Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that

you was here;

汽

I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and

mocking:

Mary, faid he, (one day as 1 was mending ny master's stocking;)

My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the school

I thought my master a wise 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

dish-clout to his tail..

And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this

letter;

For I write but a fad scrawl; but my fifter Marget, she

Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my

master comes from prayers;

And fee now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs;

Whereof I could fay more to your verses, if I could write written hand:

And fo I remain, in a civil way, your servant to command,

MARY.

A NEW

A NEW-YEAR'S-GIFT

FOR BEC*.

1723-4.

R ETURNING Janus now prepares,

For Bec, a new supply of cares,

Sent in a bag to Doctor Swift,
Who thus displays the New-year's-gift.
First, this large parcel brings you tidings
Of our good Dean's eternal chidings;
Of Nelly's pertness, Robin's leasings,
And Sheridan's perpetual teazings.
This box is cramm'd on every fide
With Stella's magisterial pride.
Behold a cage with sparrows fill'd,
First to be fondled, then be kill'd.
Now to this hamper I invite you,
With fix imagin'd cares to fright you.
Here in this bundle Janus fends
Concerns by thousands for your friends :
And here 's a pair of leathern pokes,
To hold your cares for other folks..
Here from this barrel you may broach
A peck of troubles for a coach.

This ball of wax your ears will darken,
Still to be curious, never hearken.

Left you the town may have lefs trouble in,
Bring all your Quilca's † cares to Dublin,
For which he fends this empty sack;

And fo take all upon your back.

*** Mrs. Dingley, Stella's friend and companion.

† A country-house of Dr. Sheridan.

VOL. I.

U

DINGLEY

DINGLEY AND BRENT*.

A

SONG.

To the tune of, "Ye Commons and Peers."

DINGLEY and Brent,

Wherever they went,

Ne'er minded a word that was spoken;

Whatever was said,

They ne'er troubled their head,

But laugh'd at their own filly joking.

Should Solomon wife

In majesty rife,

And shew them his wit and his learning;

They never would hear,
But turn the deaf ear,

As a matter they had no concern in.

You tell a good jest,

And please all the reft;

Comes Dingley, and asks you, What was it?

And, curious to know,

Away she will go

To feek an old rag in the closet.

* Dr. Swift's house-keeper.

TO

TO

STELLA.

1723-4

Written on the DAY of her BIRTH, but not on

the SUBJECT, when I was fick in Bed.

TORMENTED with incessant pains,

Can I devise poetic strains ?
Time was, when I could yearly pay
My verse on Stella's native day :
But now, unable grown to write,
I grieve she ever saw the light.
Ungrateful! fince to her I owe
That I these pains can undergo.
She tends me, like an humble slave;
And, when indecently I rave,
When out my brutish passions break,
With gall in every word I speak,
She, with foft speech, my anguish chears,
Or melts my paffions down with tears :
Although 'tis easy to descry
She wants affistance more than I;
Yet seems to feel my pains alone,
And is a Stoic in her own.
When, among scholars, can we find
So foft, and yet so firm a mind?
All accidents of life confpire
To raise up Stella's virtue higher;
Or elfe to introduce the rest

Which had been latent in her breaft.

Her firmness who could e'er have known,

Had the not evils of her own?

T

Her kindness who could ever guess,
Had not her friends been in distress ?

Whatever base returns you find

From me, dear Stella, still be kind.
In your own heart you 'll reap the fruit,
Though I continue still a brute.
But, when I once am out of pain,
I promise to be good again:
Meantime, your other juster friends
Shall for my follies make amends:
So may we long continue thus,
Admiring you, you pitying us.

ON DREAMS.

AN IMITATION OF PETRONIUS. "Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris," &c. THOSE dreams, that on the filent night intrude,

And with false flitting shades our minds delude,

Jove never sends us downward from the skies;
Nor can they from infernal mansions rise;
But are all mere productions of the brain,
And fools confult interpreters in vain.

For, when in bed we rest our weary limbs,
The mind unburden'd sports in various whims;
The bufy head with mimic art runs o'er
The scenes and actions of the day before.

The