Chapter III: Introduction

You will pardon the Editor that he does not put Things better in Order; but he is so engaged in reading the Letters sent him in from the two Universities, after the Publication of the First Part, that he believes the Preface is in the Middle of the Book; but I dare swear you'll find it somewhere or other, and so read on.

_In _Trinity-College_ Bogs._

Ye _Cantabs_ mind when ye are sh - - t - - ng,
How nearly 'tis allied to Writing.
----To Writing, say you? ----pray how so?
An uncouth Simile, I trow.

----Hold, pray ---- Condemn it not untry'd;
Hear only how it is apply'd.

As learned _Johnian_ wracks his Brain----
Thinks, ----hems, ----looks wise, ----then thinks again;----
When all this Preparation's done,
The mighty Product is ---- a Pun.

So some with direful strange Grimaces,
Within this Dome distort their Faces;
Strain, ----squeeze, ----yet loth for to depart,
Again they strain--for what? a Fart.

Hence _Cantabs_ take this moral Trite,
'Gainst Nature, if ye think or sh - - te;
Use all the Labour, all the Art,
'Twill ne'er exceed a Pun, or Fart.

_Red-Lion, Egham._

Coquets will always merry prove; }
But Prudes are those _give down their love_; }
And love and move, and move to love. }

_Underwritten._

A Prude for my Money, by G - - d.

T. S. 1711.

_Written on the Looking-Glass of Mr. T - - p - - n,
Fellow-Commoner of Trinity-College, Cambridge._

_Imago in Speculo loquitur ad T - - p - - n._

I.

Thou pretty little fluttering Thing,
That mak'st this gaudy Shew;
Thou senseless Mimick of a Man,
Thou Being, call'd a Beau.

II.

Like me thou art an empty Form,
Like me alone, thou'rt made;
Like me delusive seem'st a Man,
But only art a Shade.

_Tuns in Cambridge, Window facing a certain Alderman's in the Market._

Is _Molly Fr----_ immortal? ----No.
She is; and I will prove her so.
She's fifteen now, and was, I know,
Fifteen, full fifteen Years ago.

_Underwritten._

The Fates from Heaven late came Post;
And thus address'd this _Cambridge_ Toast.

Say happy Maid that can detain
Old hoary Time in fetter'd Chain,
What wouldst thou have to set him free,
And give thy captive Liberty?

Miss _Molly_ call'd Mamma aside,
---- Whisper'd awhile, then thus reply'd;

Upon my Life, all I would have
From _Victor_ is to be a Slave;
I'll soon untie this Captive's Hands;
---- Tie me but fast in _Hymen_'s Bands.

_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 Title 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 _Coke_ in Law----an _Etheridge_ in Love.--
Reason profound----in Hist'ry state each Fact,
Teach{~DAGGER~} _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 Title, all his Learning's o'er.

{~DAGGER~} 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 glass 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 Glass 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 whore 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._

Arra, now what signifies the making the two great Lights?
The Sun to light the Day, and the Moons to light the Nights:
For the Sun in the Day-Time there is no Occasion,
Because I can see very well after my Persuasion:
But for the Moons, they are very good in a dark Night,
Because when we cannot see they give us a Light.

_Crown at Harlow._

Rail at your Father, rail at your Mother,
Rail at your Sister, rail at your Brother,
Rail on, my Boys, and rail at one another.

_Underwritten._

Rail as you say, and you'll be all railed in.

_Written upon the Wall of Clements-Inn, when the Dial was put up
which is supported by a black Slave in a kneeling Posture._

In vain poor sable Son of Woe,
Thou seek'st a tender Ear;
In vain thy Tears with Anguish flow,
For Mercy dwells not here:
From Cannibals thou fly'st in vain,
Lawyers less Quarter give;
The first won't eat you till you're slain,
The last will do't alive.

_Hampstead on a Window._

I am a Dog ----
In true Fidelity
I am a Sun ----
In faithful Constancy:
I am a Stote, ----
To please a lustful Lass;
I am a Hog, ----
And you may kiss my A----se.
But if my _Celia_ comes within my Ken;
Then I shall be again like other Men.

_On another at the same Place._

My Wife says, Whither do you go?
And I return, my dear, I do not know;
Then d----n your Blood, says she, to use me thus;
And then I call her catterwauling Puss.

_Hampton-Court, at the Mitre._

A Ramp of very noted Name,
I need not say, for all Men know her Fame,
Lascivious, as the human Race could be,
She could not see a Man, but fell in Extasy.

_On a dyer's Sign at Southwark._

I die to live,
I live to die,
And hope to live eternally.

_At the Star at Coventry._

A poor Woman was ill in a dangerous Case,
She lay in, and was just as some other Folks was:
By the Lord, cries _She_ then, if my Husband e'er come,
Once again with his Will for to tickle my Bum,
I'll storm, and I'll swear, and I'll run staring wild;
And yet the next Night, the Man got her with Child.

S. M. 1708.

_By Desire not to insert the Place._

What care I for Mistress May'ress;
She's little as the Queen of Fairies:
Her little Body like my Thumb,
Is thicker far than _other some_;
Her Conscience yet would stretch so wide; }
Either on this, or t'other Side, }
That none could tell when they did ride. }

_Underwritten._

Swim for thy Life, dear Boy, for I can feel neither Bottom nor Sides.

_In Pencil upon a Wall in a Tavern near Covent-Garden._

I become all Things to all Men, to gain some, or I must have starved.

_Moll. Friskey._

_Star-Inn at Coventry._

_Molly_ the gay, the black, the friskey,
Would kiss like any wanton Gipsey;
Nor was her Mouth alone the Case,
A Man of Worth might kiss her A----se.

_At a Tavern at the Royal Exchange._

I've now a Coach and Six before me,
Each female court'sies to adore me:
But from my dearest I can't part,
Without returning her my Heart:
Tell her I am gone a Month or longer,
While she may gain more Love, and I grow stronger.

_S. M. Oct._ 17. 1720.

_From a Tavern in Fleet-Street._

I'll drink like _Bacchus_, and I'll fight like _Mars_,
The Kind I'll love, the Cross may kiss my A - - se.

_In the same Room in a Woman's Hand._

Since cruel Fate has robb'd me of the Youth,
For whom my Heart had hoarded all its Truth,
I'll ne'er love more, dispairing e'er to find,
Such Constancy and Truth amongst Mankind.

_Feb._ 18, 1725.

_Underwritten._

I kiss'd her the next Night, and she's one of the _Walkers_ Family.

_Feb._ 18. 1725.

_Dublin in a Window in Castle-Street._

O mortal Man that's made of Clay,
Is here to-Morrow, and is gone to Day.

_In a Bog-House at Hampstead._

There's Nothing foul that we commit,
But what we write, and what we sh - - t.

_Three-Pigeons at Brentford._

Wer't not for _Whims_, Candles, and Carrots
Young Fellows Things might ride in Chariots.

_Tom Long, July_ 17.

_Underwritten._

Heaven for all those Helps to Nature,
Or else poor P---- could get no Quarter.

_Letter on a Window at Stony-Stratford, to Miss Mary V - - d - - le._

We shall B in better Q,
When U have I, and I have U.

T. M. 1720

_From a Window in Hell, near Westminster-Hall._

Old _Orpheus_ tickled his Harp so well,
That he tickled _Eurydice_ out of Hell,
With a Twing come Twang, and a Twing come Twang; but,
Some say _Euridice_ was a Scold
Therefore the Devil of her took hold,
With a Twing come Twang, &c.

S. S. 1714.

_Underwritten._

If my Wife had been e'er in the Devil's Hands, }
You know it would loose all other Bands, }
And I should been pleased with House and Lands. }

F. R. 1718.