Bethlehem-Wall, Moor-Fields.
PART III.
_LONDON_:
Printed for J. ROBERTS in _Warwick-Lane_; and Sold by the Booksellers in Town and Country. [Price 6 _d._]
THE
PREFACE.
This is purposely to acknowledge the Obligations I owe to several Gentlemen, who have shewn their Esteem of the MERRY THOUGHT, in the large Collections they have communicated before the Holidays: For who knows, but many of their Pieces might have been lost, by the Effects of Wine, Punch, and strong Beer, in the _Christmas_ Time; or by a Game at Ramps, or Blind-Man"s-Buff; or unlucky Boys; or the sticking the Windows with Holley and Ivy: All these Hazards did we run of having many curious Pieces destroy"d, and bury"d in Oblivion. And then again, the Cleaning the Windows against the Holidays might have endanger"d the Loss of many of these brittle Leaves of Wit and Learning. But now, we may sing _Old Rose_, since a large Cargoe is already arriv"d safe at the Press. In order for a third Part, I have myself taken Care to visit most of the Glasiers in Town where I just came Time enough to save some few Sc.r.a.ps of Wit; and have bribed a great Number of Football-Players, not to use that Diversion near some particular Places about this Great City, where many curious Epigrams, Sonnets, and Whims, are at present uncopy"d; and if they should escape a few Days longer, will make a fourth Volume, with the kind a.s.sistance of those Correspondents who have sent me promissory Notes for the Delivery of certain Parcels of such Wit, on or about the Twenty-fifth of this Instant _January_. I remain, Gentlemen, after hoping you are in good Health, as I am at this present Writing, and wishing you all many happy Years,
_Your obliged humble Servant,_
HURLO THRUMBO.
THE
MERRY-THOUGHT.
PART III.
Mr. _BOG_,
The following _Miscellanea Curiosa_ you may either insert in your third Part, or use them for your latter Part; which you please.
_From a Window at the Angel in Marlborough._
_W----s_ lay at the _Angel_ in _Marlborough_ Town, And an Angel lay with him all Night: He tipp"d her an Angel before she lay down, Which you know was but decent and right.
But an Angel of Darkness she prov"d to be sure; For scarce twenty Angels would pay for his Cure.
_Written on the Wall at the George in Sandy-Lane, in the Bath Road, a Place famous for Puddings._
The Puddings are so good in _Sandy-Lane_, That if I chance to go that Way again, I"ll not be satisfy"d, unless I"ve twain, The one stuck thick with Plumbs, the other plain.
_At the Sun-Tavern at Billingsgate, written on the Wainscot._
Upon the Ground he spread his Cloak; The Nymph she was not shy, Sir; And there they fairly did the Joke, Whilst through this Crack peep"d I, Sir.
_Oct._ 27, 1722.
_Underwritten._
Mr. Pimp, had I known your Worship was there, Which I no more dreamt of, than sleeping, When once I"d dispatch"d my Affair with the Fair, By G----d, you"d paid dear for your Peeping.
_Dec._ 1722.
_At the Red-Lion, Shrewsbury._
The Drawer, _Tom_, has scarce forgot, Since I was here last _Easter_; I broke his Head with the Pewter Pot, And gave him not a Teaster.
But why, d"ye think, I serv"d him so?
What Flesh alive could bear it?
I"d call"d a dozen Times, I trow, Yet the Dog would bring no Claret.
This Discipline was not in vain, For h"as his Manners mended; I"ve been here twenty Times since then, And always well attended.
_From a Window in Carlisle, the Sign forgot._
How says the Proverb, can it e"er be thought, What"s bred i"th" Bone can out o"the Flesh be brought: Her Mother kiss"d with every one, and _Moll_ does plainly shew her; For _Molly_ kind is kiss"d by none, but only all that know her.
I. S. 1718.
_From another Pane in the same Place._
As dear _N----y B----k_ look"d into the Street, From this Window where now I am musing, I p.o.o.p"d her behind, but no Body see"t, And she prov"d ne"er the worse for my using.
T. B.
_Underwritten._
Ungrateful Wretch, thou"rt scarcely fit to live, Much less such Favours worthy to receive.
A greater Curse than leading Apes in h.e.l.l, The Fool deserves, that dares to kiss and tell.
_On the next Pane._
Dear Madam, pray dont let your Anger abound, For Faith what you"ve wrote has no Charm in"t; You often have try"d me, and know I am sound, Then prithee now where was the Harm in"t?
You did me a favour, I did you one too, And, if I"m not mistaken, a greater; I"ll swear I can"t love the Sport better than you, So pray say no more of the Matter.
_In a Bog-House, at the Bush at Carlisle_, 1718.
Reader,
Within this Place two Ways I"ve been delighted; For here I"ve s----, and likewise here have sh----d.