Ye longing Sophs, say it who can, That _Corny_’s not a learned Man. He knows well each Edition, Sir, Of _Aldus_, and of _Elzevir_; Of _Beza_ he profoundly reasons, And talks jocose of _Harry Stephens_. Though (says a Wag) all this I grant, Yet _Corny_ sure must Learning want. How so? ----It’s plain, (if that we may B’lieve what Men of themselves do say,) For _Corny_’s openly* confess’d. He’s but a Blockhead at the best. * _Corny_, in Printing a _Latin_ Book, censur’d by the University, was forced to plead _Ignoramus_ to save his Bacon. _Another in the Shop, on C----’s Title Page_ LEARNING. Within this learn’d Receptacle of Arts, _Corny_, if ask’d, on each can shew his Parts; Alike a _Newton_, or a _Ratcliffe_ prove; A _Coke_ in Law----an _Etheridge_ in Love.-- Reason profound----in Hist’ry state each Fact, Teach† _London_ how to think, or _Walpole_ how to act. O say from whence should all this Learning come.---- From whence?----from each dead Sage around the Room. If _Corny_ thence his Fund of Learning draws, How great his Skill in Politicks or Laws? ---- How deeply read? ---- how vast his learned Store? ---- ---- When ---- past the Title, all his Learning’s o’er. † Bishop. _Another in the Same._ Is _Corny_’s Learning much; my Friends; Since where it does begin, ---- it ends? _From a Window in Ardenham-House, Hertfordshire._ As glass obdurate no Impression takes, But what the radiant piercing Diamond makes; Just so my Heart all other Pow’rs defies, But those of fair _Venilla_’s brilliant Eyes. _Written in a Lady’s Dressing Room._ _Brunetta_, I grant you, can give her Swain Death; But ’tis not with her Eyes, but with her - - ill Breath. _From a Window in the Inner Temple-Hall._ Come hither, Barristers of Dress, That once your Lips may meet Success: From _Rufus_’ filthy Hall withdraw; Here only ye can live by Law. _A Rebus on Lady of Quality, on a Glass at the Old Devil Tavern._ What fly from her Eyes, and the Place whither I Must soon be convey’d to, unless she comply, Is the Name of the Beauty for whom I could die. _N. B._ Darts and _Shafts_ fly from her Eyes, and if one dies, one must be _bury_’d. _Under the Rebus on Lady Sh - - - bury, at the Devil Tavern, is this;_ What opens a Door, and a Word of Offence, Tell the Name of a Nymph of Wit, Beauty, and Sense. Supposed to be for Miss _Ke - ly_. _From the Window of a Chamber in the Inner Temple._ For dear _Venilla_ in my Arms, I’d scorn all other female Charms; Ten thousand Beauties she can spare, And still be _Fairest_ of the _Fair_. _From innumerable Windows._ Like _Mars_ I’ll fight, like _Antony_ I’ll love, I’ll drink like _Bacchus_, and I’ll whore like _Jove_. _From the Apollo, the large Dancing-Room in the Devil Tavern, written when some were engaged in a particular Country-Dance._