Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock, my middle, next

I keep in my pocket, ty'd about to my fmock. So when I went to put up my purfe, 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 purfe, Lord! I thought I should have funk outright. Lord! Madam, fays Mary, how d' ye da? Indeed, fays I, never worse :

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

Lord help me faid Mary, I never ftirr'd qut 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 stole away my garters, that I might

do myfelf no harm.

So I tumbled and tofs'd all night, as you may very well think, [wink. But hardly ever fet my eyes together, or flept a So I was adream'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 Wadgar | 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; [out fail. For my Lord Dromedary** comes a Tuefday withPugh! faid I, but that's not the business that I ail.

The Earls of Berkeley and of Galway,

+ Lady Betty Berkeley, afterwards Germaine.
Wife to one of the footmen.

Earl of Berkeley's valet.'
The old deaf beufekeeper.

Galway.

**The Earl of Drogheda, who, with the Primate,

was to fucceed the two Earls.

Says Cary, fays he, I have been a fervant t five and twenty years come fpring, And in all the places I liv'd I never heard of fu a thing.

Yes, fays the steward, †, I remember, wher was at my Lady Shrewsbury's, Such a thing as this happen'd just about the ti of goofeberries.

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

(Now, you must know, of all things in the wor I hate a thief.) [abou However, I am refolv'd to bring the difcourfe fl Mrs. Dukes, faid 1, here's an ugly accident happen'd out;

[loufe "Tis not that I value the money three skips of But the thing I ftand upon is the credit of t houfe.

"Tis true, feven pounds, four fhillings, and fi pence, makes a great hole in my wages: Befides, as they fay, fervice is no inheritance thefe ages.

Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every bod understands,

That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can go without hands.

The devil take me! faid fhe (bleffing herself) ever I faw't!

So fhe roar'd like a bedlam, as though I had call her all to naught.

So you know, what could I fay to her any more I e'en left her, and came away as wife as I w before.

Well; but then they would had me gone to th

cunning man!

[here ano No, faid I, 'tis the fame thing, the chaplain will b So the chaplain § came in. Now the fervants fa he is my fwee heart,

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

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

Parfon, faid I, can you caft a nativity, when a be

dy's plunder'd!

(Now, you must know, he hates to be call'd pa fon like the devil!)

Truly, fays he, Mrs. Nab, it might become yo to be more civil;

If your money begone, as a learned divine say d'ye fee, [from me You are no text for my handling; fo take th I was never taken for a conjurer before, I'd hav yon to know.

Lord! faid I, don't be angry, I am sure I nev thought you fo;

You know f honour the cloth; I defign to be parfon's wife; [my life I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in With that he twifted his girdle at me like a rop as who fhould fay,

Now you may go hang yourfelf for me, and

Then

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

Oh! but, faid I, what if, after all, the chaplain

won't come to ?

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

The premies tenderly confider'd, I defire your Excellencies protection, [lection;

And that I may have a share in next Sunday's colAnd, over and above, that I may have your Excellencies letter,

With an order for the chaplain aforefaid, or, inftead of him, a better;

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

A BALLAD

ON THE GAME OF TRAFFIC,
Written at the Cofile of Dublin, 1699.

My Lord t, to find out who must deal,
Deliver cards about,

But the firit knave does feldom fail
To find the Doctor out.

But then his Honour cry'd, Gadzooks!
And feem'd to knit his brow:
For on a knave he never looks,

But h' thinks upon Jack How ‡.
My Lady, though he is no player,
Some bungling partner takes,
And, wedg'd in corner of a chair,

Takes inuff, and holds the stakes.

Dame Floyd looks out in grave fufpenfe
For pair-royals and fequents;
But wildly cautious of her pence,
The caftle feldom fréquents.

Quoth Herries, fairly putting cafes,
I'd won it on my word,
I had but a pair of aces,
And could pick up a third.
But Wefton has a new-caft gown
On Sundays to be fine in,
And, if he can but win a crown,
Twill just new-dye the lining.

* With these is Parson Swift,

Not knowing how to fpend his time, Does make a wretched shift,

Todafen them with puns and rhyme."

A BALLA D,

To the tune of the Cut-Purfe §.

Over on a time, as old ftories rehearse,

A friar would needs fhow his talent in Latin;

A cant word of Lord and Lady B. to Mrs. Harris. The Earl of Berkeley. Paymafler of the army. Lady Betty Berkeley, finding the preceding verfes in the author's room unfinished, wrote under them the candading fianza, which gave occafion to this ballad, written by the auther in a counterfest band, as if a third perfon bad dens it.

Because he could find no word to come pat in: Then all in the place

He left a void fpace,

And fo went to bed in a desperate cafe; [dle! Then behold the next morning a wonderful ridHe found it was strangely fill'd up in the middle. Cho. Let cenfuring critics then think what they lift on't ; [fiftant? Who would not write verfes with fuch an af

This put me, the friar, into an amazement :

For he wifely confider'd it must be a sprite; That he came through the key-hole, or in at the cafement; [and write:

And it needs must be one that could both read Yet he did not know

If it were friend or foe,

Or whether it came from above or below:
However, 'twas civil in angel or elf,
For he ever could have fill'd it fo well of himself.
Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

Even fo Mafter Doctor had puzzled his brains
In making a ballad, but was at a stand: [pains;
He had mix'd little wit with a great deal of
When he found a new help from invifible hand.
Then, good Doctor Swift,
Pay thanks for the gift;
[lift:
For you freely muft own, you were at a dead
And, though some malicious young spirit did do't,
You may know by the hand it had no cloven foot.
Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

THE DISCOVERY.

WHEN wife Lord Berkeley first came here*,
Statesmen and mob expected wonders,

Nor thought to find fo great a peer
Ere a week paft committing blunders.

Till, on a day cut out by fate,

When folks came thick to make their court,

Out flipt a mystery of state,

To give the town and country sport. Now enters + Bush with new state airs, His Lordship's premier minifter; And who in all profound affairs

Is held as needful as his clyfter. With head reclining on his shoulder, He deals and hears myfterious chat, While every ignorant beholder

Afks of his neighbour, Who is that? With this he put up to my Lord,

The courtiers kept their diftance due, He twitch'd his fleeve, and ftole a word; Then to a corner both withdrew.

Imagine now, my Lord and Bufh

Whispering in junto most profound,
Like good king § Phyz, and good king Ush,
While all the reft food gaping round.

*To Ireland, as one of the Lords Juices.

+ Bufb, by fome underband infinuation, obtained the poft of fecretary, which had been promifed to Srift. Always taken before my Lord went to council, § Sea The Rebearsal.

A iiij

At length a spark not too well bred,
Of forward face and ear acute,
Advanc'd on tipto, lean'd his head,
To over-hear the grand difpute:
To learn what northern kings defign,
Or from Whitehall fome new exprefs,
Papifts difarm'd, or fall of coin:

For fure (thought he) it can't be lefs.
My Lord, faid Bush, a friend and I,
Difguis'd in two old thread-bare coats,
Ere morning dawn, ftole out to spy

How markets went for hay and oats. With that he draws two handfuls out, The one was oats, the other hay; Puts this to's Excellency's fnout,

And begs he would the other weigh.
My Lord feems pleas'd, but ftill directs
By all means to bring down the rates;
Then, with a congee circumflex,

Bush, fmiling round on all, retreats.
Our liftener ftood a while confus'd,
But, gathering fpirits, wifely ran for't,
Enrag'd to fee the world abus'd

By two fuch whifpering kings of Brentford.

THE PROBLEM,

"THAT MY LORD BERKELEY STINKS, WHEN HE

IS IN LOVE."

DID ever problem thus perplex,
Or more employ, the female fex?
So fweet a paffion, who would think,
Jove ever form'd to make a ftink?
The ladies vow and fwear, they'll try,
Whether it be a truth or lie.

Love's fire, it fecms, like inward heat,
Works in my Lord by ftool and fweat,
Which brings a ftink from every pore,
And from behind and from before;
Yet, what is wonderful to tell it,

None but the favourite nymph can smell it.
But now, to folve the natural caufe
By fober philofophic laws:

Whether all paflions, when in ferment,
Work out as anger does in vermin;
So, when a weazel you torment,
You find his paffion by his fcent.
We read of kings, who, in a fright,
Though on a throne, would fall to fh-.
Pefide all this, deep scholars know,
That the main ftring of Cupid's bow
Once on a time was an a-gut;
New to a nobler office put,
By favour or defert preferr'd
From giving paffage to a t-;
But fill, though fix'd among the stars,
Does fympathife with human a--.
Thus, when you feel an hard-bound breech,
Conclude love's bow-ftring at full ftretch,
Till the Find loofenefs comes, and then
Conclude the bow relax'd again.

And now, the ladies all are bent
To try the great experiment,
Ambitious of a regent's heart,
Spread all their charms to catch a f→→→;

Watching the first unfavoury wind,
Some ply before, and fome behind.
My Lord, on fire amidft the dames,
Fts like a laurel in the flames.
The fair approach the speaking part,
To try the back-way to his heart:
For, as when we a gun difcharge,
Although the bore be ne'er fo large,
Before the flame from muzzle burst,
Juft at the breech it flashes first;
So from my lord his paffion broke,
He f-d firft, and then he spoke.

The ladies vanish in the fmother,
To confer notes with one another;
And now they all agreed to name
Whom each one thought the happy dame.
Quoth Neal, whate'er the reft may think,
I'm fure 'twas I that smelt the stink.
You smell the ftink! by G-, you lie,
Quoth Rofs, for I'll be fworn 'twas 1.
Ladies, quoth Levens, pray forbear:
Let's not fall out; we all had share;
And, by the moft I can discover,
My lord's an univerfal lover.

THE DESCRIPTION

OF

A SALAMANDER. 17c6.
Pliny, Nat. Hift. Lib. x. c. 67. lib. xxix. c. 44

As maftiff dogs in modern phrase are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæfar;
As pyes and daws are often ftyl'd
With Chriftian nicknames, like a child;
As we fay Monficur to an ape,
Without offence to human fhape;

So men have got, from bird and brute,
Names that would beft their natures fuit.
The lion, eagle, fox, and boar,
Were heroes titles heretofore,
Beftow'd as hieroglyphics fit

To fhow their valour, ftrength, or wit:
For what is understood by fame,
Befides the getting of a name?
But, e'er fince men invented guns,
A different way their fancy runs :

To paint a hero, we inquire

For fomething that will conquer fire.
Would you defcribe Turenne or Trump?
Think of a bucket or a pump.

Are thefe too low?-then find out grander,
Call my Lord Cuts a falamander.
"Tis well;-but, fince we live among
Detractors with an evil tongue,
Who may object against the term,
Pliny fhall prove what we affirm:
Pliny fhall prove, and we'll apply,
And I'll be judg'd by ftanders-by.

First, then, our author has de fin'd
This reptil of the ferpent kind,
With gaudy coat and fhining train;
But loathfome fpots his body ftain:
Out from fome hole obfcure he flies,
When rains defcend, and tempefls rife,
Till the fun clears the air; and then
Crawls back neglected to his den.

So, when the war has rais'd a storm,
I've feen a frake in hunian form,

All fain'd with infamy and vice,
Leap from the dunghill in a trice,
Larth, and make a gaudy show,
Become a general, peer, and beau,
Til has made the sky ferene;
peace
Then frisk into its hole again.

All this we grant-why, then, look yonder :
Sure that must be a Salamander!"

Farther, we are by Pliny told,
This spent is extremely cold;
So call, that, put it in the fire,
Trl make the very flames expire:
Belus, it fpues a filthy froth

Whether through rage or luft, or both)
Of matter purulent and white,
Which, happening on the fkin to light,
And there corrupting to a wound,
Spreads leprofy and baldness round.
So have I feen a batter'd beau,

By age and claps grown cold as fnow,
Whof breath or touch, where'er he came,
Biew out Love's torch, or chill'd the flame:
And fhould fome nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Charlton cheap, or fam'd Du-Ruel,
Receive the filth which he ejects,

She foon would find the fame effects
Her tainted carcafe to pursue,
As from the Salamander's fpue;

A difnal thedding of her locks,

And, if no leproty, a pox.

Thea I'll appeal to each by-ftander, If this be not a Salamander?"

TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROW,

WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES IN SPAIN.

MORDANTO fills the trump of fame,
The Christian worlds his deeds proclaim,
And prints are crowded with his name,

In journies he outrides the post,
Sets up till midnight with his hoft,
Taks politics, and gives the toast;
Knows every prince in Europe's face,
Fies like a fquib from place to place,
And travels not, but runs a race.
From Paris gazette à-la-main,
This day arriv'd, without his train,
Mordanto in a week from Spain.

A meflenger comes all a-reek,
Mordanto at Madrid to feek;

He left the town above a week.

Next day the poft-boy winds his horn,
And rides through Dover in the morn :
Mardanto's landed from Leghorn.

Merdanto gallops on alone;

The roads are with her followers frown;
This breaks a girth, and that a bone.
His body active as his mind,
Returning found in limb and wind,
Except fome leather loft behind.

A keleton in outward figure,

Hy meagre corpfe, though full of vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the leaft fufpicion,
He's with you like an apparition:

Shines in all climates like a star;
In fenates bold, and fierce in war;
A land commander, and a tar:

Heroic actions early bred in,

Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading, But by his name-fake Charles of Sweden.

ON THE UNION.

THE Queen has lately loft a part
Of her ENTIRELY-ENGLISH* heart;
For want of which, by way of botch,
She piec'd it up again with scoтCH.
Bleft revolution! which creates
Divided hearts, united states!
See how the double nation lies;
Like a rich coat with fkirts of frieze:
As if a man, in making pofies,
Should bundle thiftles up with roses.
Who ever yet a union faw

Of kingdoms without faith or law?
Henceforward let no ftatesmen dare
A kingdom to a ship compare;

Left he fhould call our commonweal A veffel with a double keel:

9

Which, just like ours, new rigg'd and mann'd,
And got about a league from land,
By change of wind to leeward fide,
The pilot knew not how to guide.
So tolling faction will o'erwhelm
Our crazy double-bottom'd realın.

ON MRS. BIDDY FLOYD:

OR, THE RECEIPT TO FORM A BEAUTY.

WHEN Cupid did his grandfire Jove entreat
To form fome Beauty by a new receipt,
Jove fent, and found far in a country icene
Truth, innocence, good nature, look ferene:
From which ingredients firft the dextrous boy
Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
The Graces from the Court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride:
Thefe Venus cleans from every fpurious grain
Of nice, coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jové mix'd up all, and his beft clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy compofition Floyd.

APPOLLO OUTWITTED.

To the Honourable Mrs. Finch, afterwards County's of Winchelfea, under her name of Ardelia.

PHOEBUS, now fhortening every fhade,
Up to the northern tropic came,
And thence beheld a lovely maid,
Attending on a royal dame.
The god laid down his fechle rays,

Then lighted from his glittering coach;

*The motto on Queen Anne's coronation medal.

+ An elegant Latin verfion of this little poem is in

the fixth volume of Dryden's Mifcellanies.

But fenc'd his head with his own bays,
Before he durft the nymph approach.
Under thofe facred leaves, fecure

From common lightning of the skies,
He fondly thought he might endure
The flashes of Ardelia's eyes.

The nymph, who oft' had read in books Of that bright god whom bards invoke, Soon knew Apollo by his looks,

And guess'd his business ere he spoke.

He, in the old celeftial cant,

Confefs'd his flame, and fwore by Styx, Whate'er fhe would defire, to grant

But wife Ardelia knew his tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her, to beware

Of ftrolling gods, whofe ufual trade is, Under pretence of taking air, To pick up fublunary ladies.

Howe'er, fhe gave no flat denial,

As having malice in her heart; And was refolv'd upon a trial,

To cheat the god in his own art.

Hear my requeft, the virgin faid;
Let which I please of all the Nine
Attend, whene'er I want their aid,
Obey my call, and only mine.

By vow oblig'd, by paffion led,

The God could not refufe her prayer: He wav'd his wreath thrice o'er her head, 'Thrice mutter'd fomething to the air.

And now he thought to feize his due
But fhe the charm already tried.
Thalia heard the call, and flew

To wait at bright Ardelia's fide.

On fight of this celeftial prude,

Apollo thought it vain to stay; Nor in her prefence durft be rude;

But made his leg, and went away.
He hop'd to find some lucky hour,
When on their queen the mufes wait:
But Palla's owns Ardelia's power;
For vows divine are kept by fate.
Then, full of rage, Apollo spoke :
Deceitful nymph! I fee thy art;
And, though I can't my gift revoke,
I'll disappoint its nobler part.
Let ftubborn pride poffefs thee long,
And be thou negligent of fame;
With every mufe to grace thy fong,
May'ft thou despise a poet's name!
Of modeft poets thou be first;

To filent fhades repeat thy verse,
Till Fame and Echo almost burst,
Yet hardly dare one line rehearse.
And laft, my vengeance to complete,

May't thou defcend to take renown,
Prevail'd on by the thing you hate,

A whig, and one that wears a gown!

VANBRUGH's HOUSE,

BUILT FROM THE RUINS OF WHITEHALL, 170

In times of old, when Time was young,
And poets their own verfes fung,
A verfe would draw a stone or beam,
That now would overload a team;
Lead them a dance of many a mile,
Then rear them to a goodly pile.
Each number had its different power:
Heroic ftrains could build a tower;
Sonnets, or elegies to Chloris,
Might raise a house about two ftories;
A lyric ode would flate; 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 fong:

For Jove confider'd well the case,
Obferv'd they grew a numerous 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 cafiles there:
And, 'tis conceiv'd, their old pretence
To lodge in garrets comes from thence.
Premifing 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 killed
In both capacities to build.
As herald, he can in a day
Repair a boufe gone to decay;
Or, by atchievement, arms, device,
Erect a new one in a trice;
And, as a poet, he has skill
To build in fpeculation ftill,

Great Jove! he cry'd, the art restore
To build by verfe as heretofore,
And make my mufe the architect;
What palaces fhall we erect!
No longer fhall forfaken Thames
Lament his old Whitehall in flames;
A pile fhall from its ashes rife,
Fit to invade or prop the skies.

Jove fmil'd, and, like a gentle god
Confenting with the ufual nod,
Told Van, he knew his talent beft,
And left the choice to his own breast,
So Van refolv'd to write a farce;
But, well perceiving wit was fcarce,
With cunning that defect fupplies;
Takes a French play as lawful prize;
Steals thence his plot and every joke,
Not once fufpecting Jove would make:
And (like a wag fet down to write)
Would whisper to himself, a bite;
Then, from this motley, mingled ftyle,
Proceeded to crect his pile.