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The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; Some thinks he writes Cinna-he owns to Panurge : While thus he describ'd' them by trade and by

name, They enter'd, and dinner was serv'd as they came.

At the top, a fried liver and bacon were seen, At the bottom was tripe in a swingeing tureen; At the sides there was spinnage, and pudding made

hot ;

In the middle a place where the pasty—was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's

my utter aversion, bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian ; So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pond, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vex'd me most was that did Scottish

rogue, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his

brogue, And “ Madam," quoth he, may this bit be my

poison, A prettier dinner I never set eyes on: Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to burst.” “ The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate

cheek, “ I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week: I like these here dinners, so pretty and small; But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at

all." “Oho!" quoth my friend, “ he'll come on in a

trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice;

There's a pasty”-“ A pasty!" repeated the Jew, “ I don't care if I keep a corner for't too." “ What the de'il, mon, a pasty!” re-echoed the Scot, “ Tho' splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that.”

“ We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out; “ We'll all keep a corner,

was echoed about. While thus we resolv'd, and the pasty delay'd, With looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid : A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Wak’d

Priam in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out, for who could mistake

her ? That she came with some terrible news from the

baker : And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus--but let similes dropAnd now that I think on't, the story may stop. To be plain, my good Lord, it's but labour misplac'd To send such good verses to one of your taste ; You've got an odd something—a kind of discerning, A relish–a taste-sicken'd

over by learning ; At least, it's your temper, as very well known,

think very slightly of all that's your own : So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, You

may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

That you


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The wretch condemn’d with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the

way ; And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.


O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain :

Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.

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John Trott was desir'd by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears ; “An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'm not given to

letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters, Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses."

Edinburgh, 1753.

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