The Tineum Containing Estianomy, or The Art of Stirring a Fire: The Icead, A Mock-Heroic Poem: An Imitation of Horace, Ep. I. lib. I. Epigrams: A Fragment, &c. By C. V. Le Grice |
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| EPIGRAMS, &c. |
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 | The Tineum |  |
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EPIGRAMS, &c.
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On a Preacher who was very fond of exhibiting his white hand in the pulpit.
Earth shook, Heaven trembled at the Lord's command,Our Preacher said, and—waved his lily hand.
On seeing the initials of a notorious lawyer's name cut deep into his tombstone.
Initials just! for well you shew,How deep he was Who lies below.
On hearing that the French had melted down their images to purchase artillery.
Says a Rev. Priest to his less Rev. friend,Where at length will the crimes of these French villains end,
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And convert into damnable engines of Hell?
Prithee why, quoth his friend, are you so much surprized,
That Saints had their desert and were all—canonized.
EXTEMPORE On a Gentleman more famous for the multiplicity of cloaths in which he always appeared dressed, than for his abilities.
Some place their wardrobe on a wooden shelf;But wooden W--- on his wooden self.
On hearing a Gentleman who squinted, assert that the prophecies were to be understood in a double sense.
A double sense no wonder ------ spies;The fault's not in his brain but in his eyes.
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On hearing that a certain Gentleman hid himself in a hollow tree in order to discover and apprehend the amorous parties of the neighbourhood.
Fair damsel, who may through the woodLike Daphne chance to be pursued,
Be sure ne'er turn into a tree;
For there your follower you'll see.
On a Gentleman who was remarkable for bowing his head down in a musing posture, whenever his comprehension failed him.
Antæus sinking to the earthSupply of strength obtains;
So Marcus downward bends his head
In hopes to find his brains.
IMPROMPTU To Miss S--- on seeing her neck adorned with a golden chain.
In mercy sure you wear that chainInforming each admiring swain,
That if he dares to look above,
Bound he'll be in chains of Love.
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FOR A CATCH.
A roaring JackWas Hynes O'Hack,
As e'er a one in seven;
For when Death stopped his throttle,
And took away his bottle,
He scraped his skull,
And fill'd it full
To drink on his road to Heaven.
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