However, I was refolved to bring the difcourfe flily

about:

Mrs. Dukes *, faid I, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out:

'Tis not that I value the money three fkips of a loufe +;

But the thing I ftand upon is the credit of the house. 'Tis true, feven pounds four fhillings and fix pence makes a great hole in my wages:

40

Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheritance in these Magestive

Now, Mrs Dukes, you know, and every body under.. ftands, ca

That tho' 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands.

The devil take me, faid fhe (bleffing herfelf), if ever I faw't!

So fhe roar'd like a Bedlam, as tho' I had call'd her alb to naught

45

So you know, what could I fay to her any more? Le'en left her, and came away as wife as I was before. Well, but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man!

No, faid I'tis the fame thing, the chaplain will be here anon.

So the chaplain I came in. Now the fervants fay he is my fweet-heart,

59

Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.

So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blunder'd,

Parfen, faid I, can you caft a nativity, when a body's plunder'd?

(Now you must know, he hates to be call'd parfon like the devil).

Truly, fays he, Mrs Nab, it might become you to be more civil:

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A fervant, wife to one of the footmen.

An ufual faying of hers.

. The author.

If your money be gone, as a learned divine says, d'ye fee,

You are no text for my handling; so take that from

me:

I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd have you to know.

Lord! faid I, don't be angry, I am sure I never thought you fo;

You know I honour the cloth; I defign to be a parfon's wife;

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I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all my life.

With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,

Now you may go hang yourself for me, and fo went

away.

Well I thought I fhould have fwoon'd. Lord! faid I, what fhall I do?

I have lost my money, and shall lofe my true love too. Then my Lord call'd me: Harry ", faid my Lord, don't cry,

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I'll give you fomething towards thy lofs: and fays my Lady, fo will I."

Oh! but, faid I, what if, after all, my chaplain won't

come to?

For that, he faid (an't please your Excellencies), I must petition you.

The premiffes tenderly confider'd, I defire your Excellencies protection,

70

And that I may have a fhare in next Sunday's col

lection;

And, over and above, that I

cies letter,

may have your Excellen

With an order for the chaplain aforefaid, or, instead of

him, a better:

And then your poor petitioner both night and day,
Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound,

fhall ever pray.

A cant word of my Lord and Lady to Mrs Harris.

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Lady

Lady Betty Berkely, finding in the author's room some verfes unfinish'd, underwrit a stanza of her own,

*

with raillery upon him; which gave occafion to this ballad, written by the author in a counterfeit band, as if a third perfon had done it.

Written in the year 1703.

To the tune of The cutpurse.

I.

NCE on a time, as old ftories rehearfe,

ONCE

A friar would needs fhew his talent in Latin ; But was forely put to't in the midst of a verse, Because he could find no word to come pat in: Then all in the place

He left a void space,

And fo went to bed in a defperate cafe :

When behold the next morning a wonderful riddle !
He found it was strangely fill'd up in the middle.

5

Chorus. Let cenfuring critics then think what they lift on't;

10

Who would not write verfes with fuch an affiftant?

IT.

This put me the friar into an amazement:

For he wifely confider'd it must be a sprite,

That came thro' the key-hole, or in at the cafement; And it needs must be one that could both read and

write :

15

• These verses are called, A ballad on the game of traffic, and may be found among the pofthumous poetry, vol. vii.

Yet he did not know

If it were friend or foe,

Or whether it came from above or below:

Howe'er, it was civil in angel or elf,

For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of himself. zo

Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

III.

Even fo Mafter Doctor had puzzled his brains

In making a ballad, but was at a stand:

He had mix'd little wit with a great deal of pains; When he found a new help from invisible hand. 2.5 Then, good Doctor Swift,

Pay thanks for the gift,

For you freely, muft. own you were at a dead lift And, tho' fome malicious young fpirit did do't, You may know by the hand it had no cloven foot. Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

Built from the ruins of Whitehall that was burnt.

IN

Written in the year 1706.

N times of old, when time was young,
And poets their own verfes fung,
A verfe could draw a ftone or beam,
That now would overload a team;
Lead them a dance of many a mile,
Then rear thein to a goodly pile.
Each number had its diff'rent pow'r:
Heroic ftrains could build a tow'r;
Sonnets, or elegies to Chloris,
Might raise a house about two stories i

T

.5

10

A lyric ode would slate; a catch
Would tile; an epigram would thatch.
BUT, to their own, or landlord's coft,
Now poets feel this art is loft.
Not one of all our tuneful throng
Can raise a lodging for a song :
For Jove confider'd well the cafe,
Obferv'd they grew a num❜rous race;
And fhould they build as fast as write,
"Twould ruin undertakers quite.
This evil therefore to prevent,
He wifely chang'd their element :
On earth the god of wealth was made
Sole patron of the building trade;
Leaving the wits the fpacious air,
With licence to build caffles there :
And 'tis conceiv'd, their old pretence
To lodge in garrets comes from thence.
PREMISING thus, in modern way,
The better half we have to fay:
Sing, mufe, the house of poet Van.
In higher ftrains than we began.
Van (for 'tis fit the reader know it);
Is both a herald and a poet;
No wonder then if nicely fkill'd
In both capacities to build.
As herald, he can in a day

20

25

30

35

40

And as a poet, he has skill

To build in fpeculation fill.

Great Jove! he cry'd, the art restore
To build by verfe as heretofore,

G3

Houfe, family.