class="inset">I'll call for all the Folks below.

Good Lord! what is't? You're very rude;

And then she acted like a Prude.

And then,

Like Birds of a Feather,

They flock'd together.

S. T.

Rebuses on Drinking-Glasses, at a private Club of Gentlemen.

Miss Wall-sing-ham.

What encloses a Plat, as I wish her dear Arms

Had my Body encompass'd, with Nightingale's Charms,

And the Leg of an Hog, gives my dearest her Name.

Her Beauties so great set my Heart on a Flame.

Rebus on Miss Nick-ells.

Take the Devil's short Name,

And much more than a Yard,

You've the Name of the Dame

I shall ever regard.

Rebus on Miss S. Bell.

The greatest Noise on Sundays made,

Tells us her Name in Masquerade,

Whom I must kiss, —— or be a Shade.

Rebus for Miss M. Cotton.

One of the softest Things in Nature,

Beareth the Name of my dear Creature.

Rebus on Miss Anne Oliv-er.

 

A Pickle of excellent Growth,

And to *Sin against the Truth,

Tells the Name of a Virgin of Beauty and Youth.

* i.e. To Err.

Rebus on Miss Par-sons.

 

A famous Old Man of Old Time,

And his Children, the Males of his Line,

Give the Name of my Beauty Divine.

Rebus on Miss Har-ring-ton.

The Pleasure of the Sportsman's Chase;

The Pledge in Matrimonial Case,

With Twenty Hundred Weight beside,

Name her I wish to make my Bride.

At Epsom on a Window.

When my brisk Lass

Upon the Grass,

Will sport, and Give her Love;

She'll wink and pink,

Till she can't think;

That's Happiness, by Jove!

Per Jovem Juro.
J. M.

The following is in a Caberet Window at Paris, to be read forwards and backwards the same.

Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor.

Underwritten.

Le Diable t'emporte.

The Three Last Words, the Criticks tell us, spells in English, The Devil take you.

At the same Place.

Chagrin come le Diable:

For a Girl has spoil't my Bauble.

A Heathen Greek Line from a Wall at Westminster.

Souldramaton, Acapon, Alphagoose, Pastiveneson.

In English.

Shoulder of Mutton, a Capon, half a Goose, Pasty of Venison.

In Dog-Latin at the same Place.

O mirum Fartum,

Perigrinum Gooseberrytartum.

N.B. Fartum is the only Latin Word for Pudding: And as far as I can trace it amongst the Antients, there is no Latin for a Gooseberry-Tart; so that the Lad who writ it, had no need to Apologize for making a Word or two: As for Fartum, 'tis allow'd in our Times; for we say Fartum pistum, is a baked Pudding; and Fartum coctum is a boiled Pudding: And if the Boy loved these Things, what is it to us; let every one mind his own Business.

Brentford at the Red-Lion, the Great Room.

Says Sir John to my Lady, as together they sat,

Shall we first go to Supper, or do you know what?

Dear Sir John, (with a Smile,) return'd the good Lady,

Let us do you know what, for Supper's not ready.

Bridgnorth, at the Crown.

Jenny had got a Cl-p,

Which was my Mishap:

But Doctor R—— set me right,

And I'm now in good Plight.

January 30. 1720. J. W.

At the Swan at Chelsea, in one of the Summer-Houses; supposed to be written by One who lost his Estate in the South-Sea Year.

Damn the Joke

Of all the Folk:

I've lost my Estate;

And all Men I hate:

I shall look through a Grate,

For I see 'tis my Fate.

The Devil take the Bubbles,

I'm in a Pack of Troubles,

S. B. 1721.

Under this is wrote,

Happy's the Man

That well could scan,

Which way his Fortune led him:

I have got what he lost,

I am gay while he's cross'd,

So adieu to good Mr. B——n.

Ha! ha! ha! 1722.

Upon a Clock in Tavistock-Street, Covent-Garden, 1712.

I have no Legs,

And yet I go and stand:

And when I stand, I lie;

Witness my Hand;

Mentiri non est meum.

From a Window at Spring-Gardens, Vaux-Hall.

Exil'd from London, happy could I live,

Were this my Paradise, and this my Eve.

At the Cardinal's-Cap at Windsor.

Michael Hunt's Health.

Here's a Health to Mich. Hunt,

And to Mich. Hunt's Breeches;

And why may not I scratch Mich. Hunt,

When Mich. Hunt itches.

The Clock goes as swift as the Hours that fly,

When together in Bed are my Chloe and I:

But when she is gone, I bemoan my hard Fate,

It is Millions of Years till she knocks at my Gate.

Underwritten.

D——n the Clock for its Inconstancy; to give me Moments and Ages in the same Time! O my Chloe!

R. W. 1720.

From a Window in Chancery-Lane.

Here did I lay my Celia down;

I got the P-x, and she got half a Crown.

W. T. 1719.

Underwritten.

Give and take; Weight for Inches.

S. R.

From a Bog-House at Hampton-Court, supposed to be written by a violent Lover.

Oh! that I were a T---d, a T---d,

Hid in this secret Place,

That I might see my Betsy's A——,

Though she sh--t me in my Fac

R. M. 1703.

Written under this in a Woman's Hand.

'Tis Pity but you had your Wish.

E. W.

Nottingham, at the Castle: Jack N—— cured.

The Five and twentieth Day of July,

When Jack with Liquor grew unruly,

In comes Sir Richard with a Quart,

And drank him till he broke his Heart;

So down dropp'd Jack

Upon his Back,

And lay,

Till Day,

And went away.

R. C. July 26. 1716.

Catherine-Wheel, High-Wickham, upon a Window.

Salley's my Toast from Head to Tail;

Not half so good is Toast and Ale.

J. S. Esq; of  Oriel-College, Oxon.

Three-Pigeons, Brentford, in a Window.

How vain the Hopes of Woman's Love,

While all their Hearts inconstant