Joe Miller's Jests



The same Gentleman as he had the Character of a great Punster, was desired one Night in Company, by a Gentleman, to make a Pun extempore, upon what Subject, said Daniel, the King, answered the other, the King, sir, said he, is no Subject.


G--s E---l, who, tho’ he is very rich, is remarkable for his sordid Covetousness, told Cibber one Night, in the Green Room, that he was going out of Town, and was sorry to part with him, for faith he loved him, Ah! said Colley, I wish I was a Shilling for your Sake, why so, said the other, because then, cry’d the Laureat, I should be sure you loved me.


Lord C----by coming out of the House of Lords one Day, called out, where’s my Fellow! Not in England, by G---d, said a Gentleman, who stood by.


A Beggar asking Alms under the Name of a poor Scholar, a Gentleman to whom he apply’d himself, ask’d him a Question in Latin, the Fellow, shaking his Head, said he did not understand him: Why, said the Gentleman, did you not say you were a poor Scholar? Yes, reply’d the other, a poor one indeed, Sir, for I don’t understand one Word of Latin.


Several years ago when Mrs. Rogers the Player, was young and handsome, Lord North and Grey, remarkable for his homely Face, accosting her one Night behind the Scenes, ask’d her with a Sigh, what was a Cure for Love? Your Lordship, said she, the best I know in the World.


Colonel ------, who made the fine Fire-Works in St. James’s Square, upon the Peace of Reswick, being in Company with some Ladies, was highly commending the Epitaph just then set up in the Abbey on Mr. Purcel’s Monument,

He is gone to that Place where only his own Harmony can be exceeded.

    Lord, Colonel, said one of the Ladies, the same Epitaph might serve for you, by altering one Word only:

He is gone to that Place, where only his own Fire-Works can be exceeded.


Poor Joe Miller happening one Day to be caught by some of his Friends in a familiar Posture with a Cook Wench, almost as ugly as Kate Cl---ve, was very much rallied by them for the Oddness of his Fancy. Why look ye, said he, Gentlemen, altho’ I am not a very young Fellow, I have a good Constitution, and am not, I thank Heaven, reduced yet to Beauty or Brandy to whet my Appetite.


Lady N----, who had but a very homely Face, but was extremely well shap’d, and always neat about the Legs and Feet, was tripping one Morning over the Park in a Mask; and a Gentleman followed her for a long while making strong Love to her, he call’d her his Life, his Soul, his Angel, and begged with abundance of Earnestness, to have a Glimpse of her Face, at last when she came on the other Side of the Bird-Cage Walk, to the House she was going into, she turned about and pulling off her Mask: Well, Sir, said she, what is it you would have with me? The Man at first Sight of her Face, drew back, and lifting up his Hands, O! Nothing! Madam, Nothing, cry’d he; I cannot say, said my Lady, but I like your Sincerity, tho’ I hate your Manners.


[The text skips from #58 to #60.]


Sir B---ch---r W----y, in the Beginning of Queen Anne’s Reign, and three or four more drunken Tories, reeling home from the Fountain-Tavern in the Strand, on a Sunday Morning, cry’d out, we are the Pillars of the Church, no, by G---d, said a Whig, that happened to be in their Company, you can be but the Buttresses, for you never come on the Inside of it.

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