So I went to the party fufpected, and I found her full of grief,

(Now you must know, of all things in the world, I hate a thief).

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

Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheritance in these

ages.

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

ftands,

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

The devil take me! faid fhe (bleffing herfelf) 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.

An ufual faying of hers.

So

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

my

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

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 bẹ more civil;

If your money be gone, as a learned divine fays, d'ye fee,

You are no text for my handling; fo 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 should have swoon'd. Lord! faid I, what shall I do?

Lhave loft my money, and shall lose my true love too!

* Dr. Swift.

Then

Then

my

cry;

Lord call'd me: Harry, faid my Lord, don't

I'll give you fomething towards thy lofs; and, fays my Lady, fo will I.

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

For that, he said, (an't please your Excellencies,) I must petition you.

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

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

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

letter,

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

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

Written at the Castle of Dublin, 1699.

MY Lord t, to find out who must deal,

Delivers cards about,

But the first knave does feldom fail

To find the Doctor out.

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

+ The earl of Berkeley.

But

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*.

My Lady, though fhe 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 caftle feldom fréquents.

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 shift,

"To deafen them with puns and rhyme."

* Paymaster to the army.

+ See the verses on this lady, p. 38.

See the note, p. 28.

A BALLAD

A BALLAD, To the Tune of, THE CUT-PURSE

I.

NCE on a time, as old ftories rehearse,

ON

A friar would needs fhew his talent in Latin; But was forely put to't in the midst of a verfe, Because he could find no word to come pat in: Then all in the place

He left a void fpace,

And fo went to bed in a defperate cafe: 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 verfes with fuch an. affifant?

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 needs must be one that could both read and : write :

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.

Yet: