Joe Miller's Jests, with Copious Additions — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Joe Miller's Jests, with Copious Additions
John Stuart Mill · en
Thus weathercocks, that for awhile
Have turned about with every blast,
Grown old, and destitute of oil,
Rust to a point, and fix at last.
_A Cure for Love._
Of two reliefs to cure a love-sick mind,
Flavia prescribes despair; I urge, be kind;
Flavia, be kind: the remedy’s as sure;
’Tis the most pleasant, and the quickest cure.
_Under the Picture of a Beau._
This vain thing set up for a man,
But see what fate attends him;
The powdering barber first began,
The barber-surgeon ends him.
_On a Gentleman drinking the Health of an unkind Mistress._
Why dost thou wish that she may live,
Whose living beauties make thee grieve!
Thou wouldst more wisely wish her kind,
That she may change her cruel mind;
Thy present wish but this can gain,
That she may live, and thou complain.
_On a Prize-Fighter._
His thrusts like lightning flew, yet subtle death
Parried them all, and beat him out of breath.
_The Penance._
When Phillis confessed, the father was rash,
And so, without further reflection,
Her delicate skin he condemned to the lash,
While himself would bestow the correction.
Her husband, who heard this, opposed it by urging,
That he, in regard to her weakness,
And to save her soft back, would himself bear the scourging
With humble submission and meekness.
She piously cried, when the priest gave accord,
To show what devotion was in her,
He’s able and lusty, pray cheat not the Lord,
For, alas! I’m a very great sinner.
_On a Gentleman who died the day after his Lady._
She first departed; he for one day tried
To live without her: liked it not, and died.
_On a Welchman._
A Welchman coming late into an inn,
Asked the maid what meat there was within?
Cow-heels, she answered, and a breast of mutton;
But, quoth the Welchman, since I am no glutton,
Either of these shall serve: to-night the breast,
The heels i’ th’ morning, then light meat is best;
At night he took the breast and did not pay,
I’ th’ morning took his heels, and ran away.
_The Fate of Poets._
Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead,
Through which the living Homer begged his bread.
_On an old Woman with false Hair._
The golden hair that Galla wears
Is hers: who would have thought it!
She swears ’tis hers,―and true she swears;
For I know where she bought it.
_On another old Woman._ BY MR. PRIOR.
From her own native France, as old Alison past,
She reproached English Nell with neglect or with malice;
That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste,
Her lady’s complexion and eye-brows at Calais.
_An Epitaph._