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Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
So your production was the fame,
Where once their Sultan's horfe hath trod,
Of red and yellow, blue and green.
With half a word, when you require,
With trembling muft thy leifure wait;
Thou dar'ft the greatest prince attack,
With pungent pains on every fide:
From thee our youth all virtues learn,
The glittering beau could hardly tell,
With what delight, methinks, I trace
Out-number'd, half encompafs'd round,
The victor, when your steps he trac❜d,
MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.
WELL, if over I faw fuch another man fince my
mother bound my head!
You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred.
I'm fure fuch words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give fuch language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my mafter a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a fhame
For a parfon, who should know better things, to come out with fuch a name.
Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a fhame and a fin;
And the Dean my mafter is an honefter man than you
and all your kin :
He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body:
My master is a parfonable man, and not a spindle-fhank'd hoddy-doddy.
And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excufe,
Becaufe my mafter one day, in anger, call'd you goofe; Which, and I am fure I have been his fervant four years fince October,
And he never call'd me worse than fweet-heart, drunk or fober :
Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,
Though you and your come-rogues keep him out fo late in your college.
You fay you will eat grafs on his grave: a christian eat grafs !
Whereby you now confefs yourself to be a goose or an afs::
But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye;
Well, well, that 's as God pleases; and I don't believe that 's a true ftory:
And fo fay I told you fo, and you may go tell my mafter; what care I?
And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil;
I am but a poor fervant; but I think gentlefolks fhould
Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here;
I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man fays you are always jefting and mocking:
Mary, faid he, (one day as I was mending ny mafter's flocking ;)
My mafter is fo fond of that minifter that keeps the fchool
I thought my
mafter a wife man, but that man' makes him a fool.
Saunders, faid I, I would rather than a quart of ale 'He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a difh-clout to his tail.
And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this letten;
For I write but a fad fcrawl; but my fifter Marget, fhe writes better
Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my mafter comes from prayers;
And fee now,
it ftrikes ten, and I hear him coming up,
Whereof I could fay more to your «verfes, if I could write written hand:
And fo I remain, in a civil way, your fervant to com