The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

563
In SIMILE if I may shine agen-
Thus have I seen a fond old hen
With one poor miserable chick,
Bustling about a farmer's yard;
Now on the dunghill laboring hard,
Scraping away through thin and thick,
Flutt'ring her feathers--making such a noise!
Cackling aloud such quantities of joys,
As if this chick, to which her egg gave birth,
Was born to deal prodigious knocks,
To shine the Broughton of game cocks,
And kill the fowls of all the earth!
EPITAPH ON PETER STAGGS.
Poor Peter Staggs, now rests beneath this rail,
Who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale;
For twenty years he did the duties well,
Of ostler, boots, and waiter at the "Bell."
But Death stepp'd in, and order'd Peter Staggs
To feed his worms, and leave the farmers' nags.
The church clock struck one--alas! 't was Peter's knell,
Who sigh'd, "I'm coming--that's the ostler's bell!"
TRAY'S EPITAPH.
Here rest the relics of a friend below,
Blest with more sense than half the folks I know:
Fond of his ease, and to no parties prone,
He damn'd no sect, but calmly gnaw'd his bone;
Perform'd his functions well in ev'ry way-
Blush, CHRISTIANS, if you can, and copy Tray.
ON A STONE THROWN AT A VERY GREAT MAN, BUT WHICH MISSED HIM.
Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head
From a flint so unluckily thrown-
I think very different, with thousands indeed,