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The name of stitch was such reproach, He rung the bell, and call'd his coach, But e'er he went, inquiries made, By what means they found out his trade, You put the cap on, and it fits, Reply'd one of the Yorkshire wits, Our words in common acceptation, Could not find out your occupation, 'Twas you yourself gave us the cue, To find out both yourself and you. Vain coxcombs and fantastic beaux, In every place themselves expose : They travel far at vast expense, To shew their wealth and want of sense ; But take this as a standing rule, "There's no disguise can screen a fool."

THE GIG DEMOLISHED.

A POEM.

BY MRS, BARBAULD.

Ye heroes of the upper form, who long for whip and reins, Come listen to a dismal tale, set forth in dismal strains. Young Jehu was a lad of fame, as all the school could tell, At cricket, taw, and prison bars, he bore away the bell.