This Quirk is little better then the Childrens Play of _Riddle me, Riddle
me_; though the Conceit I know is Celebrated among the _Apothegms_ of the
Ancients. The Mony and the Cloaths were Lost on purpose to make way for
the Jest; as the Gentleman dropt his Book into the River, off of _Maudlin
Bridge_ in _Cambridge_: What’s that, says one of his Acquaintance that
was passing by? Alas, says t’other, ’tis _Just In_; now the Book was
_Justin_. We may observe from hence, what Pains some Men take to make
themselves Ridiculous, and that Study may Emprove a Coxcomb as well as a
Philosopher. We may learn further, that _Men do not know when they are
well_, or when they have enough; but shift and squander till they would
half Hang themselves at last, to be where they were again. It may be
another Note too, the Unreasonableness of Jesting in Cases of Distress:
So that the Figure at last is Fool all over. Upon the whole, the Fellow
Plays, and loses his very Back-side, and then Cries: And what is all this
more now, then the laying of a Train for the bringing in by Head and
Shoulders the miserable Conceit of _Nothing_ upon _Nothing_.