Why is a tall nobleman like a poker?—Because he’s a high’un belonging to the great.
Why is a defunct mother like a dog?—Because she’s a ma-stiff.
When is a horse like a herring?—When he’s hard rode.
EPIGRAM ON SEEING AN EXECUTION.
One morn, two friends before the Newgate drop,
To see a culprit throttled, chanced to stop:
“Alas!” cried one as round in air he spun,
“That miserable wretch’s race is run.”
“True,” said the other drily, “to his cost,