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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,
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)
Into the world Corinna fell,
And he endow'd her with his art.
But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
Both ftroke her hands, and rub her gums,
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,
At fix years old the fubtle jade
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
And you may fwear the tale went round.
She made a fong, how little miss
At twelve a wit and a coquette;
Marries for love, half whore, half wife.
TOLAND'S INVITATION to DISMAL
F, dearest Difmal, you for once can dine
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,
Where thou, our latest profelyte, fhalt fhare:
Who, by difgraces or ill-fortune funk,
Feels not his foul enliven'd when he 's drunk?*
Wine can give Portland wit, and Cleveland fenfe,
Cholmondeley, when drunk, can never lofe his wand;
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.
Wharton, unless prevented by a whore,
Let no pretence of business make you stay;
If Guernsey calls, fend word you 're gone abroad;
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,
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
And the Whigs may all go fwing,
Will or ought to end in ropes;
But the Queen fball enjoy her own again.
Right Hon. Henry Boyle, mentioned twice before.
Sunderland 's run out of his wits,
Made falfe moves, and loft his queen;
Swore he 'd rather lofe a crown,
Our merchant-fhips may cut the Line,
The Dutch from hence fhall no more millions drain:
Nor with bankrupts fill Gazettes;
The towns we took ne'er did us good :
Dunkirk never fhall be theirs.