His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the fecret wife committee:
Confeft as plain as he could bark :
Then with his fore-foot fet his mark.
TORY. Then all this while have I been bubbled,
I thought it was a dog in doublet :
The matter now no longer flicks;
For statesmen never want dog-tricks.
But fince it was a real cur,
And not a dog in metaphor,
I give you joy of the report,
That he 's to have a place at court.
WHIG. Yes, and a place he will grow rich in;
A turn-fpit in the royal kitchen.
Sir, to be plain, I tell you what,
We had occafion for a plot :
And, when, we found the dog begin it,
We guefs'd the bishop's foot was in it.
TORY. I own, it was a dangerous project;
And you have prov'd it by dog-logick.
Sure fuch intelligence between
A dog and bishop neler was feen,
Till you began to change the breed;
Your bishops all are dogs indeed!
STELLA AT WOOD-PARK,
A House of CHARLES FORD, Efq; near DUBLIN.
Cuicumque nocere volebat,
"Vestimenta dabat pretiofa."
ON Carlos, in a merry spight,
Did Stella to his houfe invite :
He entertain'd her half a year
With generous wines and coftly chear.
Don Carlos made her chief director,
That she might o'er the fervants hector.
In half a week the dame grew nice,
Got all things at the highest price :
Now at the table-head fhe fits,
Prefented with the niceft bits :
She look'd on partridges with fcorn,
Except they tafted of the corn:
A haunch of venifon made her fweat,
Unless it had the right fumette.
Don Carlos earnestly would beg,
Dear madam, try this pigeon's leg;
Was happy, when he could prevail
To make her only touch a quail.
Through candle-light fhe view'd the wine,
To fee that every glass was fine.
At last, grown prouder than the devil
With feeding high and treatment civil,
Don Carlos now began to find
His malice work as he defign'd.
The winter-sky began to frown;
Poor Stella muft pack off to town:
From purling ftreams and fountains bubbling,
To Liffy's ftinking tide at Dublin:
From wholesome exercise and air,
To foffing in an exfy chair:
From ftomach fharp, and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a lady breeding:
From ruling there the houshold fingly,
To be directed here by Dingley * :
From every day a lordly banquet,
To half a joint, and God be thanked:
From every meal Pontack in plenty,
To half a int one day in twenty:
From Ford attending at her call,
To vifits of
From Ford, who thinks of nothing mean,
To the poor doings of the Dean :
From growing richer with good chear,
To running-out by ftarving here.
But now arrives the dismal day;
She must return to Ormond Quay t.
The coachman ftopt; fhe look'd, and swore
The rafcal had miftook the door :
At coming in, you saw her stoop;
The entry brush'd against her hoop:
*The conftant companion of Stella.
+ Where the two ladies lodged.
Each moment rifing in her airs,
She curft the narrow winding stairs:
Began a thousand faults to fpy;
The ceiling hardly fix feet high;
The fmutty wainfcot full of cracks;
And half the chairs with broken backs:
Her quarter 's out at Lady-day;
She vows fhe will no longer stay
In lodgings like a poor Grizette,
While there are lodgings to be let.
Howe'er, to keep her fpirits up,
She fent for company to fup :
When all the while you might remark,
She strove in vain to ape Wood-park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her store;
The cupboard could contain but four):
A fupper worthy of herself,
Five nothings in five plates of delf.
Thus for a week the farce went on;
When, all her country-favings gone,
She fell into her-former fcene,
Small beer, a herring, and the Dean.
Thus far in jeft: though now, I fear,
You think my jetting too fevere;
But poets, when a hint is new,
Regard not whether falfe or true :
Yet raillery gives no offence,
Where truth has not the leaft pretence;
Nor can be more fecurely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's tafte.
I must confess, your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little :
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And, though in miniature, you shine :
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-park,
The scene, the welcome, and the spark,
To languish in this odious town,
And pull your haughty stomach down;
We think you quite mistake the case,
The virtue lies not in the place :
For, though my raillery were true,
A cottage is Wood-park with you.
COPY OF THE BIRTH-DAY VERSES ON MR. FORD.
COME, be content, fince out it must,
For Stella has betray'd her truft;
And, whispering, charg'd me not to fay
That Mr. Ford was born to-day;
Or, if at last I needs muft blab it,
According to my ufual habit,
She bid me, with a ferious face,
Be fure conceal the time and place;
And not my compliment to spoil,
By calling this your native foil;
Or vex the ladies, when they knew
That you are turning forty-two:
But, if these topicks shall appear
Strong arguments to keep you Irere,
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