The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

555
But what was very choice and rare.
Scarce had he turn'd a page or two--
It might be more, for aught I know;
But, be the matter more or less,
'Mong friends 't will break no squares, I guess.
Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he,
Here's one will fit you to a T.
But, as the writing doth prescribe,
'Tis fit the ingredients we provide.
Away he went, and search'd the stews,
And every street about the Mews;
Diseases, impudence, and lies,
Are found and brought him in a trice
From Hackney then he did provide,
A clumsy air and awkward pride;
From lady's toilet next he brought
Noise, scandal, and malicious thought.
These Jove put in an old close-stool,
And with them mix'd the vain, the fool.
But now came on his greatest care,
Of what he should his paste prepare;
For common clay or finer mold
Was much too good, such stuff to hold
At last he wisely thought on mud;
So raised it up, and call'd it--CLUDD.
With this, the lady well content,
Low curtsey'd, and away she went.
THE PLACE OF THE DAMNED.
All folks who pretend to religion and grace,
Allow there's a HELL, but dispute of the place:
But if HELL may by logical rules be defined
The place of the damn'd--I'll tell you my mind.
Wherever the damn'd do chiefly abound,
Most certainly there is HELL to be found:
Damn'd poets, damn'd critics, damn'd blockheads, damn'd knaves;
Damn'd senators bribed, damn'd prostitute slaves;
Damn'd lawyers and judges, damn'd lords and damn'd squires;