I hate all those pleasures we're angling and squar-¡to engross the conversation, he was appointed And fitting and cutting by rules; And dam'me-dear me, I beg pardon for swearing, All that follow such fashions are fools. They may say what they list on't, That pleasure's the prop and the staff, And tickles one into a laugh. For since pleasure, &c. THE MERIT OF BLOOD. [ing, orator of the republic; if he spoke improperly, occasion was taken from his subject to appoint him a suitable employment; if, for instance, he talked about dogs, he was made master of the buck-hounds; if he boasted of his courage, he was made a knight, or perhaps a field-marshal; and if he expressed a bigotted zeal for any spe culative opinion in religion, he was made an inquisitor. The offenders being thus distinguished for their follies, and not their wisdom, gave occasion to the Germans to call the republic "The Society of Fools." The King of Poland, one day, asked Psamka, if they had chosen a king in their republic? To which he replied, "God forbid that we should think of electing a king while your majesty lives; your majesty will always be King of Babine, as well as Poland." The king inquired farther, to what extent their republic reached ? "Over the whole world," says Psamka; "for we are told, by David, that all men are liars." This society soon increased so much, that there was scarce any person at court who was not honoured with some post in it; and its chiefs were also in high favour with the king. TOWN AND COUNTRY. When Sheriff Phillips told Sir John Silvester, the Recorder of London, that his court in the Old Bailey smelt of blood." I'm glad of it," replied Black Jack, in his stern way, "for it will thereby keep away the rogues and thieves." IN HENDON CHURCH-YARD. Died November 8th, 1808. Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lies, REPUBLIC OF BABINE: In London I never know what to be at, There was, at the court of Sigismund Augustus, a gentleman of the family of Psamka, who, in concert with Peter Cassovius, bailiff of Lublin, formed a society which the Polish writers call So calm and composing from morning till night; "The Republic of Babine;" and which the Ger- Oh! it settles the stomach when nothing is seen mans denominate The Society of Fools." This But an ass on a common, a goose on a green. society had its king, its chancellor, its counsellors, its archbishops, bishops, judges, and other In London how easy we visit and meet, officers. When any of the members did or said Gay pleasure's the theme, and sweet smiles are any thing at their meetings, which was unbecoming or ill-timed, they immediately gave him a place, of which he was required to perform the duties, till another was appointed in his stead; fer example, if any one spoke too much, so us our treat Our mornings, a round of good-humour'd delight, Tith the coachman in drink, and the moon in a | Yet it's charming to hear, just from boardingfog, And no thought in our heads but a ditch or a bog. sore, Call an old maid a quiz, or a parson a bore, In the country, you're nail'd like a pale in your park, To some stick of a neighbour cramm'd into the ark: I've heard that how love in a cottage is sweet, When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet; I know nothing of that, for, alas! I'm a swain Who require (and I own it) more links to my chain. Your jays and your magpies may chatter on trees, And whisper soft nonsense in groves if they please; But a house is much more to my mind than a tree, And for groves-Oh! a fine grove of chimneys for me. school come, A hoyden tune up an old family strum; She'll play God save the King," with an excellent tone, With the sweet variation of "Old Bobbing Joan.” But what though your appetite's in a weak state? A pound at a time they will put on your plate, It's true, as to health you've no cause to complain, For they'll drink it, God bless'em, again and again. Then in town let me live, and in town let me die, THE IRISH EATING-HOUSE. This is to acquaint the whole world, and all my good friends in Kilkenny into the bargain, that I, Bryan Mullorony, late of Bread-street, and formerly of Pudding-lane, do intend to open an is well-known that the belly is a monster, that Eating-house in Swallow-street. And whereas it has no ears, and, therefore, it is mere waste of windpipe to be talking to it; and if the guts once begin to grumble, if you should even swallow the whole riot-act, it wont settle them half so soon as a clumsy piece of boiled beef, or a slice of plumpudding, he has, therefore, prepared dishes for all appetites and for all nations. He knows very well that a large troop of his own countrymen are annually imported every year, duty free, like as to reap down the harvest; and, as they are their own Irish linen, as well to keep up the breed lads of keen appetite, he has prepared a dainty dish for all such maws. This dish he calls the all description thrown into it, viz. shins of beef, General Post-office, because there are letters of clods, marrow, hogs-pudding, chitterlings, with a train of et cæteras as long as the tail of a paper kite. For those that can afford to send nice bits down Red-Lion-passage, he has prepared a table as long as the board of longitude, that will always N.B. Fine roast pork, that would tempt a Jew, every day at one o'clock. IN LAMBETH CHURCH-YARD, On William Wilson, a troublesome Tailor. Who never more will trouble you, trouble you, In the days that are past, on the banks of a stream, be found covered with legs of mutton, shouldering |mourning, or those that have business on both each other, with some bones to be picked at sides of the street, as he does not wish to have any second-hand very cheap. He also intends to esta-meandering of that kind in his house. Those that blish a cut-finger club for the use of shoe-blacks, wish to eat against time, to pay one shilling anewsmen, nightmen, &c. and one of the rules of head, provided they don't bolt, and in that case this club will be, that if any one should happen eighteen-pence. A bill of fare, as long as a by choice or chance to swallow another fellow's Welsh pedigree, will be written out every day, finger, or the joint of a finger, he is to pay one-with a clean table-cloth once a quarter, for the penny. Those that intend to stow in three din-use of those that like to dine genteely, with every ners at once, are to pay by the pound, twelve genteel accommodation; but no tripe at night, pound to the dozen, butter weight. And whereas and heels in the morning. The young Newlands there are some pale thin-looking fellows, with will be always welcome. crane-necks, that would demolish a shoulder of mutton at one sitting, they are to pay according to the damages they have committed; and as the Irish are very fond of working at the wet-dock, he has laid in a large quantity of small-beer, of so fine a quality that it will wrestle even with some of your porter, though it should get into a passion, and foam as much as it pleases; but his dear countrymen must know, that he will not keep a floating account with any one of them, nor take a duplicate in pay for any one of them, even though it should be backed by his honour. As to Scotchmen, who wish to cheat their guts, and to amuse their teeth, he has prepared for them that dish so well known north of the Tweed, namely, a haggis, with black-pudding as tough as Indian-rubber; and, as an empty sack can't stand, be is resolved that the substantial only shall appear on his tables. None of your French slops, with a little piece of beef, and an ocean of soup, like a small island in a lake; no syrup of cinders, no jelly of pipe stopples, or quaking puddings, that will tremble at the sight of a knife or a spoon. And as it sometimes happens that those who frequent Eating-houses often mistake their pocket for their mouth, and, as it is a pity that the belly should be defrauded of its due, he requests all such to take notice of this hint, and to be careful that they do not commit such mistakes. He has also fitted up a room for the use of ladies, but he wishes that it may be publicly known, that no woman is to be admitted in half With ivy o'ergrown, an old mansion house stood, Where the yew tree and cypress were growing. Of the tale that was told by the neighbours. Which fill'd ev'ry heart with confusion and fright, Shapes monstrous and foul, and detested. THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. He appeared in all forms the must strange and | Bring some turnips and milk, the scholar he cried, uncouth, Sure no goblin was ever so daring, He utter'd loud shrieks, and most horrible cries, Cers'd his body and boues, and his sweet little eyes, 'Till his impudence grew beyond bearing. Just at this nick o'time, as the master's sad heart The scholar was vers'd in all mystical arts, To this scholar so learned, the master he went, That prevented his household from sleeping Then offer'd this humble petition. That he, the said scholar, in wisdom so wise, Told the master his prayer should be granted, steed, Trotted off to the house that was haunted. He enter'd the house at the fall of the night, The hoarse raven croak'd, and blue burnt the The owl loudly shriek'd, and pale with affright, In a voice like the echoing thunder; He took up the turnips-he par'd off the skin, He mash'd up the turnips with butter and milk, Ask'd the maid for a small wooden-platter. The ghost from the nook o'er the window peep'd In the form of a boil'd scrag of mutton. 66 Oh, ho!" cried the ghost, WATCHMAKER'S EPITAPH, On a Tomb in Berkeley church-yard, Gloucestershire. And mended too, when others work did fade. THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. At Number One dwelt Captain Drew, (The street we'll not now mention) The latter stunn'd the King's Bench bar, The former, being lamed in war, Sung small upon a pension. Tom Blewit knew them both-than he Of culinary knowledge; From turtle soup to Stilton cheese, A host who" spread" so nicely, To pass were downright treason ; To cut Ned Benson's not quite staunch ; But the provocative—a haunch! Zounds! it's the first this season! Do tell your master that my aunt I must be off for Surrey." Now Tom at next door makes a din "Is Captain Drew at home?"-" Walk in-" "Drew, how d'ye do?"-" What! Blewit!" "Yes, 1-you've ask'd me, many a day, To drop in, in a quiet way, So now I'm come to do it." "I'm very glad you have," said Drew, "I've nothing but an Irish stew-" Quoth Tom (aside) "No matter, 'Twon't do-my stomach's up to that, 'Twill lie by, till the lucid fat Comes quiv'ring on the platter." "You see your dinner, Tom," Drew cried, No, but I don't though," Tom replied; "Ismok'd below," "What?"-" Ven'son, A haunch"-" Oh! true, it is not mine; My neighbour has some friends to dine:-" "Your neighbour! who?" George Benson, "His chimney smoked; the scene to change, I let him have my kitchen range While his was newly polish'd: "Tom, why that look of doubtful dread! |