n of extraordinary Knowledge in this
cramp Way of Writing, tells us, it must be read thus, in _English_:

Here is good Liquor
Of all Kinds to be sold,
And civil Usage.

And so we believe it was meant; for it is allow'd by all, that some few
of the fair Sex can explain bad Sense and bad Spelling, even better than
most of the Heads of the Universities.

_Oxford, in a Window at Christ-Church._

Anger may glance into the Breast of wise Men:
But it rests in the Bosom of Fools.

_From the Same Place._

True Friendship multiplies our Joys;
It mends our Griefs, and makes them light as Toys.

_From Queen's-College, Oxon._

All that we know of what is done above,
Is, that the Blessed sing, and that they love.

_Rue de Boucharie._

Amasser en Saison,
Dispenser par Raison,
Et vous aurez une bonne Maison.

_In a Window at an Inn on the West Country Road._

The Cook, confound her, boil'd no Roots;
The Hostler never clean'd my Boots;
The Tapster too, would hardly stir;
The Drawer was a lazy Cur;
The Chamberlain had made no Bed;
The Host had Maggots in his Head:
But _Millicent_, who kept the Bar, }
Was worse than all the rest by far; }
She was as many others are. }
I kiss'd her till she had her Fill,
I thought it Love, and with her Will. }
But then ---- ---- ---- }
She made a da----n'd confounded Bill. }

Captain R. T. 1718.

_Underwritten._

See the Bill Gentlemen.

Thrice was I reckon'd for my Meat;
Thrice was I reckon'd for Miss _Milly_'s treat;
Thrice was I reckon'd for my dirty Boots;
Thrice was I reckon'd for not having Roots;
Thrice was I reckon'd by the lazy Fellows;
And thrice I swore, I wish'd them at the Gallows;
And if I come here any more,
Then call me a Son of a Whore.

R. T. 1718.

_Rue D'Auphine, at Paris._

O Quelle Grand Traison!
Les Couillions que je porte
Lors que leur Maitre est en prison
Ces Gallans d'ausant a la porte.

N. B. _This is not render'd into _English_, but 'tis Ingratitude enough
for two Servants, that have been well entertained a long while by their
Master, should dance about a Prison Door, while their Master is in it._

_On a Window at the Ram, Newmarket._

Come hither, dearest, sweetest Turtle-Dove;
You are my Goddess.--You alone I love.
At Night, whene'er I close my Eyes to Rest,
I dream of laying in your snow-white Breast