_Star, at Coventry._

What Lacing, What Dressing, What Moulding, What Scolding, What Painting, What Fainting, What Loving, What Shoving, What Cooing, What Wooing, What Crosses, What Tosses, What Actions, What Fractions, Before the Day was done.

_Salisbury, on a Window._

My Dear, like a Candle, Lights every one's Handle, Yet loses no Bit of her own: She will p.i.s.s, and she'll kiss Until every one hiss, And she better had stay'd at Home.

As she lost nothing by it, she may still remain a Light to the World.

_Anagram._

A Toast is like a Sot, Or what is most Comparable ---- a Sot, ---- Is like a Toast; For When their Substance In the Liquor sink, Both properly are said To be in Drink.

_Christ-Church, Oxon, in the Bog-House._

Calami hujus Etatis Sunt hujus Etatis calamitates.

_Calais, at the Silver Lion._

At the Foot of a Bed where a Woman lay dying, A Parcel of Gossips in Council were sat; And instead of good Prayers, condoling and crying, A _Thing_ was the Subject of all the Debate.

One wish'd for a thick one, and swore 'twas the best, Altho' 'twere as short to the full as her Snout; But a small One procur'd the Applause of the rest, Provided in Length the Defect were made out.

Hold, quoth the sick Sister, you are all in the Wrong, So I'll in a Case of this Weight to decide, Heav'n send me at once both the Thick and the Long; So closing her pious Pet.i.tion, she dy'd.

_Written on the pillory in a certain Market-Town in Shropshire; on two Millers, named Bone and Skin, who exacted extravagant Toll._

Bone and Skin, Two Millers thin, Would grind this Town and Places near it: But be it known To Skin and Bone, That Flesh and Blood won't bear it.

_Richmond, Yorkshire, on a Window._

If Death doth come as soon as Breath departs; Then he must often die, who often farts: And if to die be but to lose one's Breath; Then Death's a Fart, and so a Fart for Death.

_The Motto upon a Sign of a Gardiner's Window, who kept a Publick House in the Road to Cambridge; inserted for the Benefit of bad Spellers._

Heer is good Liker Ov awl Quinds toby sould, And sevile Yewzitch.

The Learned have examin'd the above Inscription: Some took it for Gibberish; others for _Welch_; and some for one of the Eastern Languages; but a Gentlewoman of extraordinary Knowledge in this cramp Way of Writing, tells us, it must be read thus, in _English_:

Here is good Liquor Of all Kinds to be sold, And civil Usage.

And so we believe it was meant; for it is allow'd by all, that some few of the fair s.e.x can explain bad Sense and bad Spelling, even better than most of the Heads of the Universities.

_Oxford, in a Window at Christ-Church._

Anger may glance into the Breast of wise Men: But it rests in the Bosom of Fools.

_From the Same Place._

True Friendship multiplies our Joys; It mends our Griefs, and makes them light as Toys.

_From Queen's-College, Oxon._

All that we know of what is done above, Is, that the Blessed sing, and that they love.

_Rue de Boucharie._

Ama.s.ser en Saison, Dispenser par Raison, Et vous aurez une bonne Maison.

_In a Window at an Inn on the West Country Road._

The Cook, confound her, boil'd no Roots; The Hostler never clean'd my Boots; The Tapster too, would hardly stir; The Drawer was a lazy Cur; The Chamberlain had made no Bed; The Host had Maggots in his Head: But _Millicent_, who kept the Bar, } Was worse than all the rest by far; } She was as many others are. } I kiss'd her till she had her Fill, I thought it Love, and with her Will. } But then ---- ---- ---- } She made a da----n'd confounded Bill. }

Captain R. T. 1718.

_Underwritten._

See the Bill Gentlemen.

Thrice was I reckon'd for my Meat; Thrice was I reckon'd for Miss _Milly_'s treat; Thrice was I reckon'd for my dirty Boots; Thrice was I reckon'd for not having Roots; Thrice was I reckon'd by the lazy Fellows; And thrice I swore, I wish'd them at the Gallows; And if I come here any more, Then call me a Son of a Wh.o.r.e.

R. T. 1718.

_Rue D'Auphine, at Paris._

O Quelle Grand Traison!

Les Couillions que je porte Lors que leur Maitre est en prison Ces Gallans d'ausant a la porte.

N. B. _This is not render'd into _English_, but 'tis Ingrat.i.tude enough for two Servants, that have been well entertained a long while by their Master, should dance about a Prison Door, while their Master is in it._

_On a Window at the Ram, Newmarket._

Come hither, dearest, sweetest Turtle-Dove; You are my G.o.ddess.--You alone I love.

At Night, whene'er I close my Eyes to Rest, I dream of laying in your snow-white Breast.