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And while you are there, you can stop
For some Souchong in Monument-yard;

And when you are there, you can pop
Into Mary-le-bone for some lard.
And when you are there, you can call
For some silk of the latest new tints,
At the Mercer's not far from Whitehall-
But remember the worsted at Flint's.

And while you are there, 'twere as well
If you'd call in Whitechapel, to see
For the needles, and then in Pall Mall
For some lavender-water for me;
And while you are there you can go
To Wapping, to old Mr. Clint's;

But all this you may easily do

When you get the white worsted from Flint's.

I send in this parcel from Bet

An old spelling-book to be bound,

A Cornelian broach to be set,

And some razors of Pa's to be ground.

Oh! dear, what a memory have I !

Notwithstanding aunt Deborah's hintsI've forgotten to tell you to buy

A skein of white worsted at Flints!

LONDON COMMISSIONS.

In an Epistle to a Country Cousin.

This morning I sent by the coach,
Your basket of various wants,
And trust that I shall not encroach,
By enclosing a shawl of your aunt's

It was sent to be dy'd a deep blue,
But could not you need not say why-
For the fact is (I only tell you)

'Twas too old and too shabby to dye.

I have put in some stockings to mend,
And beg you will net me a purse;
New wristband the shirts which I send,
Which for wearing are getting the worse.
Old Debby has plenty of time-
You're an excellent giver of hints,
Of garters I thought all the time,
When I got the white worsted at Flint's.

All your excellent pickles are done;

I am glad that the season draws near,
When you think of your dear absent one,
Who cannot partake of your cheer,
Except in the shape of goose-pie,
A turkey, or basket of game;
And such things as one cannot buy-
In London scarce known but by name-

Such as thick bottled-cream and spice-cake,
Your wine sours, deliciously fine;
The sweetmeats they tell me you make;
Not to mention your gooseberry wine,
Which Sir Thomas, my intimate friend,
Protested, again and again,
(As he begg'd for some more I would send)
Was superior to any Champaigne.

A pot of such raspberry jam

As your's, I have sought for in vain;
And sure such a nice little ham
I never shall meet with again,

As that which was sent by your ma:
Bless me! I had nearly forgot
To beg you will thank your papa,
For the couple of wild ducks he shot.

I should like you to get me a dog-
Perhaps you've a good one to spare;
You can send it by some stupid log,
That will bring it scot free; but take care,
That he does not expect a spare bed;
I will give him a dinner or so-
I got nothing by harbouring Ned,
Some two or three winters ago.

There's a man that makes nice walking sticks,
It is not many miles from your farm;
I wish you'd ride over and fix

On one like my uncle's at Yarm.
And get me a skin nicely dress'd-
A sheep's, buck or doe's, I don't care,
For rugs they're decidedly best-

What I purchase in London soon wear.

For my time I have made now no charge,
Nor coach-hire for popping about;
But I'll not on such trifles enlarge-
You will pay me in some way, no doubt.
Your papa may look out for a horse,
And consult ma-I must not pay dear;
He will think it no trouble, of course,
Remembering for what you send here.

TULIPS AND ROSES.

;

My Rosa, from the latticed grove,
Brought me a sweet bouquet of posies,

1

And ask'd, as round my neck she clung,
If tulips I preferred to roses?
"I cannot tell, sweet wife," I sighed,
"But kiss me ere I see the posies;"
She did, "Oh I prefer," I cried,
"Thy two lips to a dozen roses."

CHARLES THE SECOND AND ROCHESTER.

Charles the Second, in a gay moment, asked Rochester to write his Epitaph; which he did immediately, as follows.

Here lies the mutton eating King,
Whose word no man rened on;

Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

Charles, who could always relish a joke, on being shown this Epitaph, wrote the following comment upon it.

If death could speak, the King would say,
In justice to his crown,

His acts they were the Ministers,

His words they were his own!

ON DRESS.

Pray does the sex itself adorn,

By chance, or by design ?

Who dress for Lapland in the morn,

At ev'ning for the Line.

Not so the flow'rs-when Phœbus warms

They court the orient ray,

But never give their opening charms
To the declining day.

REDRESS OF WRONGS.

"I'm wrong'd," said Dick, "I'm wrong'd beyond

The bearing of a saint;
Redress I'll have, or else the Court
Shall ring with my complaint."

A wit was standing near, who said,
"The gentleman speaks well;
And I would recommend his brief
Be sent to Mr. Bell.*

THE CARELESS COUPLE.

Jenny is poor, and I am poor,
Yet we will wed, to say no more;

And should the bairns, you mention, come,
As few that marry but have some,
No doubt but Heaven will stand our friend,
And bread as well as children send.

So fares the hen in farmer's yard,
To live alone, she finds it hard :
I've known her weary every claw,
In search of corn among the straw;
But when in quest of nicer food,
She clucks among her chirping brood.

With joy I've seen that self-same hen
That scratched for One, could scratch for Ten.
These are the thoughts that make me willing
To take my girl without a shilling;
And for the self same cause, d'ye see,
Jenny's resolved to marry me.

* The celebrated Counsel of Lincoln's Inn.

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