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E PI GRAM.
s Thomas was cudgeld one day by his wife,
He took to the street, and fled for his life: Tom's three dearest friends came by in the squabble, And sav'd him at once from the shrew and the rabble ; Then ventur'd to give him some sober advice But Tom is a person of honour so nice, Too wise to take counsel, to proud to take warning, That he sent to all three a challenge next morning : Three duels he fought, thrice ventur'd his life; Went home, and was cudgeld again by his wife.
HIS day (the year I dare not tell)
Apollo play'd the midwife's part ;
And he endow'd her with his art.
While the poor child lay fast sleep.
Of Love shall always speak and write.
Tbc world shall feel her scratch, and bite.
Her talent she display'd betimes ;
For in twice twelve revolving moons,
And all her gestures were lampoons.
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
And you may swear the tale went round.
Was kiss'd and Nobber'd by a lad :
Miss came, and peep'd at all he had.
Marries for love, half whore, half wife.
Turns authoress, and is Curll's for life.
TOLAND'S INVITATION to DISMAL To dine with the CALVES-HEAD CLUB *.
Imitated from HORACE, lib. I. epift. 5o
F, deareft Dismal, you for once can dine
Upon a single dish, and cavern-wine,
* This poem, and that which follows it, are two of the penny papers mentioned in Swift's Journal to Stella, Aug. 7. 1712. They are here printed froin folio copies in the Lambeth Library.
Suspend a while your vain ambitious hopes,
Who, by disgraces or ill-fortune sunk,
My province is, to fee that all be right, Glasses and linen clean, and pewter bright; From our myfierious club to keep out spies, And Tories (dress'd like waiters) in disguise. You shall be coupled as you
approve, Seated at table next the inen you love. Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond's Grace, Will come; and Hampden shall have Walpole's place. VOL. I.
Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,
Let no pretence of business make you stay ;
РЕА СЕ AN D DUNKIRK; Being an excellent new Song upon the Surrender of
DUNKIRK to General Hill. 1712.
Poor Britain shall have peace at last :
We have got it in a string,
And the Whigs may all go swing,
All their false deluded hopes
Will or ought to end in ropes;
And Dismal double-Dismal looks;
Old Godolphin full of spleen
Made false moves, and lost his queen; Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane :
But a prince of high renown
Swore he 'd rather lose a crown,
And not be snapt by privateers,
Landed-men shall have their rent,
Yet our stocks rise cent. per cent. The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain:
We 'll bring on us no more debts,
Nor with bankrupts fill Gazettes ;
What signified the French to beat ?
But the lord of Oxford swears,