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Á hen she had, whofe tuneful clocks Drew after her a train of cocks; With eyes fo piercing, yet fo piercing, yet so pleasant, You wou'd 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 muft thruft his head in, And not a cock but wou'd be treading.

Yet tender was this hen fo fair, And hatch'd more chicks than fhe could rear. Our prudent dame bethought her then Of some dry-nurse to save her hen : She made a capon drunk; in fine He eat the fopps, fhe 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 see what God had fent; 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 fhou'd be better fkill'd in nocks, Nor like your capons ferve your cocks.

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Written in a Lady's Ivory Table-Book.

ERUSE my leaves through ev'ry part,
And think thou fee'ft my owner's heart,
Scrawl'd 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 wife.
Here you may read, dear charming faint ;
Beneath, a new receipt for paint:
Here in beau-spelling, tru tel deth;
There in her own, far an el breth :
Here, lovely nymph, pronounce my doom :
There, a fafe way to use perfume:
Here a page fill'd with billet-doux ;
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 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 difgrace,
Clap his own nonfenfe in the place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his part
In fuch a book, and fuch a heart,

VERSES ON A LADY's TABLE-BOOK. 69 If he be wealthy, and a fool, Is in all points the fittest tool; Of whom it may be juftly faid, He's a gold pencil tipp'd with lead.


Written in the Year 1701.

To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland*

The humble petition of Frances Harris,
Who must farve, and die a maid, if it miscarries,

Humbly fheweth,

That I went to warm myself in lady Betty's chamber, because I was cold, And I had in a purse feven pound, four fhillings, and fix pence, befides farthings, in money and gold:

So, because I had been buying things for my lady laft night,

I was refolv'd to tell my money, to see if it was right.

* Earl of Berkeley, and earl of Galway. + Lady Betty Berkeley.

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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
dle, next to my fmock.

my mid

So, when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my fmock was unript, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it flipt:

Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;

And, God knows, I thought my money was as fafe 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 purse, Lord! I thought I fhou'd 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 purse?

Lord help me! faid Mary, I never ftirr❜d out of this place

Nay, said 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


However, fhe ftole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.

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

But hardly ever fet my eyes together, or flept a wink.

So I was a-dream'd, 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 Wadgart came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing.

Dame, faid I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a lofs 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'ness

that I ail.

* Earl of Berkeley's valet.
+ The old deaf houfe-



Drogheda, who with the primate was to fucceed the two earls.


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