PEG RADCLIFFE THE HOSTESS'S INVITATION.
To the Reverend Dr. Swift, D. S. P. D. written with a design to be spoken by her on his arrival at Glassnevin, Dr. Delany having complimented him with a house there. From the London and Dublin Magazine for June, 1735. The lines are probably by Delany or Sheridan.
THOUGH the name of this place may make you to frown,
Your Deanship is welcome to Glassnevin town;
1A glass and no wine, to a man of your taste,
Alas! is enough, sir, to break it in haste;
Be that as it will, your presence can't fail
To yield great delight in drinking our ale;
Would you but vouchsafe a mug to partake,
And as we can brew, believe we can bake.
The life and the pleasure we now from you hope,
The famed Violante can't show on the rope;
Your genius and talents outdo even Pope.
Then while, sir, you live at Glassnevin, and find
The benefit wish'd you, by friends who are kind;
One night in the week, sir, your favour bestow,
To drink with Delany and others you know:
They constantly meet at Peg Radcliffe's together,
Talk over the news of the town and the weather;
A 1 pun on Glassnevin---Glass---ne, no, and vin, wine.--Scott.
Reflect on mishaps in church and in state,
Digest many things as well as good meat;
And club each alike that no one may treat.
This if you will grant without coach or chair,
You may, in a trice, cross the way and be there;
For Peg is your neighbour, as well as Delany,
A housewifely woman full pleasing to any.
"WHEN to my house you come, dear Dean,
Your humble friend to entertain,
Through dirt and mire along the street,
You find no scraper for your feet;
At which you stamp and storm and swell,
Which serves to clean your feet as well.
By steps ascending to the hall,
All torn to rags by boys and ball,
With scatter'd fragments on the floor;
A sad, uneasy parlour door,
Besmear'd with chalk, and carved with knives,
(A plague upon all careless wives,)
Are the next sights you must expect,
But do not think they are my neglect.
Ah that these evils were the worst!
The parlour still is farther curst.
To enter there if you advance,
If in you get, it is by chance.
How oft by turns have you
Said thus-"Let me-no-let me try-
This turn will open it, I'll engage"-
You push me from it in a rage.
Turning, twisting, forcing, fumbling,
Stamping, staring, fuming, grumbling,
At length it opens-in we go-
How glad are we to find it so!
Conquests through pains and dangers please, Much more than those attain'd with ease.
Are you disposed to take a seat;
The instant that it feels your weight,
Out goes its legs, and down you come
Upon your reverend deanship's bum.
Betwixt two stools, 'tis often said,
The sitter on the ground is laid;
What praise then to my chairs is due,
Where one performs the feat of two!
Now to the fire, if such there be,
At present nought but smoke we see.
"Come, stir it up!"-" Ho, Mr. Joker,
How can I stir it without a poker?"
"The bellows take, their batter'd nose
Will serve for poker, I suppose."
Now you begin to rake-alack
The grate has tumbled from its back-
The coals all on the hearth are laid-
Stay, sir-I'll run and call the maid; She'll make the fire again completeShe knows the humour of the grate."
your maid and you togetherThis is cold comfort in cold weather."
Now all is right again—the blaze
Suddenly raised as soon decays.
Once more apply the bellows--" So-
These bellows were not made to blow-
Their leathern lungs are in decay,
They can't even puff the smoke away."
"And is your reverence vext at that,
Get in God's name,
up,
Hang them, say I, that have no shift;
Come blow the fire, good Doctor Swift.
If trifles such as these can tease you,
Plague take those fools that strive to please you.
Therefore no longer be a quarrel'r
Either with me, sir, or my parlour.
If you can relish ought of mine,
A bit of meat, a glass of wine,
You're welcome to it, and you shall fare
As well as dining with the mayor."
"You saucy scab-you tell me so!
Why, booby-face, I'd have you know
I'd rather see your things in order,
Than dine in state with the recorder.
For water I must keep a clutter,
Or chide your wife for stinking butter;
Or getting such a deal of meat
As if you'd half the town to eat.
That wife of yours, the devil's in her,
I've told her of this way of dinner
Five hundred times, but all in vain—
Here comes a rump of beef again :
O that that wife of yours would burst—
Get out, and serve the boarders first.
Pox take 'em all for me-I fret
So much, I shall not eat my meat-
You know I'd rather have a slice."
“I know, dear sir, you are not nice;
You'll have your dinner in a minute,
Here comes the plate and slices in it—
Therefore no more, but take your place—
you fall to, and I'll say grace."
ADDRESSED TO SWIFT AND TO HIS MEMORY.
TO THE REV. DR. SWIFT, DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S.
A BIRTH-DAY POEM. NOV. 30, 1736.
you, my true and faithful friend, These tributary lines I send,
every year, thou best of deans, I'll pay as long as life remains;
But did you know one half the pain,
What work, what racking of the brain,
It costs me for a single clause,
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