Page [unnumbered]
EPIGRAM.
FABIUS, a surgeon once, now wealthy grown,
His former pot-companions scarce will own.
One, Tim by name, more nettled than the rest,
Hands up his friend in a satiric jest;
Tells how, with conscience far more wise than nice,
Fabius his fortune made by loaded dice.
" You've cut him up," cries one; "all's right," says Tim;
" He formerly cut me—now I cut him."
EPIGRAM.
IF he the cruel torture could survive,
What must the poor wretch suffer, stayed alive,
And after whipt?—But what feels D—s then,
First conscience stayed, then lash'd by D—n's pen?
A MORAL COMPARISON.
VIPER was told, 'twas a good thing to cheat,
That cards and loaded dice made small men great:
Viper apprentice put him to the trade.
First learn'd to cut a heart, next slip a spade;
'Till bolder in nefarious practice grown.
Of all true gamblers, none about the town
Could cog like him, or for a pidgeon poach:
How has it ended?—Viper keeps his coach.