_On the Same on another Pane._

At Home Miss _Molly_'s scarce fifteen.

Mamma says she's no more; But if the Parish-Book says true, Miss _Molly_'s thirty four.

Poor Miss _Molly_!

_Wrote on Cor---- Cr----d's (a Printer and Bookseller in Cambridge) Window in the Shop._

Ye longing Sophs, say it who can, That _Corny_'s not a learned Man.

He knows well each Edition, Sir, Of _Aldus_, and of _Elzevir_; Of _Beza_ he profoundly reasons, And talks jocose of _Harry Stephens_.

Though (says a Wag) all this I grant, Yet _Corny_ sure must Learning want.

How so? ----It's plain, (if that we may B'lieve what Men of themselves do say,) For _Corny_'s openly* confess'd.

He's but a Blockhead at the best.

* _Corny_, in Printing a _Latin_ Book, censur'd by the University, was forced to plead _Ignoramus_ to save his Bacon.

_Another in the Shop, on C----'s t.i.tle Page_

LEARNING.

Within this learn'd Receptacle of Arts, _Corny_, if ask'd, on each can shew his Parts; Alike a _Newton_, or a _Ratcliffe_ prove; A _c.o.ke_ in Law----an _Etheridge_ in Love.-- Reason profound----in Hist'ry state each Fact, Teach _London_ how to think, or _Walpole_ how to act.

O say from whence should all this Learning come.---- From whence?----from each dead Sage around the Room.

If _Corny_ thence his Fund of Learning draws, How great his Skill in Politicks or Laws? ---- How deeply read? ---- how vast his learned Store? ---- ---- When ---- past the t.i.tle, all his Learning's o'er.

Bishop.

_Another in the Same._

Is _Corny_'s Learning much; my Friends; Since where it does begin, ---- it ends?

_From a Window in Ardenham-House, Hertfordshire._

As gla.s.s obdurate no Impression takes, But what the radiant piercing Diamond makes; Just so my Heart all other Pow'rs defies, But those of fair _Venilla_'s brilliant Eyes.

_Written in a Lady's Dressing Room._

_Brunetta_, I grant you, can give her Swain Death; But 'tis not with her Eyes, but with her - - ill Breath.

_From a Window in the Inner Temple-Hall._

Come hither, Barristers of Dress, That once your Lips may meet Success: From _Rufus_' filthy Hall withdraw; Here only ye can live by Law.

_A Rebus on Lady of Quality, on a Gla.s.s at the Old Devil Tavern._

What fly from her Eyes, and the Place whither I Must soon be convey'd to, unless she comply, Is the Name of the Beauty for whom I could die.

_N. B._ Darts and _Shafts_ fly from her Eyes, and if one dies, one must be _bury_'d.

_Under the Rebus on Lady Sh - - - bury, at the Devil Tavern, is this;_

What opens a Door, and a Word of Offence, Tell the Name of a Nymph of Wit, Beauty, and Sense.

Supposed to be for Miss _Ke - ly_.

_From the Window of a Chamber in the Inner Temple._

For dear _Venilla_ in my Arms, I'd scorn all other female Charms; Ten thousand Beauties she can spare, And still be _Fairest_ of the _Fair_.

_From innumerable Windows._

Like _Mars_ I'll fight, like _Antony_ I'll love, I'll drink like _Bacchus_, and I'll wh.o.r.e like _Jove_.

_From the Apollo, the large Dancing-Room in the Devil Tavern, written when some were engaged in a particular Country-Dance._

This Dance foretells that Couple's Life, Who mean to dance as Man and Wife; As here, they'll first with Vigour set, Give Hands, and turn whene'er they meet; But soon will quit their former Track, Cast off and end in Back to Back.

_From the Angel Tavern, Temple-Bar._

'Tis hard! 'tis wonderous hard!

That the Life of a Man Should be but a Span, And that of a Woman a Yard!

_From a Watch-Maker's Window, Fleet-Street._

Here Time is bought and sold: 'Tis plain, my Friend, My Clocks and Watches shew what I intend; For you I Time correct, My Time I spend; By Time I live, But not one Inch will lend, Except you pay the ready down or send: I trust no Time, Unless the Times do mend.

_On a Watch-Case in a Gentleman's Pocket, given him by a Lady._

The Wretched pray to make more Haste, The Happy say we fly too fast; Therefore impossible to know, Whether I go too fast or slow.

S. M.

_At Hollyhead, I suppose, written by some Creation-Mender._