jokes,
I give my old _tobacco-box_.

"My _Centinels_[73] for some years past,
So neatly bound with thread and paste,
Exposing Jacobinic tricks,
I give my chum _for politics_.

"My neckcloth, dirty, old, yet _strong_,
That round my neck has lasted long,
I give BIG BOY, for deed of pith,
Namely, to hang himself therewith.

"To those who've parts at exhibition
Obtained by long, unwearied fishing,
I say, to such unlucky wretches,
I give, for wear, a brace of breeches;
Then used; as they're but little tore,
I hope they'll show their tails no more.

"And ere it quite has gone to rot,
I, B---- give my blue great-coat,
With all its rags, and dirt, and tallow,
Because he's such a dirty fellow.

"Now for my books; first, _Bunyan's Pilgrim_,
(As he with thankful pleasure will grin,)
Though dog-leaved, torn, in bad type set in,
'T will do quite well for classmate B----,
And thus, with complaisance to treat her,
'T will answer for another Detur.

"To him that occupies my study,
I give, for use of making toddy,
A bottle full of _white-face_ STINGO,
Another, handy, called a _mingo_.
My wit, as I've enough to spare,
And many much in want there are,
I ne'er intend to keep at _home_,
But give to those that handiest come,
Having due caution, _where_ and _when_,
Never to spatter _gentlemen_.
The world's loud call I can't refuse,
The fine productions of my muse;
If _impudence_ to _fame_ shall waft her,
I'll give the public all, hereafter.
My love-songs, sorrowful, complaining,
(The recollection puts me pain in,)
The last sad groans of deep despair,
That once could all my entrails tear;
My farewell sermon to the ladies;
My satire on a woman's head-dress;
My epigram so full of glee,
Pointed as epigrams should be;
My sonnets soft, and sweet as lasses,
My GEOGRAPHY of MOUNT PARNASSUS;
With all the bards that round it gather,
And variations of the weather;
Containing more true humorous satire,
Than's oft the lot of human nature;
('O dear, what can the matter be!'
I've given away my _vanity_;
The vessel can't so much contain,
It runs o'er and comes back again.)
My blank verse, poems so majestic,
My rhymes heroic, tales agrestic;
The whole, I say, I'll overhaul 'em,
Collect and publish in a volume.

"My heart, which thousand ladies crave,
That I intend my wife shall have.
I'd give my foibles to