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How your superior learning shines
Consider now your conversation:
appear, With such address and graceful port, As clearly shews you bred at court!
Now raise your sprits, Mr. Dean, I lead
you to a nobler scene;
When to the vault you walk in state,
your master's wine;
Your Iusher's poft must next be handled: How bless’d am I by such a man led ! Under whose wise and careful guardship I now despise fatigue and hardship: Familiar grown to dirt and wet, Though daggled round, I scorn to fret :
* He fometimes used to direct the butler.
+ The butler,
I He sometimes used to walk with the lady.
From you my chamber-damsels learn
Now as a jester I accost you;
I now become your humble suitor
* The neighbouring la- Hill. See the poem. dies were no great under- | In bad weather the austanders of raillery.
thor used to direct my lady in + The clown thatcut down her reading. the old thorn at Market
Already have have improv'd fo well,
But I admire your patience most; That when I'm duller than a post, Nor can the plainest word pronounce, You neither fume, nor fret, nor flounce; Are so indulgent, and so mild, As if I were a darling child. So gentle is your whole proceeding, That I could spend my life in reading.
You merit new employments daily : Our thatcher, ditcher, gard'ner, baily.
Ignorant ladies often mistake the word penurious for nice and dainty:
And to a genius so extensive
Now enter as the dairy hand-maid : Such charming * butter never man made. Let others with fanatic face Talk of their milk for babes of grace ; From tubs their snufiling nonsense utter : Thy milk shall make us tubs of butter. The bishop with his foot may burn it t, But with his hand the dean can churn it. How are the servants overjoy’d. To see thy deanship thus employ'd !
* A way of making butter his foot in it, the devil having for breakfast, by filling abot- been called, bishop of hell; tle with cream and making it fee a satire on the Irish bishops till the butter comes.
near the end of this volume, + It is a common saying, said to have been first printed when the milk burns to, that in Fog's Journal. the devil or the bishop has set Vol. VII.