Author 187393


English Writer and Wit

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This day, which should have been one of celebration, is heartbreakingly tragic... I can't imagine the grief that her family is suffering and express my deepest sympathy to them.

Twas on the inner bark, stripped from the pine, our father pencilled this epistle rare; two blazing pine knots did his torches shine, two braided pallets formed his desk and chair.

When for Air I take my Mare When for Air I take my Mare, And mount her first, She walks just thus, Her Head held low, And Motion slow; With Nodding, Plodding, Wagging, Jogging, Dashing, Plashing, Snorting, Starting, Whimsically she goes: Then Whip stirs up, Trot, Trot, Trot; Ambling then with easy slight, She riggles like a Bride at Night; Her shuffling hitch, Regales my Britch; Whilst Trott, Trott, Trott, Trott, Brings on the Gallop, The Gallop, the Gallop, The Gallop, and then a short Trott, Trott, Trott, Trott, Straight again up and down, Up and down, up and down, Till she comes home with a Trott, When Night dark grows. Just so Phillis, Fair as Lillies, As her Face is, Has her Paces; And in Bed too, Like my Pad too; Nodding, Plodding, Wagging, Jogging, Dashing, Plashing, Flirting, Spirting, Artful are all her ways: Heart thumps pitt, patt, Trott, Trott, Trott, Trott: Ambling, then her Tongue gets loose, Whilst wrigling near I press more close: Ye Devil she crys, I'll tear your Eyes, When Main seiz'd, Bum squeez'd, I Gallop, I Gallop, I Gallop, I Gallop, And Trott, Trott, Trott, Trott, Streight again up and down, Up and down, up and down, Till the last Jerk with a Trot, Ends our Love Chase.

And those who were given the knowledge said Woe to you Allah's reward is better for him who believes and does good, and none is made to receive this except the patient.

And we revealed to him this decree, that the roots of these shall be cut off in the morning.

O'er the hills and far away.

Of all the world's enjoyments that ever valued were, there's none of our employments with fishing can compare.

The worth of a thing is known by its want.

Where many a Client Verdict miss'd for want of Greazing in the fist.

If Providence did beards devise, To prove the wearers of them wise, A fulsome goat would then, by nature, Excel each other human creature

Now listen a while, and I will tell, Of the Gelding of the Devil of Hell; And Dick the Baker of Mansfield Town, To Manchester Market he was bound, And under a Grove of Willows clear, This Baker rid on with a merry Cheer: Beneath the Willows there was a Hill, And there he met the Devil of Hell. Baker, quoth the Devil, tell me that, How came thy Horse so fair and fat? In troth, quoth the Baker, and by my fay, Because his Stones were cut away: For he that will have a Gelding free, Both fair and lusty he must be: Oh! quoth the Devil, and saist thou so, Thou shalt geld me before thou dost go. Go tie thy Horse unto a Tree, And with thy Knife come and geld me; The Baker had a Knife of Iron and Steel, With which he gelded the Devil of Hell, It was sharp pointed for the nonce, Fit for to cut any manner of Stones: The Baker being lighted from his Horse, Cut the Devil's Stones from his Arse. Oh! quoth the Devil, beshrow thy Heart, Thou dost not feel how I do smart; For gelding of me thou art not quit, For I mean to geld thee this same Day seven-night. The Baker hearing the Words he said, Within his Heart was sore afraid, He hied him to the next Market Town, To sell his Bread both white and brown. And when the Market was done that Day, The Baker went home another way, Unto his Wife he then did tell, How he had gelded the Devil of Hell: Nay, a wondrous Word I heard him say, He would geld me the next Market Day; Therefore Wife I stand in doubt, I'd rather, quoth she, thy Knaves Eyes were out. I'd rather thou should break thy Neck-bone Than for to lose any manner of Stone, For why, 'twill be a loathsome thing, When every Woman shall call thee Gelding Thus they continu'd both in Fear, Until the next Market Day drew near; Well, quoth the good Wife, well I wot, Go fetch me thy Doublet and thy Coat. Thy Hose, thy Shoon and Cap also, And I like a Man to the Market will go; Then up she got her all in hast, With all her Bread upon her Beast: And when she came to the Hill side, There she saw two Devils abide, A little Devil and another, Lay playing under the Hill side together. Oh! quoth the Devil, without any fain, Yonder comes the Baker again; Beest thou well Baker, or beest thou woe, I mean to geld thee before thou dost go: These were the Words the Woman did say, Good Sir, I was gelded but Yesterday; Oh! quoth the Devil, that I will see, And he pluckt her Cloaths above her Knee. And looking upwards from the Ground, There he spied a grievous Wound: Oh! (quoth the Devil) what might he be? For he was not cunning that gelded thee, For when he had cut away the Stones clean, He should have sowed up the Hole again; He called the little Devil to him anon, And bid him look to that same Man. Whilst he went into some private place, To fetch some Salve in a little space; The great Devil was gone but a little way, But upon her Belly there crept a Flea: The little Devil he soon espy'd that, He up with his Paw and gave her a pat: With that the Woman began to start, And out she thrust a most horrible Fart. Whoop! whoop! quoth the little Devil, come again I pray, For here's another hole broke, by my fay; The great Devil he came running in hast, Wherein his Heart was sore aghast: Fough, quoth the Devil, thou art not sound, Thou stinkest so sore above the Ground, Thy Life Days sure cannot be long, Thy Breath it fumes so wond'rous strong. The Hole is cut so near the Bone, There is no Salve can stick thereon, And therefore, Baker, I stand in doubt, That all thy Bowels will fall out; Therefore Baker, hie thee away, And in this place no longer stay.

Chloe 's a Nymph in flowery groves,
A Nereid in the streams;
Saint-like she in the temple moves,
A woman in my dreams.

Love steals artillery from her eyes,
The Graces point her charms;
Orpheus is rivall'd in her voice,
And Venus in her arms.

Never so happily in one
Did heaven and earth combine:
And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone
That makes her so divine.

None are fools always, tho every one sometimes.

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English Writer and Wit