The queen of hearts,
She made some tarts,
All on a summer's day,
The knave of hearts
He stole those tarts,
And with them run away:
The king of hearts
Call'd for those tarts,
And beat the knave full sore;
The knave of hearts
brought back those tarts,
And said he'll ne'er steal more.
The king of spades
He kiss'd the maids,
Which vex'd the queen full sore;
The queen of spades
She beat those maids,
And turn'd them out of door:
The knave of spades
Griev'd for these jades,
And did for them implore;
The queen so gent
She did relent,
And vow'd she ne're strike more.
The king of clubs
He often drubs
His loving queen and wife,
The queen of clubs
Returns him snubs,
And all is noise and strife:
The knave of clubs
Gives winks and rubs,
And swears he'll take her part;
For when our kings
Will do such things,
They should be made to smart.
The diamond king,
I fain would sing,
And likewise his fair queen,
But that the knave,
A haughty slave,
Must needs step in between.
Good Diamond king
With hempen string,
This haughty knave destroy,
Then may your queen,
With mind serene,
Your royal bed enjoy.
From an Ancient Manuscript
There was a man whose name was semper idem;
And by his trade he was Mercator quidem.
He had a wife, who was not tall, nor brevis:
But by her actions, she was counted levis.
He to content her, gave her all things satis:
And she to requite him, made him cuckold gratis.
A Specimen of the ludicrous in Poetry.
Save thy oath, be loth to lie;
Be sober, the Sabbath keep holy.
Live chaste, and be not hasty;
Before you trust your friend try.
Epigram on a Lady.
Ye graceless wits, who neither praise
The ladies nor the Lord,
Behold a nymph who well may stand
An angel on record.
No railing rake, nor flatt'ring fop,
Attends her chaste levee,
No scandal twice or thrice refin'd
Adds sweetness to her tea.
She ne'er upon her sex's faults,
A fruitful theme did preach;
Nor wound the lovely excellence,
That she could never reach.
Nay, I believe that like the Saint,[1]
(Such grace to her is given)
She would not tell a single fib,
To gain a seat in Heav'n.
Her tongue might more reform the age
Than sermons once a week;
And so it would—but ah! the day!
Poor Celia cannot speak.[2]
An instance of Popish Superstition
Pacheco relates that the pious Juanes, an eminent Spanish painter, who never visited the casel without first approaching the altar; and who as he gave his characters life, gave them also adoration; while engaged in painting the famous picture of the Immaculate Conception, at the immediate desire of the Blessed Virgin, being one day seated on a scaffold at work upon the upper parts of the picture, the frame gave way, and the painter was in the act of falling, when the holy personage whose portrait he had finished, stept suddenly forward out of the canvass, and seizing his hand, preserved him from the fall. This being done; and Juanes safe landed on the floor, the gracious lady, with all possible composure, returned to her post and has continued there ever since, dispensing her favours to her supplicants and worshippers.
Vers pour mettre au bas du portrait du General Conway.
La justice dans lui trouve un noble support,
L'Angleterre un guerrier, le foible un protectuer,
Eut ou suivi son plan, dirois je avec transport!
L'Etat seroit en pax, l'Anglois seroit vainqueur.
