Wond'ring, he star'd, scarcely his eyes believ'd, "Why, how now, Molly, what's the crotchet now?” Thus the fond pair to bed enamour'd went, For many days these fond endearments pass'd. · The reconciling bottle fails at last; 'Twas us'd and gone,-then midnight storms arose, And looks and words the union discompose. Her coach is order'd, and post-haste she flies To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies; Transported does the strange effects relate, Her knight's conversion and her happy state! "Why, niece," says he," I prithee apprehend, The water's water,-be thyself thy friend; "Such beauty would the coldest husband warm, "But your provoking tongue undoes the charm: "Be silent and complying; you'll soon find, "Sir John, without a med'cine, will be kind." 66 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S ADVICE TO Asses milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before; MARY THE COOK-MAID'S LETTER TO Well, if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head! You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred. I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame For a parson, who should know better things, to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame and a sin; And the Dean my master is an honester man than you and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your whole body: My master is a parsonable man, and not a spindleshank'd hoddy-doddy. And now, whereby Í find you would fain make an excuse, Because my master one day, in anger, call'd you goose; Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four years since October, And he never call'd me worse than sweet-heart, drunk or sober: Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out so late in your college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a christian tian eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an ass: But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye; Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't b lieve that's a true story: And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my master; what care I? And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil; I am but a poor servant; but I think gentlefolks should be civil. Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here; I remember it was on a Tuesday of all days in the year; And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and mocking: Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my my ter's stocking;) My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the school I thought my master a wise man, but that man makes him a fool. Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a dish-clout to his tail. And now I must go, & get Saunders to direct this letter; For I write but a sad scrawl, but my sister Marget, she writes better. Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my master comes from prayers; And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs; Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I cou write written hand: And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to com MARY. mand, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN, showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again. BY WM. COWPER, ESQ. John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,→ To-morrow is our wedding day, My sister and my sister's child, He soon replied, I do admire And you are she, my dearest dear, |