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Says Cary*, fays he, I have been a fervant this five and twenty years, come spring, And in all the places I liv❜d I never heard of fuch a thing.

Yes, fays the feward, I remember, when f was at my lady Shrewsbury's,

Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of goosberries.

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)
However, I was refolv'd to bring the dif-
course flily about :

Mrs. Dukes +, faid I, here's an ugly acci-
dent has happen'd out:

'Tis not that I value the money three skips 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
Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheri-
tance in these ages.

* Clerk of the kitchen.
+ A fervant, wife to one of
the footmen.

An ufual faying of hers.


Now, mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body understands,

That though '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 though I had call'd her all to naught.

So you know, what cou'd I fay to her any more?

I e'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 * came in. Now the fervants say he is my fweetheart, 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, Parfon, 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 :

The author.


If your money be gone, as a learned divine fays, 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 fure I never thought you so;

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

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 shall I do?

I have loft my money, and shall lose my true love too.

Then my lord call'd me: Harry *, faid my lord, don't cry,

I'll give you something towards thy loss; and fays my lady, fo will I.

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

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

* A cant word of my lord and lady to mrs. Harris.


The premises tenderly confider'd, I defire your excellencies protection,

And that I may have a share in next Sunday's collection;

And, over and above, that I may have your excellencies letter,

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, shall ever pray.


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Lady Betty Berkeley, finding in the author's room fome verfes unfinished, underwrit a stanza of her own with raillery upon bim, 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 Cutpurfe.


NCE on a time, as old stories rehearse, 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 desperate case: When behold the next morning a wonderful riddle!

He found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the middle.

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

Who wou'd not write verfes with
Such an affiftant?

* These verses are called A and may be found among the ballad on the game of traffic, pofthumous poetry. Vol. VII.


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