FROM THE 'MEMOIRS'
A Cure for Bad Poetry
A physician of Bath told him that he had a mind to publish his own poems; but he had so many irons in the fire he did not well know what to do.
"Then take my advice, doctor," said Foote, "and put your poems where your irons are."
The Retort Courteous
Following a man in the street, who did not bear the best of characters, Foote slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, thinking he was an intimate friend. On discovering his mistake he cried out, "Oh, sir, I beg your pardon! I really took you for a gentleman who—"
"Well, sir," said the other, "and am I not a gentleman?"
"Nay, sir," said Foote, "if you take it in that way, I must only beg your pardon a second time."