe me, then only we find
When you cunningly tell us the truth.

V. *

you a cheat

ACK drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing,

JAC

But prithee where lies Jack's estate?

In Algebra, for there I found of late

A quantity call'd less than nothing.

AS

VI.

S Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking
Whom should we see on t'other side pass by

But Informator with a stranger talking,

So I exclaim'd, "Lord what a lie !"

Quoth Dick-" What, can you hear him? "Hear him! stuff!

I saw him open his mouth-an't that enough?"

* Morning Post, Nov. 16, 1799.

VII.

TO A PROUD PARENT.

THY babes ne'er greet thee with the father's

name;

'My Lud!' they lisp. Now whence can this

arise?

Perhaps their mother feels an honest shame
And will not teach her infant to tell lies.

VIII.

HIPPONA lets no silly flush

Disturb her cheek, nought makes her blush.

Whate'er obscenities you say

She nods and titters frank and gay.

Oh Shame awake one honest flush

For this, that nothing makes her blush.

IX.

THY lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast,
It don't surprise me in the least

To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast.
But that so dainty clean a beast licks thee,
Yes-that surprises me.

X. *

JEM writes his verses with more speed

Than the printer's boy can set 'em ;

Quite as fast as we can read,

And only not so fast as we forget 'em.

*Morning Post, Sept. 23, 1799.

XI.

DORIS can find no taste in tea,

Green to her drinks like Bohea; Because she makes the tea so small She never tastes the tea at all.

XII.

WHAT? rise again with all one's bones?
Quoth Giles, I hope you fib?

I trusted when I went to Heaven
To go without my rib.

XIII.

ON A BAD SINGER.

SWANS sing before they die-'twere no bad thing

Should certain persons die before they sing.

XIV.

OCCASIONED BY THE LAST.

A JOKE (cries Jack) without a sting—

Post obitum can no man sing.

And true, if Jack don't mend his manners
And quit the atheistic banners,

Post obitum will Jack run foul

Of such folks as can only howl.

XV.

ON A MODERN DRAMATIST.

NOT for the Stage his plays are fit,
But suit the closet, said a wit.

* Morning Post, Nov. 14, 1799.

The closet? said his friend, I ween
The water-closet 'tis you mean.

XVI.

To be ruled like a Frenchman the Briton is loth Yet in truth a direct-tory governs them both.

1798.

XVII.

ON A VERY UGLY WOMAN.

HOW happy for us mortals 'twere

Had Eve been such a woman!
The Devil ne'er had tempted her
And she had tempted no man.

There comes from old Avaro's grave

A deadly stench-why, sure they have Immured his soul within his grave?

Last Monday all the papers said

That Mr.

was dead;

Why, then, what said the city?
The tenth part sadly shook their head,
And shaking sigh'd and sighing said,
"Pity, indeed, 'tis pity!"

But when the said report was found
A rumour wholly without ground,
Why, then, what said the city?
The other nine parts shook their head,
Repeating what the tenth had said,
"Pity, indeed, 'tis pity !"*

*The Keepsake, 1829.