THE INNOCENT THEFT. TO THE REV. DR. BY THE SAME. YOU tell us, Doctor, 'tis a fin to feal; AN INCIDENT IN HIGH LIFE. BY THE SAME. THE Bucks had din'd, and deep in council fat; Up ftarts his Lordship, to the window flies, "Where?" quoth Sir John. " Why fee, two drops of rain "Start from the fummit of the crystal pane : "A thousand pounds! which drop with nimbleft force "Performs its current down the flippery course!" The bets were fix'd; in dire fufpence they wait For victory, pendant on the nod of fate. Now down the fafh, unconfcious of the prize, The bubbles roll-like pearls from Cloe's eyes. But, ah! the glitt'ring joys of life are short! How oft too jostling steeds have spoil'd the sport ! Lo! thus attraction, by coercive laws, Th' approaching drops into one bubble draws. Each curs'd his fate, that thus their project crofs'd; How hard their lot who neither won nor loft! THE CONSULTATION. BY THE SAME. THREE Doctors, met in confultation, Proceed with great deliberation ; The cafe was defperate, all agreed; But what of that? they must be fee'd. They write then, (as 'twas fit they should) BONS MOTS: OR, OLD STORIES. BY THE SAME. L'Epigramme-. N'eft fouvent qu'un Bon Mot. I. BOILEAU. AS a Weft-country Mayor, with formal addrefs, Was making his speech to the haughty Queen Bess; "The Spaniard," quoth he, "with inveterate spleen, "Has prefum'd to attack you, a poor virgin queen ; "But your Majesty's courage has made it appear, "That the Don had ta'en the wrong fow by the ear:" OLD South, a witty Churchman reckon'd, Was preaching once to Charles the Second, But much too ferious for a court, The Doctor ftopp'd; began to call, "Pray, 'wake the Earl of Lauderdale : 66 My Lord! why, 'tis a monftrous thing! "You fnore fo loud, you'll 'wake the King." III. ON A DISPUTE BETWEEN DR. RADCLIFFE AND SIR GODFREY KNELLER. SIR Godfrey and Radcliffe had one common way, "Your threats," replies Radcliffe, “ disturb not my ease; IV. A CLOWN'S APOLOGY TO THE DOCTOR. AS honeft Richard, a fubftantial clown, Had brought his corn, one market-day, to town, He met the Doctor, who look'd vaftly big, And fternly frown'd beneath his awful wig. The clown, whose heart still ran upon his treasure, Thus guess'd the cause of Syringe's displeasure : "I ha'n't been lately at your shop," quoth Dick, "But don't be angry-for I ha'n't been fick." V. THE DOCTOR'S ARMS. A DOCTOR, who, for want of skill, |