TOM, "and then, A Song;--and

so good night, good Gentlemen! "I've Lyricks, such as _Bons Vivants_
indite, In which your bibbers of Champagne delight,-- The Poetaster,
bawling them in clubs, Obtains a miserably noted name; And every noisy
Bacchanalian

dubs The Singing-Writer with
a bastard Fame." [Illustration] LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
WHO has e'er been in
London, that overgrown place, Has seen
"_Lodgings to Let_" stare him full in the face: Some are good, and let
dearly; while some, 'tis well known, Are so dear, and so bad, they are
best let alone. WILL WADDLE, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hire'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only; But WILL was so fat he
appear'd like a ton;-- Or like Two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One. He
enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated; But, all
the night long, he felt fever'd, and heated; And, tho' heavy to weigh,
as a score of fat sheep, He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. Next
night 'twas the same!--and the next;--and the next;
He perspire'd like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd; Week past after
week; till, by weekly succession, His weakly
condition was past all expression. In six months, his acquaintance began
much to doubt him: For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about
him. He sent for a Doctor;
and cried, like a ninny, "I have lost many pounds--make me well--there's
a guinea." The
Doctor look'd wise:--"a slow fever," he said: Prescribe'd
sudorificks,--and going to bed. "Sudorificks in bed," exclaim'd
WILL, "are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for
drugs!" WILL kick'd out the Doctor:--but, when ill indeed, E'en
dismissing the Doctor don't _always_
s