Therefore, refolving never to be such,

Married a Wife none but himself could touch.
Jolt, thinking marriage was decreed by Fate,
Which fhews us whom to love, and whom to hate,
To a young, handsome, jolly lafs, made court,
And gave his friends convincing reafons for 't,
That, fince in life fuch mischief must be had,
Beauty had fomething still that was not bad.
Within two months, Fortune was pleas'd to fend
A Tinker to Clod's houfe, with "Brafs to mend."
The good old wife furvey'd the brawny spark,

And found his chine was large, though countenance dark.
First the appears in all her airs, then tries
The fquinting efforts of her amorous eyes.
Much time was spent, and much defire expreft:
At laft the Tinker cried, "Few words are beft;
"Give me that Skillet then; and, if I'm true,
"I dearly earn it for the work I do."

They 'greed; they parted. On the Tinker goes,
With the fame ftroke of pan, and twang of nose,
Till he at Jolt's beheld a fprightly dame

That fet his native vigour all on flame.

He looks, fighs, faints, at last begins to cry,
And can you then let a young Tinker die ?"
Says he, "Give me your Skillet then, and try."
"My Skillet! Both my heart and Skillet take;
"I wish it were a Copper for your fake."

After all this, not many days did pass,
Clod, fitting at Jolt's houfe, furvey'd the Brafs

}

And

And glittering Pewter ftanding on the shelf; Then, after fome gruff muttering with himself, Cried, "Pr'ythee, Jolt, how came that Skillet thine !” "You know as well as I," quoth Jolt; "t'en't mine; "But I'll afk Nan." 'Twas done; Nan told the matter In truth as 'twas; then cried, "You 've got the better: For tell me, Deareft, whether you would chuse "To be a gainer by me, or to lose.

"As for our Neighbour Clod, this I dare fay, "We've Beauty and a Skillet more than they.”

THE FISHERMAN.

OM Banks by native industry was taught
The various arts how Fifhes might be caught.
Sometimes with trembling reed and fingle hair,
And bait conceal'd, he 'd for their death prepare,
With melancholy thoughts and downcaft eyes,
Expecting till deceit had gain'd its prize.
Sometimes in rivulet quick, and water clear,
They'd meet a fate more generous from his fpear.
To basket oft' he 'd pliant oziers turn,

Where they might entrance find, but no return.
His net well pois'd with lead he 'd fometimes throw,
Encircling thus his captives all below.

But, when he would a quick deftruction make,
And from afar much larger booty take,

He'd through the ftream, where most descending, fet
From fide to fide his strong capacious net;

And

And then his ruftic crew with mighty poles
Would drive his prey out from their oozy holes,
And so pursue them down the rolling flood,
<Gafping for breath, and almost choak'd with mud,
Till they, of farther passage quite bereft,

Were in the math with gills entangled left.

Trot, who liv'd down the stream, ne'er thought his beer

Was good, unless he had his water clear.

He goes to Banks, and thus begins his tale :

." Lord! if you knew but how the people rail!

"They cannot boil, nor wafh, nor rinse, they fay,
With water fometimes ink, and fometimes whey,
"According as you meet with mud or clay.
"Besides, my wife these fix months could not brew,
"And now the blame of this all 's laid on you;
"For it will be a dismal thing to think

"How we old Trots must live, and have no drink :
"Therefore, I pray, fome other method take
"Of fishing, were it only for our fake.”

Says Banks, "I'm forry it fhould be my lot "Ever to difoblige my goffip Trot:

"Yet 't'en't my fault; but fo 'tis Fortune tries one,
"To make his meat become his neighbour's poifon;
"And fo we pray for winds upon this coast,
"By which on t'other navies may be lost.
"Therefore in patience reft, though I proceed:
"There's no ill-nature in the cafe, but need.

Though for your ufe this water will not ferve,

"I'd rather you should cheak, than I fhould ftarve.”

A CASE

}

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE.

OLD Paddy Scot, with none of the best faces,

Had a moft knotty pate at folving cases;

In any point could tell you, to a hair,
When was a grain of honesty to spare.
It happen'd, after prayers, one certain night,
At home he had occafion for a light
To turn Socinus, Leffius, Efcobar,
Fam'd Covarruvias, and the great Navarre O
And therefore, as he from the chapel came,
Extinguishing a yellow taper's flame,
By which juft now he had devoutly pray'd,
The useful remnant to his fleeve convey'd.
There happen'd a Phyfician to be by,
Who thither came but only as a spy,
To find out others' faults, but let alone
Repentance for the crimes that were his own.

This Doctor follow'd Paddy; faid, “He lack'd "To know what made a facrilegious fact." Paddy with ftudious gravity replies, "That's as the place or as the matter lies: "If from a place unfacred you fhould take "A facred thing, this facrilege would make; "Or an unfacred thing from facred place, "There would be nothing different in the cafe; "But, if both thing and place fhould facred be, 'Twere height of facrilege, as Doctors all agree." Dd 66 Then,

"Then," fays the Doctor, " for more light in this, "To put a special case, were not amiss.

66

Suppofe a man fhould take a Common Prayer "Out of a Chapel where there 's fome to spare?"

"A Common Prayer!" fays Paddy, "that would be. "A facrilege of an intense degree."

"Suppofe that one fhould in these holidays
"Take thence a bunch of Rosemary or Bays?"
66
"I'd not be too cenforious in that cafe,
"But 'twould be facrilege ftill from the place."
"What if a man should from the chapel take
"A taper's end: fhould he a fcruple make,
"If homeward to his chambers he should go,
"Whether 'twere theft, or facrilege, or no?"
The fly infinuation was perceiv'd:

Says Paddy, "Doctor, you may be deceiv'd,
"Unlefs in cafes you diftinguish right;
"But this may be refolv'd at the first fight..
"As to the taper, it could be no theft,
"For it had done its duty, and was left:
"And factilege in having it is none,
"Because that in my fleeve I now have one."

ΟΝ

THE CONSTABLE.

NE night a fellow wandering without fear, As void of money as he was of care, Confidering both were wafh'd away with beer, With Strap the Conftable by Fortune meets, Whofe lanterns glare in the moft filent streets.

3

Refty,