Who can believe with common sense, A bacon slice gives God offence; Or, how a herring has a charm Almighty vengeance to disarm? Wrapp'd up in majesty divine, Does he regard on what we dine?
[Footnote 1: A French gentleman dining with some company on a fast-day, called for some bacon and eggs. The rest were very angry, and reproved him for so heinous a sin; whereupon he wrote the following lines, which are translated above: "Peut-on croire avec bon sens Qu'un lardon le mil en colère, Ou, que manger un hareng, C'est un secret pour lui plaire? En sa gloire envelopé, Songe-t-il bien de nos soupés?"--_H_.]
As Thomas was cudgell'd one day by his wife, He took to the street, and fled for his life: Tom's three dearest friends came by in the squabble, And saved him at once from the shrew and the rabble; Then ventured to give him some sober advice-- But Tom is a person of honour so nice, Too wise to take counsel, too proud to take warning, That he sent to all three a challenge next morning. Three duels he fought, thrice ventur'd his life; Went home, and was cudgell'd again by his wife.
[Footnote 1: Collated with copy transcribed by Stella.--_Forster_.]
When Margery chastises Ned, She calls it combing of his head; A kinder wife was never born: She combs his head, and finds him horn.
[Footnote 1: From Stella's copy in the Duke of Bedford's volume.--_Forster._]
Joan cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully; Will cudgels Bess, yet Will's a cully. Die Ned and Bess; give Will to Joan, She dares not say her life's her own. Die Joan and Will; give Bess to Ned, And every day she combs his head.
Behold, those monarch oaks, that rise With lofty branches to the skies, Have large proportion'd roots that grow With equal longitude below: Two bards that now in fashion reign, Most aptly this device explain: If this to clouds and stars will venture, That creeps as far to reach the centre; Or, more to show the thing I mean, Have you not o'er a saw-pit seen A skill'd mechanic, that has stood High on a length of prostrate wood, Who hired a subterraneous friend To take his iron by the end; But which excell'd was never found, The man above or under ground. The moral is so plain to hit, That, had I been the god of wit, Then, in a saw-pit and wet weather, Should Young and Philips drudge together.