January 30. 1720. J. W. _At the Swan at Chelsea, in one of the Summer-Houses; supposed to be written by One who lost his Estate in the South-Sea Year._ Damn the Joke Of all the Folk: I've lost my Estate; And all Men I hate: I shall look through a Grate, For I see 'tis my Fate. The Devil take the Bubbles, I'm in a Pack of Troubles, S. B. 1721. _Under this is wrote,_ Happy's the Man That well could scan, Which way his Fortune led him: I have got what he lost, I am gay while he's cross'd, So adieu to good Mr. _B----n_. Ha! ha! ha! 1722. _Upon a Clock in Tavistock-Street, Covent-Garden, 1712._ I have no Legs, And yet I go and stand: And when I stand, I lie; Witness my Hand; _Mentiri non est meum._ _From a Window at Spring-Gardens, Vaux-Hall._ Exil'd from _London_, happy could I live, Were this my Paradise, and this my _Eve_. _At the Cardinal's-Cap at Windsor._ _Michael Hunt's Health._ Here's a Health to _Mich. Hunt_, And to _Mich. Hunt_'s Breeches; And why may not I scratch _Mich. Hunt_, When _Mich. Hunt_ itches. The Clock goes as swift as the Hours that fly, When together in Bed are my _Chloe_ and I: But when she is gone, I bemoan my hard Fate, It is Millions of Years till she knocks at my Gate. _Underwritten._ D--n the Clock for its Inconstancy; to give me Moments and Ages in the same Time! O my _Chloe_! R. W. 1720. _From a Window in Chancery-Lane._ Here did I lay my _Celia_ down; I got the P - x, and she got half a Crown. W. T. 1719. _Underwritten._ Give and take; Weight for Inches. S. R. _From a Bog-House at Hampton-Court, supposed to be written by a violent Lover._ Oh! that I were a T - - - d, a T - - - d, Hid in this secret Place, That I might see my _Betsy_'s A----, Though she sh - - t me in my Face. R. M. 1703. _Written under this in a Woman's Hand._ 'Tis Pity but you had your Wish. E. W. _Nottingham, at the Castle: _Jack N----_ cured._ The Five and twentieth Day of _July_, When _Jack_ with Liquor grew unruly, In comes Sir _Richard_ with a Quart, And drank him till he broke his Heart; So down dropp'd _Jack_ Upon his Back, And lay, Till Day, And went away. R. C. July 26. 1716. _Catherine-Wheel, High-Wickham, upon a Window._ _Salley_'s my Toast from Head to Tail; Not half so good is Toast and Ale. _J. S._ Esq; of _Oriel-College, Oxon._ _Three-Pigeons, Brentford, in a Window._ How vain the Hopes of Woman's Love, While all their Hearts inconstant prove; Nor _M - - - - k_, nor will _Dolly_ come; Nor _Sukey_ with her thumping B--m; Nor _Molly_ with her flaring Eyes; Nor _Nancy_ with her bouncing Thighs: If one don't come, my Curse is this, That they may never sh - - t nor p - - ss. Six in the Morning, R. R. of _Oxford_.