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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,
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:
A BALL A D. ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC,
Written at the Castle of Dublin, 1699.
Y Lord *, to find out who must deal,
Delivers cards about,
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,
'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
A B A L L A D
To the Tune of, The Cut-PURSE *.
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
an assistant ?
For he wisely consider'd it must be a sprite;
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,