However, I was refolv'd to bring the discourse flily

about:

Mrs. Dukes, faid I, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out:

"Tis not that I value the money three fkips of a

But the thing I ftand upon is the credit of the house. 'Tis true, feven pounds, four fhillings, and fix pence, makes a great hole in my wages:

Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheritance in thefe ages.

Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body underftands,

That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands.

The devil take me! faid fhe (bleffing herself) if ever I faw 't!

So fhe roar'd like a Bedlam, as though I had call'd her all to naught.

So you know, what could I fay to her any more?
I e'en left her, and came away as wife as I was

before.

Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man!

No, faid I, 'tis the fame thing, the chaplain will be

here anon.

So the chaplain† came in. Now the fervants fay he is my fweetheart,

Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.

• A ufual faying of hers.

+ Dr. Swift.

So,

So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blunder'd,

Parfon, faid I, can you caft a nativity, when a body's plunder'd?

(Now you must know, he hates to be call'd parfon like the devil!)

Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;

If

be your money d'ye fee,

gone, as a learned divine fays,

You are no text for my handling; so take that from me: I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have you to know.

Lord! faid I, don't be angry, I am fure I never thought you fo;

You know I honour the cloth; I defign to be a parfon's wife;

I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all

my

life.

With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,

Now you may go hang yourself for me! and fo

went away.

Well I thought I fhould have fwoon'd. Lord! faid I, what fhall I do?

I have loft my money, and shall lofe my true love too!

Then my Lord call'd me: Harry *, faid my Lord,

don't cry;

I'll give you something towards thy loss: and, fays my Lady, fo will I.

A cant of word of lord and lady B. to Mrs. Harris.

Oh!

A

Oh! but faid I, what if, after all, the chaplain won't come to ?

For that, he faid, (an't pleafe your Excellencies,) I muft petition you.

The premises tenderly confider'd, I defire your Excellencies protection,

And that I may have a share in next Sunday's collection;

And, over and above, that I may have your Excellencies letter,

With an order for the chaplain aforefaid, or, inftead of him, a better:

And then your poor petitioner, both night and day, Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound, fhall ever pray.

A BALL A D.

ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC,

Written at the Castle of Dublin, 1699.

MY Lord *, to find out who must deal,

Delivers cards about,

But the firft knave does feldom fail

To find the doctor out.

But then his Honour cry'd, Gadzooks!
And feem'd to knit his brow:

For on a knave he never looks

But h' thinks upon Jack How †,

* The earl of Berkeley.
Paymaster to the army.

My

My Lady, though she is no player,

Some bungling partner takes,
And, wedg'd in corner of a chair,
Takes fnuff, and holds the stakes.

Dame Floyd looks out in grave fufpenfe
For pair-royals and fequents;
But, wifely cautious of her pence,
The castle feldom frequents.

Quoth Herries, fairly putting cafes,
I'd won it on my word,
If I had but a pair of aces,
And could pick up a third.

But Wefton has a new-caft gown
On Sundays to be fine in,
And, if the can but win a crown,
"Twill just new-dye the lining.

"With these is Parfon Swift,

"Not knowing how to spend his time,

"Does make a wretched fhift,

"To deafen them with puns

and rhyme."

A BALLAD,

To the Tune of, THE CUT-PURSE *.

I.

ONCE on a time, as old stories rehearse,

A friar would need fhew his talent in Latin; But was forely put to't in the midft of a verse, Because he could find no word to come pat in:

Lady Betty Berkeley, finding the preceding verfes in the author's room unfinished, wrote under them the concluding ftanza; which gave occafion to this ballad, written by the author in a counterfeit hand, as if a third perfon had done it.

Then

Then all in the place

He left a void space,

And so went to bed in a desperate case: When behold the next morning a wonderful riddle! He found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the middle. Cho. Let cenfuring critics then think what they lift on't;

Who would not write verses with fuch

an affiftant?

II.

This put me the friar into an amazement:
For he wifely confider'd it must be a sprite;
That he came through the key-hole, or in at the
cafement;

And it need must be one that could both read

and write :

Yet he did not know

If it were friend or foe,

Or whether it came from above or below:

However, 'twas civil, in angel or elf,

For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of himself. Chor. Let cenfuring, &c.

III.

Even fo Master Doctor had puzzled his brains
In making a ballad, but was at a ftand:
He had mixt little wit with a great deal of pains,
When he found a new help from invisible hand.
Then, good Doctor Swift,

Pay thanks for the gift,

For you freely muft own, you were at a dead lift:

And,