it, it dims the Sight,
It robs a Woman of her Right.

_An Epitaph on a Wicked Man's Tomb. Written by Doctor _Wild_ the famous
Non-Conformist Minister._

Beneath this Stone there lies a cursed Sinner,
Doom'd to be roasted for the Devil's Dinner.

_In the Vaults at _Chelsea_, and in an hundred other Places._

When the Devil was sick, the Devil a Monk would be,
When the Devil was well, the Devil a Monk was he.

_Sir _Walter Raleigh_ on the Snuff of a Candle the Night before he
died._

Cowards fear to die, but Courage stout,
Rather than live in Snuff, will put it out.

_On Marriage: In a Window at _Tunbridge_._

If 'tis to marry when the Knot is ty'd,
Why then they marry, who at _Tyburn_ ride.
And if that Knot, 'till Death, is loos'd by none,
Why then to marry, and be hang'd's all one.

_In a Window in a Public-House, near _Tunbridge_._

Sing High Ding a Ding,
And Ho Ding a Ding,
I'm finely brought to Bed;
My Lord has stole that troublesome Thing,
That Folks call a Maidenhead.

_Jane Hughs_ eighteen Years of Age.

_A little below it, in the same Window._

Then sing High Ding a Ding,
And Ho Ding a Ding,
You're finely brought to Bed;
For something you've got for that troublesome Thing,
A Cl--p for a Maidenhead.

_By my Lord's Gentleman._

_Written in the first Leaf of _Arbor Vitae_._

Two D - - - s, and a Doctor, 'tis said, wrote this Piece,
Who were modest as Whores, and witty as Geese.
They penn'd it, it seems, to shew their great Parts,
Their Skill in Burlesque, and their Knowledge in Arts
But what say the Town----that 't has fully desected,
That Fools they are all----which had long been suspected.

_At the _Red Lyon_ at _Egham_, and in the Windows at many other Places._

_Cornutus_ call'd his Wife both Whore and Slut,
Quoth she, you'll never leave your Brawling--but--
But, what? quoth he: Quoth she, the Post or Door;
For you have Horns to But, if I'm a Whore.

_In a Window at the Pudding-House in the Road to _Islington_._

The End of all, and in the End
The Praise of all depends:
A Pudding merits double Praise,
Because it hath two Ends.

_Underneath it._

A Pudding hath two Ends; You lye, my Brother,
For it begins at one, and ends at t'other.

_On Marriage. By a Batchelor._

Wedding and Hanging, both the Fates dispatch.
Yet Hangin