On rainy days alone I dine
Upon a chick and pint of wine. 
On rainy days I dine alone,
And pick my chicken to the bone;
But this my servants much enrages,
No scraps remain to save board-wages. 
In weather fine I nothing spend,
But often spunge upon a friend;
Yet, where he’s not so rich as I,
I pay my club, and so good b’ye.

EPIGRAM BY MR. BOWYER

“IN SYLLABAM LONGAM IN VOCE VERTIGINOSUS A. D. SWIFT CORREPTAM”

Musarum antistes, Phoebi numerosus alumnus,
  Vix omnes numeros Vertiginosus habet. 
Intentat charo capiti vertigo ruinam: 
  Oh! servet cerebro nata Minerva caput. 
Vertigo nimium longa est, divina poeta;
  Dent tibi Pierides, donet Apollo, brevem.

VERSES MADE FOR FRUIT-WOMEN

APPLES

Come buy my fine wares,
Plums, apples, and pears. 
A hundred a penny,
In conscience too many: 
Come, will you have any? 
My children are seven,
I wish them in Heaven;
My husband a sot,
With his pipe and his pot,
Not a farthing will gain them,
And I must maintain them.

ASPARAGUS

  Ripe ’sparagrass
  Fit for lad or lass,
To make their water pass: 
  O, ’tis pretty picking
  With a tender chicken!

ONIONS

    Come, follow me by the smell,
    Here are delicate onions to sell;
    I promise to use you well. 
    They make the blood warmer,
    You’ll feed like a farmer;
For this is every cook’s opinion,
No savoury dish without an onion;
But, lest your kissing should be spoil’d,
Your onions must be thoroughly boil’d: 
    Or else you may spare
    Your mistress a share,
The secret will never be known: 
    She cannot discover
    The breath of her lover,
But think it as sweet as her own.

OYSTERS

    Charming oysters I cry: 
    My masters, come buy,
    So plump and so fresh,
    So sweet is their flesh,
    No Colchester oyster
    Is sweeter and moister: 
    Your stomach they settle,
    And rouse up your mettle: 
    They’ll make you a dad
    Of a lass or a lad;
    And madam your wife
    They’ll please to the life;
  Be she barren, be she old,
  Be she slut, or be she scold,
Eat my oysters, and lie near her,
She’ll be fruitful, never fear her.

HERRINGS

      Be not sparing,
      Leave off swearing. 
      Buy my herring
Fresh from Malahide,[1]
Better never was tried.  Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard, Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.  Come, sixpence a-dozen, to get me some bread, Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.