Upon the ground,

Within the pound,

The fhilling foon was thrown; Behold, fays Foote,

The thing's made out,

For there is one pound one.

I wonder not,

Says Quin, that thought

Should in your head be found,

Since that's the way,

Your debts you pay,

One fhilling in the pound.

Dialogue

Dialogue between a Nobleman, in a Dream, in which he fancied himself dead, and a dead Beggar buried by the Side of him. IDREAMT that, buried in my fellow

clay,

Close by a common beggar's fide I lay;
And, as fo mean a neighbour fhock'd my

pride,

Thus (like a corpfe of quality) I cry'd : Away! thou fcoundrel; henceforth touch

me not;:

More manners learn, and at a distance rot.' Thou fcoundrel in a louder tone, cry'd

he,

Proud lump of dirt, I fcorn thy words

and thee;:

We're equal now, I'll not an inch refign; This is my dunghill, as the next is thine.

Dr. Barnard having advanced in converfation with Sir Joshua Reynolds and other wits, that he thought "no man could "improve when he was paft the age of "forty-five; Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was in company, immediately turned round to the facetious Dean, and told him that he was an inftance to the contrary, for that there was great room for improvement in him (the Dean,) "and wished "he'd fet about it:" upon which, the Dean the next day, fent the following elegant Bagatelle to Sir Joshua Reynolds and the fame company.

Verfes to Sir J. Reynolds and Co.

I LATELY thought no man alive

Could e'er improve past forty-five,
And ventur'd to affert it;

The

The obfervation was not new,

But feem'd to me fa juft and true,
That none could controvert it.

"No, Sir" fays Johnson, "tis not fo;
That's your mistake, and I can fhew
An inftance, if you doubt it;
You, Sir, who are near forty-eight,
May much improve, 'tis not too late,
I wish you'd fet about it."

Encourag'd thus to mend my faults,
I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts,
Which way I should apply it;

Learning and wit feem'd past my reach,
For who can learn when none will teach ?]
And wit-I could not buy it.

Then come, my friends, and try your skill, You can inform me if you will,

(My books are at a distance.)

With you I'll live and learn, and then,
Inftead of books, I fhall read men,

So lend me your

affiftance.

Dear

Dear Knight* of Plympton, teach me how To fuffer with unruffled brow,

And fimile ferene like thine, The jeft uncooth, or truth fevere, To fuch I'll turn my deafeft ear, And calmly drink my wine.

Thou fay'ft, not only skill is gain'd,
But genius too may be attain'd,.
By ftudious imitation :

I'll

Thy temper mild, thy genius fine,
copy, till I make thee mine,.
By conftant application..

The art of pleafing, teach me, Garrick,
Thou, who reverfeft Odes Pindaric,
A fecond time read o'er ;:

Oh! could we read thee backward too,
Laft thirty years thou should'st review,
And charm us thirty more..

If I have thoughts, and can't exprefs 'em, Gibbons fhall teach me how to dress 'em,

In terms felect and terfe ;

Sir Joshua Reynolds..

Jones