say there's no _Dragons_.----Nay, tis said,
There's no _St. George_----Pray Heav'n there be a _Maid_.

_In the Window of a fine _Assembly-Room_ on a vast Appearance at its
Opening._

The Novelty this Crowd invites,
'Tis strange, and therefore it delights;
For Folks Things eagerly pursue,
Not that they're good, but that they're new.
Pleasure must vary, or must cease,
We tire of Bliss, grow sick of Ease.
And if the Year we're doom'd to Play,
To Work would be a Holiday.

_Over the Gate of _Redgrave Hall_, on a Visit made by Queen _Elizabeth_
to Sir _Nicholas Bacon_, then Lord Keeper._

When great ELIZA saw at _Redgrave-Hall_,
The Apartments _few_, and those indeed but _small_,
Thus to its _Lord_, bespoke the gracious QUEEN;
Methinks for _you_, this _Mansion_ is too _mean_.
_For me, my Liege_, quoth he, _of old 'twas meet,
But _you_ have made _me_ for my _House--too great.

_Written by Sir _Thomas Moor_._

At last I've found a _Haven_ where,
I'll ride secure from _Hope_ or _Fear_.
Thy Game is, _Fortune_, o'er with me, }
And thou to others now may'st _flee_ }
To cheat them with _Inconstancy_. }

_The Nature of Women: From a _Summer-House_ near _Richmond_._

Fair and foolish, little and loud,
Long and lazy, black and proud;
Fat and merry, lean and sad,
Pale and peevish, red and bad.

_The Nature of Men from the same._

To a Red Man read thy Read;
To a Brown Man break thy Bread;
At a Pale Man draw thy Knife;
From a Black Man keep thy Wife.

_In a Chamber Window in _Queen's College, Cambridge_._

Our _Bodies_ are like _Shoes_, which oft we _cast_,
_Physick_ the _Cobler_ is, and _Death_ the _Last_.

_On a Tomb._

Here, in their last Bed,
The loving _Alice_ rests with her Love _Ned_.

_Underwritten by a _Cambridge_ Schollar._

_Viator siste! ecce miraculum!
Vir & Uxor, hic non litigant._

_Which in _English_ may stand thus._

Behold a Bed, where, without Strife,
There rests a Man, and eke his Wife.

_Tom of _Bedlam_'s Sentiments on Marriage._

One ask'd a Madman, if a Wife he had,
A Wife! quoth he.----No!----I'm not quite so mad.

_In the Vaults belonging to Trinity College, _Cambridge_, there is cut
the Form of a Tobacco-Box, with this Inscription:_

Pandora's Treasure.

_Underneath,_

Tobacco, that outlandish Weed,
It dries the Brain, and spoils the Seed;
It dulls the Spir