Chapter 4

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.

PREFACE.

_From a Paper found in the Street at Twelve at Night, 1708. near Covent-Garden. Argument concerning a Greek Opera that was to have been set on Foot, when People liked to see and hear Operas first in Italian._

As Languages are introduced among us Christian People daily that we do not understand, by Way of _Italian_ Opera, _&c._ why may we not entertain the Publick with a little _Greek_, as natural as Pigs squeak.--

_And for _Latin_, 'tis no more dificile, Than for a Blackbird 'tis to whistle._ Hud.

I love dearly to quote my Authors.

I have been with both the Play-Houses, and one says d----n it, it won't do; and t'other says, Z----ds it will not take; then says I to myself, I'll have a _Greek_ Opera, by G - - d; and with this Resolution I set about it, and made a Specimen, and so went with it in a Chair to the Opera-House, to give it the better Grace. But that would not do neither; for one did not understand _Greek_; nor t'other did not understand _Greek_; and _Italian_ was all in Vogue: And I did not understand that; and so we could make no Bargain, and I returned Home.

Z----ds, thinks I, if I don't understand their barbarous Language, must I let them have any Thing of my ancient Language? No, Messieurs! I'll let my Opera remain in its Infancy, and you shall curse yourselves before you have it compleat; but that you shall know what Fools you have been, I'll stick a Needle through my Nose, that you may look sharp; and then you will say, why did not US take it, for in the first Scene I saw all the Audience laugh. But to the Point, _i.e._ the second Preamble or Argument,

OPERA.

Scene is the City of _Athens_, and an old Woman lives in a hollow Tree, where she sells Gin and Gingerbread to the Grenadiers; her Name is Gammer _Hocus_. Then there comes a Goddess, who sells Butter and Eggs at _Athens_ Market, upon her Uncle's bald Mare; and as the Mare is a stumbling Jade, so she falls down before _Hocus_'s Tree, and hurts her Rump, and then we begin.

_N. B._ When the Goddess _Cinderaxan_ falls down before Gammer _Hocus_'s Door, or Tree, she begins in _Ricitativo_----_Greek_ Fashion.

_O! mega mar, hocus the baldmare has cantedme ontoss; * Philladram sukami, some Spirit offerme to suckon. Dear _Hokey_ behasty, forbum sufferssore by a Thumpon't; No baldmare my Gammon shall contuseagain by one moretoss._

* Fill.

_English'd_ thus for the Benefit of the Ladies, though 'tis much the same in the _Greek_.

_O my Gammer _Hocus_, the bald Mare has canted me one Toss; Fill a Dram, sick am I, some Spirit offer me to suck on. Dear _Hokey_ be hasty, for Bum suffers sore by a Thump on't. No bald Mare my Gammon shall contuse again by one more Toss._

Then out comes Gammer _Hocus_, when the Goddess had called for a Dram in the second Line, and sings with an Air, seeing her Goddessship as dirty as the Devil.

__Cinderaxan_'s sablehew'd Aspect,---- Fulloffun, though the Doxey can seemcoy._

And here we leave off. Is not the Devil in the People, that they will not encourage a good Thing, when they have it before them.

_Crown at Uxbridge,_ 1708.

_An Acrostick upon something or other._

Commodious for a Haven made, Under a rising Bank, Nature has fix'd a Place of Trade, To Men of any Rank.

_Underwritten._

Riddle my ree, _&c._ And read the four first Letters, and you'll see.

_R. M._

_A Man hanging for Love, drawn when Painting was in its Cradle, with his Dog barking at him, _viva voce_. From the three Pigeons at Brentford._

The Occasion of this dangling Story, was from a Lady who hated him, and set him about it.

Go hang thyself, quoth cruel She, Go hang thyself I say. The Man obey'd her presently, And made himself away. _Mary Worthless._

The Criticks do not make out whether he _walk'd_ off, or _went_ off, neither does the Figure determine which.

Hang me, if I will _hang_ for any Woman, For most of them alike are very common; I'd sooner trudge as I have done before, Than hang upon a d----d confounded Whore.

_Underwritten._

No Matter if the Man is longer than the Gallows, He smokes and drinks his Glass like honest Fellows.

_Upon a Drinking-Glass at Charing-Cross._

_Nanny Sach----l_ is all my Toast; She's all I wish for, and is all my Boast.

_Egham, at the Red Lion._

Help me, ye Pow'rs, to sing my _Sylvia_'s Praise; Nor _P - - pe_ nor _Sw - - ft_ can do it now a-days. But you, nor I, or them, can ever boast, } There ever was in _Europe_ such a Toast; } All we can say, is, _Lucy_ rules the Roast. }

_At a Place not to be recorded._

A d - - - d confounded Bitch, Ugly and cunning as a Witch. Her Bill shall be preferr'd by Law; The House we wish we'd never saw. One Pound five and ten Pence; Grant her Repentance; We'll never come here again; And let her alone remain.

J. S. R. S. 17 July. 1722. very truly.

I do not complain of my _Phillis_, Because I know what her proud Will is; For I know how she'll rant, And I know what I want; G - - d d - - - n her old Aunt; I stand here, and wait for her, THAT _still is_.

_On a beautiful Sempstress, in a Window at Charing-Cross._

_Dolly_, with Beauty and Art, Has so hemm'd in my Heart, That I cannot resist the Charm. In Revenge I will stitch Up the Hole near her Breach, With a Needle as long as my Arm.

R.

_Two Girls at a Bar, that would do't, and one Gentleman would chatter too long._

What the Devil should we meddle With diddle daddle, fiddle faddle; We shall lose the Girls that please; Go to Bed, and take your Ease.

M. C. to his Friend.

_Underwritten._

I know they'll ease you both, for I have been aboard of them.

R. C.

I shall tell best at the next Meeting: The Proof of the Pudding is in the eating.

_Blue Posts, Charing-Cross._

Use me friendly, use me kind; I'll be the kindest of my Sex; I'll love, be constant, and you'll find, I'll be your own in _Middlesex_.

_Molly Sh----r._

_Underwritten._

Take care you keep her Country to yourself.

M. L.

_Red Lion at Egham._

I _watch_ and _pray_ for dearest _Nancy_, Because I always love her Fancy; But then there comes, Like Bailiff Bums, The _Watch_ with Lights we _can see_; And then she'll pray, And I must pay, And retreat as clean as a Tansey.

_Underwritten._

For Money one may whore, And I'll say no more.----

R. T.

_At the same Place._

I am a young Thing, just come from my Mammy.

S. L.

_Underwritten_

Then you want to be kiss'd, G - - d d - - - n ye.

Captain R. T.

_Bull-and-Mouth-Street._

If Virtue rules the Minds of Women, They'll never let you touch their Linnen; But if they are not Virtue Proof, Then you may kiss them oft enough.

_Uxbridge, at the Crown._

_Molley_ came up to Town precise, Demure, yet fire in her Eyes; So did she look confounded civil; With Grace and Beauty like a Devil; But soon her Eyes drew in some Hearts, } And some _Things else_ like _Cupid_'s Darts, } Which gave her Pains, and many Smarts. }

_Underwritten._

Thou Puppy, ---- The Fire of her Eyes occasioned the Flame of her Heart, And drew the Fire to her lower Part.

_R. L._

_From the same Place._

After a tedious Journey, and my Supper, And dam----d uneasy with my Crupper, _Jenney_ came up to warm my Bed, } A pretty Girl; but I was dead, } Or else I'd had her Maidenhead. }

_R. T._

_Swan at Uxbridge._

Who's been here, The Devil I fear; For he's left the Bottles clear.

_R. Est----n_, 1710.

_Underwritten._

'Twas so; for nothing so like the Devil as an empty Bottle.

_G. S._ 1711.

_Boghouse at Uxbridge._

If a Man should breathe backwards, and happens to stink, You may say, if you will, it is natural _Instinct_.

_Underwritten._

You may quibble upon the Word _Instinct_, if you will; but I think 'tis better out than in, considering the Case.

_I. M._ of _Oxon._

_Betty Careless, her Prayers: From her Chambers in Drury-Lane, on a Wall, written with a Piece of Charcoal._

Grant us good lusty Men, ye gracious Pow'rs! Or else stop up those craving Things of ours!

_From the Plough Ale-House in Fore-Street, near Cripplegate, written upon a Wall._

Good Bread and Meat, strong Beer withal, Will make a T d more lasting; Therefore I think he is a Fool, That goes out in a Morning fasting.

_Tom. Rudge._

We suppose he wants to eternize his Memory by eating a Breakfast.

When I lay with my bouncing _Nell_, I gave her an Inch, and she took an Ell: But I think in this Case it was damnable hard, When I gave her an Inch, she'd want more than a Yard.

_Hampstead, at the Flask._

Nothing so certain as the Uncertainties of this Life, _says one of the Greek Philosophers_.

_Hoxton, on a Wall._

What Difference between Kings T - - - ds and mine? One may be costive, one be full of Slime; Yet equally will any Hog that feeds, Produce good Pork by feeding on our Needs.

_Underwritten._

You nasty Dog, you may eat your Pork yourself.

_Hampstead, at the Flask._

Tell me why, ye gen'rous Swains? Tell me, ye Nymphs upon the Plains? Why does _Sylvia_ leave the Green? Has she done any Thing obscene? They all reply'd, Your _Sylvia_'s gone; For she will do't with ev'ry one.

_From the Red Lyon at Egham._

She that thinks upon her Honour, Needs no other Guard upon her.

_Underwritten._

She that has a Man upon her, Never thinks upon her Honour.

_In Trinity College Boghouse, Dublin._

You who instead of Fodder, Fingers use, Pray lick 'em clean, and don't this Wall abuse.

_Under which is written;_

These House-of-Office Poets, by the L - - - d, Instead of Laurel, should be crown'd with T - - - d.

_In a Window, at the Sign of the Four Crosses, on the Road to West Chester._

Host! wou'd you paint your Crosses to the Life, Pull down your Sign, and then hang up your Wife.

_On A Window at Canbury-House._

The Breast of ev'ry _British_ Fair, Like this bright, brittle, slippery Glass, A Diamond makes Impression there, Though on the Finger of an Ass.

_On a Person of Quality's Boghouse._

Good Lord! who could think, That such fine Folks should stink?

_On a Window at Bushy-Hall, Hertfordshire._

Love is like Blindman's Buff, where we pursue, We know not what we catch, we know not who; And when we grasp our Wish, what Prize is won? Our Eyes are open'd, and the Play is done.

_Some Love Verses being first written on a Window in Brook-Street, and scratched out, occasioned the following:_

Good grave Papa, you hope in vain, By blotting this to mend her; She who writes Love upon the Pane, Will soon leap out at Window.

_On the Middle Temple Boghouse._

Well sung of Yore, a Bard of Wit, That some Folks read, but all Folks sh - - - t; But now the Case is alter'd quite, Since all who come to Boghouse write.

_On the same Place._

Because they cannot eat, some Authors write; And some, it seems, because they cannot sh - - te.

_On a Glass at the Devil Tavern, Temple-Bar._

The stubborn Glass no Character receives, Except the Stamp the piercing Brilliant gives. A female Heart thus no Impression takes, But what the Lover tipp'd with Diamond makes.

_At Launder's Coffee-House, in the Old Play-House Passage._

Dear _Pat_, 'tis vain to patch or paint, Since still a fragrant Breath you want; For though well furnish'd, yet all Folks Despise a Room whose Chimney smokes.

_White-Hart at Watford._

Parody of four Lines of _Dryden_.

Glass with a Diamond does our Wit betray; Who can write sure on that smooth slippery Way? Pleas'd with our scribling we cut swiftly on, And see the Nonsense, which we cannot shun.

_In a Window at the Kings-Arms Tavern, Fleet-Street._

Both mine and Women's Fate you'll judge from hence ill, That we are pierc'd by ev'ry Coxcomb's Pencil.

_Written in a Window at a private House, by a desponding Lover in the Presence of his Mistress._

This Glass, my Fair's the Emblem of your Mind, Which brittle, slipp'ry, pois'nous oft we find.

_Her Answer underneath._

I must confess, kind Sir, that though this Glass, Can't prove me brittle, it proves you an Ass.

_Sent by an unknown Hand._

O ye Powers above! Who of Mortals take Care, Make Women less cruel, More fond, or less fair. Was _Helen_ half so fair, so form'd for Joy, Well fought the _Trojan_, and well burnt was _Troy_.

_FINIS._

The

MERRY-THOUGHT:

or, the

Glass-Window and Bog-House

MISCELLANY.

Taken from

The Original Manuscripts written in _Diamond_ by Persons of the first Rank and Figure in _Great Britain_; relating to Love, Matrimony, Drunkenness, Sobriety, Ranting, Scandal, Politicks, Gaming, and many other Subjects, _Serious_ and _Comical_.

Faithfully Transcribed from the Drinking-Glasses and Windows in the several noted _Taverns_, _Inns_, and other _Publick Places_ in this Nation. Amongst which are intermixed the Lucubrations of the polite Part of the World, written upon Walls in Bog-houses, _&c._

_Published by_ HURLO THRUMBO.

_Gameyorum, Wildum, Gorum, Gameyorum a Gamey, Flumarum a Flumarum, A Rigdum Bollarum A Rigdum, for a little Gamey._

Bethlehem-Wall, Moor-Fields.