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Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well


Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.—

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat he appeared like a tun :-
Or like two Single Gentlemen rolled into one.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated:
But all night long he felt fevered and heated;
And though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.—

Next night, 'twas the same !—and the next! and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vexed.
Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.-

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him;
For his skin like a lady's loose gown, hung about him!
So he sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,
"I've lost many pounds-make me well-there's a

The Doctor looked wise :-"A slow fever," he said:
Prescribed sudorifics-and going to bed-
"Sudorifics in bed!" exclaimed Will," are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"
Will kicked out the Doctor:-but, when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the Doctor, don't always succeed;
So calling his host, he said-" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago?

"Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin,
"That with honest intentions you first took me in :
But from the first night-and to say it I'm bold-
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold!"
Quoth the landlord-❝ Till now I ne'er had a dispute:
I've let lodgings ten years-I'm a baker to boot;


In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately over my oven."

"The oven!!!" says Will ;-says the host, "Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion! Why so crusty, good Sir?"-"Zounds !" cried Will in a taking,

"Who would not be crusty, with a half a year's baking?"



Cardinal Wolsey was a man

Of an unbounded stomach, Shakspeare says,
Meaning, (iu metaphor,) forever puffing,
To swell beyond his size and span ;

But had he seen a player in our days
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing,
He would have owned that Wolsey's bulk ideal
Equaled not that within the bounds
This actor's belt surrounds,

Which is, moreover, all alive and real.
This player, when the peace enabled shoals
Of our odd fishes

To visit every clime between the poles,
Swam with the stream, a histrionic Kraken,
Although his wishes

Must not, in this proceeding be mistaken;
For he went out professionally,-bent
To see how money might be made, not spent.
In this most laudable employ

He found himself at Lille one afternoon,
And, that he might the breeze enjoy,
And catch a peep at the ascending moon,
Out of the town he took a stroll,
Refreshing in the fields his soul,

With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces,
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces.
When we are pleasantly employed time flies;
He counted up his profits, in the skies,
Until the moon began to shine,
On which he gazed a while, and then.

Pulled out his watch, and cried-" Past nine;
Why, zounds! they shut the gates at ten."-
Backward he turn'd his steps instanter,
Stumping along with might and main;
And, though 'tis plain

He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter,

(Those who had seen him would confess it) he
Marched well for one of such obesity.

Eyeing his watch, and now his forehead mopping,
He puffed and blew along the road,
Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping,
When in his path he met a clown
Returning from the town.

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"Tell ine," he panted in a thawing state,
"Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?"
"Get in!" replied the hesitating loon,
Measuring with his eye our bulky wight,
"Why-yes, Sir,-I should think you might
"A load of hay went in this afternoon."



RULED.-Dr. King.

Young Slouch, the farmer, had a jolly wife,
That knew all the conveniences of life;
Whose diligence and cleanliness supplied
The wit that Nature had to him denied:
But then-she had a tongue that would be heard
And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made censorious persons of the town

Say Slouch could hardly call his own;
For if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give him shippers, and lock up his shoes.
Talking he loved, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturbed or contradicted;
Yet still into his story she would break
With "tis not so-pray give me leave to speak."

His friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not diff'ring much from calling him a fool;
Told him he must exert himself and be,
In fact, the master of his family.

He said, "that the next Tuesday noon would show "Whether he were the lord at home, or no, "When their good company he would entreat "To well-brewed ale, and clean, if homely, meat.”

With aching heart, home to his wife he goes, And on his knees does his rash act disclose, And prays dear Sukey-that, one day, at least, He might appear as master of the feast.

"I'll grant your wish," cries Sue," that you may see "Twere wisdom to be governed still by me."

The guests upon the day appointed, came; Each hearty farmer and his simpering dame.

"Ho, Sue!" cries Slouch," why dost thou not appear? "Are these thy manners when Aunt Snap is here?" "I pardon ask," says Sue; "I'd not offend "Any my dear invites; much less his friend."

Slouch by his kinsman Gruffy had been taught
To entertain his friends with finding fault;
And made the main ingredient of his treat
His saying "there was nothing fit to eat."

"The soup is burnt;"" the beef's not done enough;"

"The bacon's rusty;" "And the fowls are tough;" "The veal's all rags ;" "the butter's turned to oil;" "And thus I buy good food for sluts to spoil!"

"We are the only Slouches ever sat "Down to a pudding without plums or fat.""Why must old pigeons, and they stale be drest "When there's so many squab ones in the nest ?" "This wine is sour;"-the cider, thick and stale, “And worse than any thing, except the ale."

Sue, all this while, many excuses made; Some things she own'd; at other times she laid The fault on chance; but oftener on the maid.

Then cheese was brought. Says Slouch, “This e'en shall roll;

"I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl."
"This is skimm'd milk; and therefore it shall go;-
"And this, because 'tis Suffolk, follow too."

But now Sue's patience did begin to waste; Nor longer could dissimulation last.


Pray let me rise," says she, "my dear!-I'll find "A cheese, perhaps, may be to Lovey's mind !"

Then in an entry standing close, where he
Alone, and none of all his friends might see,
And brandishing a cudgel he had felt,
And far enough, on this occasion, smelt;

"I'll try, my Joy!" she cried, "if I can please 'My dearest with a taste of his Old Cheese!"


Slouch, turning round, saw his wife's vigorous hand Wielding her oaken sapling of command.

He knew the twang. "Is't the Old Cheese? my dear! "No need, no need of cheese," cries Slouch, "I'll swear: "I think I've dined as well as my Lord Mayor!"



Bonaparte he would set out

For a summer excursion to Moscow;

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