Upon all four; as years accrue, Now, in your turn, 'tis juft, methinks, Who has four legs, then two, then three; EPIGR A M, Extempore, To the Master of ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE*, 1712. food, Sir, patient at your feet, Before your elbow-chair; But make a bishop's throne your I'll kneel before you there. feat, One only thing can keep you down, For your great foul too mean; You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne, P. 16. See the hiftory of this epigram, Gent. Mag. 1774, + Mr. Prior, though he paid a becoming deference to the Master of St. John's as a Fellow of that College, thought fome respect was due to the public character which he had just before sustained in France. NELL NELL AN DI JOHN. WHEN Nell, given o'er by the Doctor, was dying, And John at the chimney flood decently crying;" True, Nell, reply'd John; but, what yet is the worst BIBO AND CHARON. WHEN Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat, As full of champagne as an egg 's full of meat, He wak'd in the boat; and to Charon he faid, WIVES by the Dozen." DEATH! how thou fpoil'ft the best project of life! He still marry'd on till his number was nine, VOL. II. R FATAL FATAL LOVE. POOR Hal caught his death, standing under a spout, Expecting till midnight, when Nan would come out; But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame, And curs'd was the weather that quench'd the man's flame. Whoe'er thou art, that read'ft these moral lines, Make love at home, and go to bed betimes. A. SAILOR'S WIFE. Q UOTH Richard in jeft, looking wiftly at Nelly, Nell anfwer'd him fnappishly, How can that be, On a FART, let in the House of Commons. READER, I was born, and cry'd; I crack'd, I fmelt, and so I dy'd. Like Julius Cæfar's was my death, THE THE MODERN SAINT. HER time with equal prudence Silvia shares, Loose without bawd, and pious without zeal, THE PARALLEL. PRO ROMETHEUS, forming Mr. Day, Carv'd fomething like a man in clay. The mortal's work might well miscarry ; HE, that does Heaven and earth control, Alone has power to form a foul, T'other the lively form of God; TO A YOUNG LADY, Who was fond of FORTUNE-TELLING. YOU, Madam, may with fafety go, Decrees of deftiny to know; For at your birth kind planets reign'd, I dread to fearch the dark decree; This fecret then I dare not know, |