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As Thomas was cudgel'd one day by his wife,

He took to the street, and fled for his life:

Tom's three dearest friends came by in the fquabble,
And fav'd him at once from the fhrew and the rabble;
Then ventur'd to give him fome fober advice —
But Tom is a perfon of honour so nice,

Too wife to take counsel, to proud to take warning, That he fent to all three a challenge next morning : Three duels he fought, thrice ventur'd his life; Went home, and was cudgel'd again by his wife.




HIS day (the year I dare not tell)
Apollo play'd the midwife's part;

Into the world Corinna fell,

And he endow'd her with his art.

But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
Both foftly to the cradle creep;

Both ftroke her hands, and rub her gums,
While the poor child lay faft fleep.

Then Cupid thus: This litle maid

Of Love fhall always fpeak and write. And I pronounce (the Satyr faid)

The world fhall feel her scratch, and bite.



Her talent fhe difplay'd betimes;

For in twice twelve revolving moons,
She feem'd to laugh and squall in rhymes,
And all her gestures were lampoons.

At fix years old the fubtle jade

Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The butler with my lady's maid:

And you may fwear the tale went round.

She made a fong, how little miss
Was kifs'd and flobber'd by a lad:
And how when mafter went to p-,
Mifs came, and peep'd at all he had.

At twelve a wit and a coquette;

Marries for love, half whore, half wife.
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
Turns authoress, and is Curll's for life.

To dine with the CALVES-HEAD CLUB *.
Imitated from HORACE, lib. I. epift. 5.

F, dearest Difmal, you for once can dine
Upon a fingle difh, and tavern-wine,

Toland to you this invitation fends,

To eat the calves-head with your trufty friends.

*This poem, and that which follows it, are two of the penny papers mentioned in Swift's Journal to Stella, Aug. 7. 1712. They are here printed from folio copies in the Lambeth Library.


Sufpend a while your vain ambitious hopes,
Leave hunting after bribes, forget your tropes.
To-morrow we our myftic feaft prepare,

Where thou, our latest profelyte, fhalt fhare:
When we, by proper figns and fymbols, tell,
How, by brave bands, the royal traitor fell;
The meat fhall represent the tyrant's head,
The wine his blood our predeceffors fhed;
Whilft an alluding hymn fome artist fings,
We toaft, "Confufion to the race of kings !"
At monarchy we nobly fhew our fpight,
And talk what fools call treafon all the night.

Who, by difgraces or ill-fortune funk,

Feels not his foul enliven'd when he 's drunk?*
Wine can clear up Godolphin's cloudy face,
And fill Jack Smith with hopes to keep his place:
By force of wine, ev'n Scarborough is brave,
Hal grows more pert, and Somers not fo


Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleveland fenfe,
Montague learning, Bolton eloquence :

Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lofe his wand;
And Lincoln then imagines he has land.

My province is, to fee that all be right, Glaffes and linen clean, and pewter bright; From our myfterious club to keep out spies, And Tories (drefs'd like waiters) in disguise. You fhall be coupled as you beft approve,

Seated at table next the men you love.

Sunderland, Orford, Boyle, and Richmond's Grace, Will come; and Hampden fhall have Walpole's place.

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Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,
Will hardly fail; and there is room for more.
But I love elbow-room whene'er I drink ;
And honeft Harry is too apt to stink.


Let no pretence of business make you stay;
Yet take one word of counfel by the way.

If Guernsey calls, fend word you 're gone abroad;
He'll teaze you with King Charles and Bishop Laud,
Or make you faft, and carry you to prayers:
But, if he will break-in, and walk up stairs,
Steal by the back-door out, and leave him there;
Then order Squash to call a hackney-chair.




Being an excellent new SONG upon the Surrender of DUNKIRK to General HILL. 1712.

To the Tune of, "The King fhall enjoy his own again.”


SPIGHT of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain fhall have peace at last :

Holland got towns, and we got blows;
But Dunkirk 's ours, we 'll hold it fast.
We have got it in a string,

And the Whigs may all go fwing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
All their falfe deluded hopes

Will or ought to end in ropes;

But the Queen fball enjoy her own again.

Right Hon. Henry Boyle, mentioned twice before.

II. Sun


Sunderland 's run out of his wits,
And Dismal double-Difmal looks;
Wharton can only fwear by fits,
And strutting Hal is off the hooks,
Old Godolphin full of spleen

Made falfe moves, and loft his queen;
Harry look'd fierce, and fhook his ragged mane:
But a prince of high renown

Swore he 'd rather lofe a crown,
Than the Queen stould enjoy her own again.


Our merchant-fhips may cut the Line,
And not be fnapt by privateers,
And commoners who love good wine
Will drink it now as well as peers:
Landed-men fhall have their rent,
Yet our flocks rife cent. per cent.

The Dutch from hence fhall no more millions drain:
We 'll bring on us no more debts,

Nor with bankrupts fill Gazettes;
And the Queen fhall enjoy her own again.

The towns we took ne'er did us good :
What fignified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood,
To make the Dutchmen proud and great :
But the lord of Oxford fwears,

Dunkirk never fhall be theirs.

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