The Parting toast at one of the old gaming-houses in _Marybone_ was
"_May as many of us as remain unhanged next spring, meet here again_."

* * * * *


EPIGRAM

_Translated from the French of Mr. Patris, who composed it a few days
before his death. By J.C._


Last night I dreamt that worn away
With sickness, I was dead,
And that my carcass, cheek by jowl,
Was by a poor man's laid.

My stomach rose, methought, to see
The wretch so near me lie,
And straight his sauciness I chid,
Like corpse of quality.

Scoundrel, cried I, move farther off,
And give your betters room,
Avaunt, you scrub, and rot elsewhere,
Foh! how you stink and fume.

Scrub! quoth the saucy dog, that's well,
Pray who's more scrub than you?