181. A certain worthy gentleman having among his friends the nickname of Bos, which was a kind of contraction of his real name; when his late majesty conferred the honour of a peerage upon him, a pamphlet was soon after published, with many sarcastical jokes upon him, and had this part of a line from Horace as a motto, viz., “Optat epipipa Bos.” My lord asked a friend who could read Latin, What that meant? It is as much as to say, my lord, said he, that you become honours as a sow does a saddle. Oh! very fine! said my lord. Soon after, another friend coming to see him, the pamphlet was again spoken of. I would, says my lord, give five hundred pounds to know the author of it. I don’t know the author of the pamphlet, said his friend, but I know who wrote the motto. Ay, cried my lord, prithee who was it? Horace, answered the other. How, replied his lordship, a dirty dog, is that the return he makes for all the services I have done him and his brother?
182. In the great dispute between South and Sherlock, the former, who was a great courtier, said, His adversary reasoned well, but he barked like a cur. To which the other replied, That fawning was the property of a cur as well as barking.
183. Second thoughts, we commonly say, are best, and young women, who pretend to be averse to marriage, desire not to be taken at their words. One asking a girl, If she would have him? Faith, no, John, says she, but you may have me, if you will.
184. A gentleman lying on his death-bed, called to his coachman, who had been an old servant, and said, Ah, Tom, I am going a long and rugged journey, worse than ever you drove me. Oh, dear sir, replied the fellow, (he having been but an indifferent master to him,) ne’er let that discourage you, for it is all down hill.
185. An honest bluff country farmer, meeting the parson of the parish in a bye lane, and not giving him the way so readily as he expected, the parson with an erected crest, told him he was better fed than taught. Very true, indeed, sir, replied the farmer, for you teach me, and I feed myself.
186. One making a furious assault upon a hot apple pie, burned his mouth until the tears ran down, his friend asked him, Why he wept? Only, said he, because it is just come into my mind, that my grandmother died this day twelvemonth. Phoo, said the other, is that all? so whipping a large piece into his mouth, he quickly sympathized with his companion; who seeing his eyes brim full, with a malicious sneer, asked him why he wept? Because you were not hanged the same day your grandmother died.
187. A lady who had married a gentleman that was a tolerable poet, one day sitting alone with him, she said, Come, my dear, you write upon other people, prithee write something for me; let me see what epitaph you’ll bestow upon me when I die. Oh, my dear, replied he, that’s a melancholy subject, prithee don’t think of it. Nay, upon my life you shall, adds she. Come, I’ll begin—
Here lies Bid-
To which he answered,