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VI.

Such place hath Deptford, Navy-building town;
Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch:
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown;
And Twick'nam fuch, which fairer fcenes enrich,
Grots, ftatues, urns, and Jo-n's dog and bitch:
Ne village is without, on either fide,

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All up the filver Tames, or all a-down; Ne Richmon's felf, from whofe tall front are ey'd Vales, fpires, meandring ftreams, and. Windfor's tow'ry pride..

* The CA PON'S TALE.

To a Lady who fathered her lampoons upon her acquaintance.

N Yorkshire dwelt a fober yeoman,

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Whofe wife, a clean, pains-taking woman, Fed num'rous poultry in her pens,

And faw her cocks well serve her hens.

A hen he had, whofe tuneful clocks

Drew after her a train of cocks ;

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With eyes fo piercing, yet so pleasant,

You would have fworn 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 fuch flutt'ring, chuckling, crowing:
Each forward bird must thraft his head in,
And not a cock but would be treading.
YET tender was this hen so fair,

And hatch'd more chicks than she could rear.

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OUR prudent dame bethought her then
Of fome dry-nurfe to fave her hen:
She made a capon drunk; in fine
He eat the fops, the fipp'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 fee what God had fent;

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Thinks he's the hen, clocks, keeps a pother,
A foolish fofter-father-mother.

SUCH, Lady Mary, are your tricks;

But fince you hatch, pray own your chicks;
You should be better skill'd in nocks,

Nor, like your capons, ferve your cocks.

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VERSES written in a Lady's ivory table book.

Written in the year 1706.

PERUSE my leaves thro' ev'ry part,

And think thou feeft my owner's heart,
Scrawl'd o'er with trifles thus, and quite
As hard, as fenfelefs, and as light;
Expos'd to ev'ry coxcomb's eyes,
But hid with caution from the wife.
Here you may read, Dear charming faint;
Beneath, A new receipt for paint:
Here in beau-fpelling, Tru tel deth;
There in her own, Far an el breth:
Here, Lovely nymph, pronounce my doom:
There, A fafe way to ufe perfume:
Here a page fill'd with billetdoux :
On t'other fide, Laid out for fhoes ;
Madam, I die without your grace ;
Item, for half a yard of lace.

Who that had wit would 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 nonfenfe in the place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his part
In fuch a book, and fuch a heart,
If he be wealthy, and a fool,
Is in all points the fittest.tool;
Of whom it may be justly faid,
He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead.

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Mrs HARRIS'S PETITION.

Written in the year 1701.

To their Excellencies,

The Lords Juftices of Ireland †,

The bumble Petition of Frances Harris,

Who must farve, and die a maid, if it miscarries,

Humbly Sherweth,

HAT I went to warm myfelf in Lady Betty's t

Tchamber, because I was cold;

And I had in a purfe feven pounds four fhillings and fixpence, befides farthings, in money and gold:

When the Earl of Berkely was one of the Lords Justices of Ireland, Swift's true poetical vein (Pindaric flights being entirely out of the road of his talents) began to discover itself in fome occafional

Earl of Berkely, and Earl of Galway.
Lady Betty Berkely.

So, because I had been buying things for my Lady laft

night,

I was refolved to tell my money, to fee if it was right. Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,

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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 to my fmock.

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So, when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unript,

And, inftead of putting it into my pocket, down it flipt:

Then the bell rang, and I went down to put my Lady to bed;

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And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead.

So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:

But when I fearch'd, and mifs'd my purfe, Lord! I thought I should have funk outright.

Lord! Madam, fays Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, fays I, never worse :

But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purfe?

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occafional pieces which he writ in thofe times, particularly in the Ballad on the game of traffic [vol. vii. p. 120.], in the Ballad to the tune of the cut purfe [vol. vi. p. 7.], and in Mrs Harris's Petition. These poems are all wrong dated in the feveral editions of his works. It appears to a demonstration they were all written in the year 1699.-The petition of Mrs Harris, altho' it may be ranked in that clafs of poetry which is called low humour, is full of mirth and raillery. The Doctor himself and Mrs Harris are the two principal characters, against whom the ridicule is immediately pointed. However, there is one beautiful stroke of nature in this poem worthy to be remarked, which in the way of characterising can never be excelled by any efforts of genius. Do but obferve the anfwer of the old deaf houfekeeper in the following lines:

Then my dame Wadgar came, &c. 1. 25. to l. 29.

In one word, whoever can read this petition of Mrs Harris without feeling fome extraordinary pleasure, hath, in my opinion, neither wit, humour, judgment, nor any taste for poetry in his whole composition. Swift.

Lord help me! faid Mary, I never firr'd out of this place:

Nay, faid I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain cafe.

So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm: However, the ftole away my garters, that I might do myfelf no harm.

So I tumbled and tofs'd all night, as you may very well think,

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But hardly ever fet my eyes together, or flept a wink So I was a-dreamed, methought, that we went and fearch'd the folks round,

And in a corner of Mrs Dukes's box ty'd in a rag the money was found.

So next morning we told Whittle +, and he fell a. fwearing:

Then my dame Wadgar came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing:

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Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a loss I have had ?

Nay, faid fhe, my Lord Colway's || folks are all very fad

For my Lord Dromedary ++ comes a Tuesday without fail.

Pugh! faid I, but that's not the bus'ress that I ail. Says Cary 1, fays he, I have been a fervant this five and twenty years, come spring,

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And in all the places I liv'd I never heard of fuch a thing.

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Yes, fays the fterward, I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's,

Such a thing as this happen'd juft about the time of. gooseberries.

So I went to the party fufpected, and I found her full of grief,

(Now you must know, of all things in the world, I hate a thief).

+ Earl of Berkeley's valet.

The old deaf housekeeper.

Galway.

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tt Drogheda, who, with the primate, was to fucceed the two Earts> # Clerk of the kitchen.

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