ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ,

IN THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH, NORWICH.

UNDER this stone

Lies John Knapton,

Who dyed just

The 28th of August,

M. D. XC. and one,

Of this church Petti-canon.

......

ANOTHER.

HERE lies the man whose horse did gain The bell, in race, on Salisbury-plain: Reader, I know not whether needs it You or your horse rather to read it.

......

ANOTHER,

[FROM CAMDEN.]

HERE lyeth Richard a Preene,

One thousand five hundred eighty-nine,

Of March 20th day;

And he that will die after him-may.

SENATORIAL IRICISMS.

In a debate on the leather-tax, in 1795, the Chancellor of the Irish Exchequer, Sir J. Parnell, observed, that, in the prosecution of the present war,

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every man should give his last guinea to save the remainder." Mr. Vandeleur said, that, "however that might be, the tax on leather would be severely felt by the barefooted peasantry of Ireland." To which Sir Boyle Roach, in support of the tax, suggested, that " it might be easily remedied by making the under-leathers of wood."

ANECDOTE OF SIR JOHN BRIDGEMAN.

He was President of the Council in the Marches of North Wales, and resided at Ludlow Castle: for a very slight offence he imprisoned one Ralph Gittins in the town-prison. Sir John soon after died; and, in pure gratitude for his kindness, Ralph (who was bellman of the place) honoured the Knight with the following laconic

ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ.

HERE lies Sir John Bridgeman, clad in his clay, G-d said to the Devil, "Sirrah, take him away."

K 2

MODERN INCREDULITY.

WHAT legions of fables and whimsical tales
Pass current for gospel, where priestcraft prevails!
Our ancestors thus were most strangely deceiv'd,
What stories of goblins for truth they believ'd!
But we, their wise sons, who these fables reject,
Even truth now-a-days are apt to suspect:
From believing too much the right faith we let fall;
So now we believe-faith-just nothing at all.

ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ FOR VOLTAIRE.

HERE, reader, lies rotting what was once Voltaire,
A Frenchman well bred, and of parts truly rare,
To his sceptical brethren uncommonly dear;
A foe to religion-his jest was the church-
Grant, Heav'n, he be not now left in the lurch!

EPIGRAM.

ABADDON, they say, is a name for the Devil;
I dare say he'd thank 'em for being so civil:

But there's no need of this name, which in truth

STREPHON AND BLOWSALIND.

STREPHON in vain pursu'd a rural fair,
The rosy object of his tender care:
The nymph, who long had lov'd a jollier swain,
Still view'd the am'rous Strephon with disdain.
Provok'd, he strove by force to storm her charms;
She rais'd her hand-and dash'd him from her arms.
"Oh cease (he cried), subdue that barb'rous spite;
Tho' doom'd to love, I was not born to fight!
You've stol'n my heart, deprive me not of breath;
Those frowns are cruel-but that fist is death."

THE DANGLER.

CHARM'D with the empty sound of pompous words,
Carlo vouchsafes to dine with none but lords;
Whilst rank and title all his thoughts employ,
For these he barters every social joy:
For these, what you and I sincerely hate,
He lives in form, and often starves in state.
Carlo, enjoy thy Peer! content to be
Rather a slave to him than friend to me:
Go, sell the substance to retain the show;
May you seem happy!-whilst I am really so.

EPIGRAM.

[RELPH.]

No; Varus hates a thing that's base:
I own, indeed, he's got a knack
Of flatt'ring people to their face,
But scorns to do't behind their back.

ANECDOTE OF LORD WHARTON.

WHEN this Nobleman was a youth, he was remarkable for his dissolute life: his father, on the contrary, was a rigid Presbyterian. At an entertainment given by the old Lord to a number of friends, the young one was desired to say grace: when, turning up the whites of his eyes, he, in a very sanctified tone, repeated the following lines :

I PRAY God to shorten

The days of Lord Wharton,

And put his son up in his place :
He'll drink, and he'll whore,
And ten thousand things more,

With as good a fanatical face.

The old Nobleman, who, being deaf, heard not one syllable of this filial prayer, very devoutly closed it with "Amen, I pray God!"