Saunders, faid I, I would rather than a Quart of Ale, He would come into our Kitchen, and I would pin a Dish-clout to his Tail. And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this Letter, For I write but a fad Scrawl, but my fhe writes better. Sifter Marget Well, but I must run and make the Bed before my Master comes from Pray'rs, And fee now, it ftrikes Ten, and I hear him coming up Stairs: Whereof I could fay more to your Verses, if I could write written Hand; And so I remain in a civil Way, your Servant to command, MARY.. A quibbling ELEGY on the worShipful Judge BOAT. Written in the Year 1723. 'O mournful Ditties, Clio, change thy Note, T% Since cruel Fate hath funk our Justice Boat; Why fhould he fink, where nothing feem'd to prefs? His Lading little, and his Ballast lefs. Toft in the Waves of this tempestuous World, To To* Lazy-Hill retiring from his Court, * At his Ring's-End he founders in the Port; A POST fo fill'd, on Nature's Laws entrenches, Benches on Boats are plac'd, not Boats on Benches. And yet our Boat, how fhall I reconcile it? Was both a Boat, and in one Senfe a Pilot. With ev'ry Wind he fail'd, and well cou'd tack: Had many Pendents, but abhorr'd a § Jack. He's gone, although his Friends began to hope, That he might yet be lifted by a Rope. BEHOLD the awful Bench, on which he fat, A Trade, our | Boat hath practis'd here fo well. The Two Villages near the Sea, where Boatmen and Seamen The Way is thus, and well deferves your Thanks: Form'd like the Triple-Tree near* Stephen's-Green; The EPITAPH. HERE lies Judge Boat within a Coffin, *Where the Dublin Gallows ftands. + Query, Whether the Author meant Scholar, and wilfully mistook? On DREAM S. An Imitation of PETRONIUS. Somnia, quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris, &c: TH Written in the Year 1724. HOSE Dreams that on the filent Night And with falfe flitting Shades our Minds delude. FOR, when in Bed we rest our weary Limbs, The Mind, unburthen'd, fports in various Whims. The bufy Head with mimick Art runs o'er The Scenes and Actions of the Day before. THE drowfy Tyrant by his Minions led, ΤΗΣ THE Soldier fmiling hears the Widow's Cries, And ftabs the Son before the Mother's Eyes. With like Remorfe his Brother of the Trade, The Butcher, feels the Lamb beneath his Blade. THE Statesman rakes the Town to find a Plot, And dreams of Forfeitures by Treafon got. Nor lefs Tom T-dman of true Statefman Mold, Collects the City Filth in Search of Gold. A ORPHANS around his Bed the Lawyer fees, And takes the Plaintiff's and Defendant's Fees. His Fellow Pick-Purfe, watching for a Job, Fancies his Fingers in the Cully's Fob. THE kind Physician grants the Husband's Prayers, Or gives Relief to long-expecting Heirs. The fleeping Hangman ties the fatal Noofe; Nor unfuccefsful waits for dead Mens Shoes. THE grave Divine, with knotty Points perplext, As if he were awake, nods o'er his Text: While the fly Mountebank attends his Trade, Harangues the Rabble, and is better paid. THE hireling Senator of modern Days, Bedaubs the guilty Great with nauseous Praise: And Dick the Scavenger with equal Grace, Flirts from his Cart the Mud in Wlp-le's Face. * WHIT |