His correfpondence plainly dated
Was all decypher'd and tranflated:
His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the fecret wife committee;
Confefs'd as plain as he could bark:
Then with his forefoot fet his mark.

55

Tory. Then all this while have I been bubbled,

60

I thought it was a dog in doublet :
The matter now no longer fticks;
But statesmen never want d g-tricks.
For 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; 65 A turnfpit 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 dang'rous project;
And you have prov'd it by dog-logic.
Sure fuch intelligence between
A dog and bishop ne'er was feen,
Till you began to change the breed;
Your bifhops are all d

gs indeed.

70

75

JOAN

JOAN cudgels NED.

Written in the year 1723.

JOAN cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully;
Will cudgels Befs, yet Will's a cully.

Die Ned and Befs; give Will to Joan,
She dare not fay her life's her own.
Die Joan and Will; give Befs to Ned,
And ev'ry day the combs his head.

5

STELLA at WOOD-PARK,

A house of CHARLES FORD, Efq; eight miles from Dublin.

-Cuicunque nocere volebat
Veftimenta dabat pretiofa.

Written in the Year 1723.

ON Carlos in a merry spite

DON

Did Stella to his house invite :
He entertain'd her half a year

With gen'rous wines and coftly chear.
Don Carlos made her chief director,
That fhe 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 ven'fon 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 ev'ry glass was fine.

At laft grown prouder than the devil

With feeding high and treatment civil,
Don Carlos now began to find

20

His malice work'd as he defign'd.

From ruling there the household fingly,.
To be directed here by Dingly † :
From ev'ry day a lordly banquet,
To half a joint, and God be thanked:
From ev'ry meal, Pontack in plenty,
To half a pint one day in twenty:
From Ford attending at her call,
To vifits of

40

Each moment rifing in her airs,

She curs'd the narrow winding ftairs :
Began a thoufand faults to fpy;

The ceiling hardly fix feet high;

The fmutty wainscot full of cracks:

55

And half the chairs with broken backs :

Her quarter's out at Ladyday,

She vows the 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 ftrove in vain to ape Wood-park.
Two bottles call'd for (half her ftore,
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.

60

65

70

Thus far in jeft: though now I fear,

You think my jefting too fevere ;

But poets, when a hint is new,

75

Regard not whether falfe or true :

Yet raillery gives no offence;

Where truth has not the leaft pretence;
Nor can be more fecurely place'd,
Than on a nymph of Stella's tafte.
I must confefs, your wine and vittle.
I was too hard upon a little;
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And, though in miniature, you fhine:
Yet when you figh to leave Wood-park,
The fcene, the welcome, and the spark,
To languifh in this odious town,
And pull your haughty ftomach down;

85

85

We

We think you quite miftake the cafe,
The virtue lies not in the place :
For though my raillery were true,
A cottage is Wood-park with you.

90

A quibbling ELEGY on the Worshipful Judge BOAT.

Written in the year 1723.

'O mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note, Sinou cruel fate hath funk our Juftice Boat. Why should he fink, where nothing feem'd to press? His lading little, and his ballaft lefs.

Toft in the waves of this tempeftuous world,

At length, his anchor fix'd, and canvafs furl'd,
To Lazy-hill retiring from his court,

*

At his Ring's-end * he founders in the port.
With water fill'd he could no longer float,
The common death of many a ftronger boat.

5

ΙΟ

A poft fo fill'd, on nature's laws intrenches : Benches on boats are place'd, not boats on benches. And yet our Boat, how fhall I reconcile it? Was both a boat, and in one fenfe a pilot.. With ev'ry wind he fail'd, and well could tack: 15 Had many pendents, but abhorr'd a Jack ‡. He's gone, although his friends began to hope, That he might yet be lifted by a rope.

Two villages near the fea, where boatmen and feamen live.
It was faid he died of a dropfy.

A cant-word for a Jacobi.e.

Behold