Imatges de pÓgina

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

about: Mrs. Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has hap

pen'd out: 'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a

louse * ;

But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house. 'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and six pence,

makes a great hole in my wages : Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these

ages. Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body un

derstands, That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go

without hands. The devil take me! faid she (blessing herself) if

ever I saw 't! So she roar'd like a Bedlam, as though I had call's

her all to naught. So you know, what could I say to her any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was

before. Well; but then they would have had me gone to

the cunning man! No, said I, 'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be

here anon. So the chaplain † came in. Now the servants say he

is my sweetheart, Because he's always in my chamber, and I always

take his part.

A usual saying of hers,
+ Dr. Swift.


So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware,

out I blunder'd, Parson, said I, can you cast a nativity, when a body's

plunder'd ? (Now you must know, he hates to be call’d parfon

like the devil!) Truly, says he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to

be more civil; If your money be gone, as a learned divine says,

d'ye see, 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 ! said I, don't be angry, I am sure I never

thought you so; You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a parson'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 so

went away. Well : I thought I should have swoon'd. Lord !

said I, what shall I do? I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love

too! Then my Lord callid me : Harry *, said my Lord,

don't cry ;

I'll give you something towards thy loss: and, says

my Lady, so will I.

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


Oh! but said I, what if, after all, the chaplain

won't come to? For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies,) I

mult petition you. The premises tenderly consider’d, I desire your Ex

cellencies protection, And that I may have a share in next Sunday's col

lection; And, over and above, that I may have your Excel

lencies letter, With an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, in

stead of him, a better : And then your poor petitioner, both night and day, Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound,

shall ever pray:


Written at the Castle of Dublin, 1699.


Y Lord *, to find out who must deal,

Delivers cards about,
But the first knave does seldom fail

To find the doctor out.

But then his Honour cry'd, Gadzooks !

And seem'd to knit his brow: For on a knave he never looks

But h' thinks upon Jack How to

The earl of Berkeley. + Paymaster to the army.


My Lady, though she is no player,

Some bungling partner takes, And, wedg'd in corner of a chair,

Takes snuff, and holds the stakes.

Dame Floyd looks out in grave suspense

For pair-royals and sequents ; But, wisely cautious of her pence,

The castle seldom frequents. Quoth Herries, fairly putting cases,

I'd won it on my word, If I had but a pair of aces,

And could pick up a third.

But Weston has a new-cast gown

On Sundays to be fine in,
And, if she can but win a crown,

'Twill just new-dye the lining.

« With these is Parson Swift,

“ Not knowing how to spend his time, “ Does make a wretched fhift, “ To deafen them with


and rhyme."



To the Tune of, The Cut-PURSE *.

NCE on a time, as old stories rehearse,

A friar would need fhew his talent in Latin ; But was forely put to't in the midst of a verse,

Because he could find no word to come pat in:

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


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 strangely fill'd up in the middle. Cho. Let censuring critics then think what they

list on't;
Who would not write verses with such

an assistant ?

This put me the friar into an amazement:

For he wisely consider'd it must be a sprite;
That he came through the key-hole, or in at the

casement; 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 so well of himself.

Chor. Let censuring, &c.


Even so Master Doctor had puzzled his brains

In making a ballad, but was at a stand : 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 must own, you were at a dead lift:


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