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Baskets of Fish at Billingsgate did watch,

Cod, Whiting, Oyster, Mackrel, Sprat, or Plaice : There learn'd she Speech from Tongues that never

cease. Slander beside her, like a Magpye, chatters,

With Envy (spitting Cat) dread Foe to Peace ; Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters, And vexing ev'ry Wight, tears Cloaths and all to


Her Dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's Hand,

Her Mouth was black as Bull-Dogs at the Stall ; She scratched, bit, and spar'd not Lace nor Band,

And Bitch and Rogue her Answer was at all ;

Nay, e'en the Parts of Shame by Name wou'd call; Whene'er the pasied by a Lane or Nook,

Wou'd greet the Man who turn'd him to the Wall, And by his Hand obscene the Porter took, Nor ever did alkance like modest Virgin look.

VI. SUCH Place hath Deptford, Navy-building Town,

Woolwich and W'apping, smelling strong of Pitch ; Such Lambeth, Envy of each Band and Gown,

And Twick'nam such, which fairer Scenes enrich,

Grots, Statues, Urns, and Jon's Dog and Bitch, Ne Village is without, on either Side, All ир the silver Thames, or ail a down ;


Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall Front are ey'd Vales, Spires, meandring Streams, and Windsor's

tow'ry Pride.

* The CAPON'S TALE to a Lady

who fatber'd ber Lampoons upon her Acquaintance.


N Yorkshire dwelt a sober Yeoman,

Whose Wife, a clean, Pains-taking Woman,
Fed num'rous Poultry in her Pens,
And saw her Cocks well serve her Hens.

A Hen she had, whose tuneful Clocks
Drew after her a Train of Cocks ;
With Eyes so piercing, yet so pleasant,
You wou'd have sworn this Hen a Pheasant.
All the plum'd Beau-monde round her gathers ;
Lord! what a Brustling up of Feathers !
Morning from Noon there was no knowing,
There was such Flutt'ring, Chuckling, Crowing;
Each forward Bird must thrust his ficad in,
And not a Cock but wou'd be treading.

Yet tender was this Hen 1o fair,
And hatchd more Chicks than she could rear.

Our prudent Dame bethought her then
Of some Dry-Nurse to save her Hen;



Verfés on a Lady's Table-Book.
She made a Capon drunk; in fine
He eat the Sopps, the sipp'd the Wine ;
His Rump well pluck'd with Nettles ftings,
And claps the Brood beneath his Wings.

The feather’d Dupe awakes content, .
O’erjoy'd to see what God had sent.
Thinks he's the Hen, clocks, keeps a Pother,
A foolish Foster-Father-Mother.

SUCH, Lady Mary, are your Tricks ;
But since you hatch, pray own your Chicks ;
You should be better skill'd in Nocks,
Nor like your Capons, serve your Cocks.

VERSES wrote on a Lady's Ivory



RUSE my Leaves thro' ev'ry Part,

And think thou seelt my Owner's Hearts
Scrawld o'er with Trifles thus, and quite
As hard, as fenfeless, and as light;
Expos’d to ev'ry Coxcomb's Eyes,
But hid with Caution from the Wise.
Here you may read (Dear charming Saint)
Beneath (A new Receipt for Paint :)
Here in Beau-spelling (tru rel Deth,)
There in her own (far an el bretb.)




Verses on a Lady's Table-Book,

Here (lovely Nymph pronounce my Doom,)
There (a safe Way to use Perfume ;)
Here a Page filled with Billet-Doux ;
On t'other Side (laid out for Shoes :)
(Madam I die witbout your Grace,)
(Item, for half a Yard of Lace.)
Who that had Wit wou'd place it here,
For ev'ry peeping Fop to jeer?
In Pow'r of Spittle, and a Clout,
Whene'er he please to blot it out ;
And then, to heighten the Disgrace,
Clap his own Nonsense in the Place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his Part
In such a Book, and such a Heart,
If he be wealthy, and a Fool,
Is in all Points the fittest Tool ;
Of whom it may be justly said,
Hle's a Golden Pencil tipp'd with Leach.


To their EXCELLENCIES. the Lords

Justices of Ireland.

The humble Petition of Frances Harris,
Who muft ftarve, and die a Maid, if it mil-

carries ;


Humbly Sbewerb,
HAT I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's

Chamber, because I was cold,
And I had in a Purse Seven Pound, Four Shillings,

and Six Pence, besides Farthings, in Money and

Gold; So because I had been buying Things for my Lady

last Night, I was resolv'd to tell my Money, to see if it was

right : Now you must know, because my Trunk has a very

bad Lock, Therefore all the Money I have, which, God

knows, is a very small Stock, I keep in my Pocket, ty'd about my Middle, next

my Smock.

So when I went to put up my Purse, as God would

have it, my Smock was unript, And instead of putting it into my Pocket, down it slipt:

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