O when ding dong, ding dong, my Bell goes,
Each Taylor leaps up at the sound;
Off, to hear me, like roe bucks, they scampering set,
So delighted, I’m told, that they cabbage forget,
When sonorous I publish all round.
FOURTH CALL.
To be sold by Auction, J.M. Auctioneer, a large and choice Collection of Materials for Sleeping,—consisting of a Quantity of old News; erroneous and clumsy Statements of recent events; heavy Critiques on Theatrical Performers and Plays not performed; flat Pieces of uninteresting Biography; drowsy original Letters; dull Extracts from a northern Caput Mortuum of Insipidity; a Number of Puns, Jests, and old Anecdotes, warranted free from Attic Salt, chigramatic Point, or any other Ingredient capable of rousing Attention or exciting Risibility; also, a Quantity of pure Tyne Mercury, which possesses the peculiar Property of never rising in the Barometer of public Estimation, higher than the Point Ennui.—The Sale to begin every Monday Evening at Eight o’Clock, and continue till all be sold.
I’m resolv’d—may I hope you’ll approve of the measure?—
A short course of Lectures to give, when I’ve leisure;
In order to perfect these Orators’ graces,