So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a swearing,

Then my dame Wadgar' came, and she, you know, is thick of hearing. "Dame," said I, as loud as I could bawl, "do you know what a loss I have had ?"

"Nay," says she, "my lord Colway's folks are all very sad;

For my lord Dromeday comes a Tuesday without fail."

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Pugh!" said I, "but that's not the business that I ail."

Says Cary,' says he, "I have been a servant this five-and-twenty years come spring,

And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing." "Yes," says the steward, "I remember when I was at my lord Shrewsbury's,

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Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of gooseberries.'
So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief:
(Now you must know of all things in the world I hate a thief:)
However, I was resolved to bring the discourse slily about:
"Mrs. Dukes," said I, "here's an ugly accident has happened out:
'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a louse;"

But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house.

'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence makes a great hole in my wages :

Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these ages.

Now Mrs. Dukes you know, and everybody understands,

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


The devil take me!" said she (blessing herself), "if ever I saw't!"

So she roar'd like a bedlam, as though I had call'd her all to naught.
So you know, what could I say to her any more?

I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before.
Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man:
"No," said I, "'tis the same thing, the CHAPLAINS will be here anon."
So the chaplain came in. Now the servants say he is my sweetheart,
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,
Parson," said I, can you cast a nativity when a body's plunder'd?"
(Now you must know he hates to be called parson, like the devil!)
Truly," says he, “Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;
If your money be gone, as a learned divine says,' d'ye see,




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!" said I, "don't be angry, I am sure I never thought you so;

You know I honor the cloth; I design to be a parson'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 so went away.


Well: I thought I should have swoon'd. "Lord!" said I, "what shall I do?

I have lost my money and shall lose my true love too!"

'The earl of Berkeley's valet.


The old deaf housekeeper.

3 Galway.

The earl of Drogheda, who, with the primate, was to succeed the two earls then lord justices of Ireland.

Ferris; termed in his journal a scoundrel dog.

Clerk of the kitchen.

A usual saying of hers.


Then my lord call'd me: Harry," said my lord, "don't cry;
I'll give you something toward thy loss:" "And," says my lady, "so
will I."

"Oh! but," said I, "what if, after all, the chaplain won't come to?"
For that, he said (an't please your excellencies), I must petition you,
The premises tenderly considered, I desire 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 aforesaid, 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.



Written at the castle of Dublin, 1699.

My lord,2 to find out who must deal,
Delivers cards about,

But the first knave does seldom fail

To find the doctor out.

But then his honor cried, Gadzooks!
And seem'd to knit his brow:
For on a knave he never looks

But h' thinks upon Jack How.3
My lady, though she is no player,
Some bungling partner takes,
And, wedged in corner of a chair,
Takes snuff and holds the stakes.
Dame Floyd looks out in grave suspense
For pair royals and sequents;
But wisely cautious of her pence,
The castle seldom frequents.
Quoth Herries, fairly putting cases,
I'd won it on my word,

If I had but a pair of aces,
And could pick up a third.
But Weston has a new-cast gown
On Sundays to be fine in,
And if she can but win a crown,
'Twill just new dye the lining.

"With these is parson Swift,

Not knowing how to spend his time,

Does make a wretched shift,

To deafen them with puns and rhyme."

A cant word of lord and lady Berkeley to Mrs. Harris.


To the tune of the Cutpurse.' Written in August, 1702.


ONCE on a time, as old stories rehearse,

A friar would need show his talent in Latin; But was sorely 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 so went to bed in a desperate case:
When behold, the next morning, a wonderful riddle!
He found it was strangely filled up in the middle.

CHO. Let censuring critics then think what they list on't;
Who would not write verses with such an assistant?


This put me the friar into an amazement;

For he wisely consider'd it must be a sprite;

That he came through the keyhole, or in at the casement;
And it needs must be one that could both read and write ;
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 filled it so well of himself.
CHо. Let censuring, &c.


Even so master 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.
Then, good doctor Swift,

Pay thanks for the gift,

For you freely must own you were at a dead lift;
And, though some malicious young spirit did do't,
You may know by the hand it had no cloven foot.
CHо. Let censuring, &c.


The following lines probably had some share in determining the earl to get rid of so untractable a dependent, by gratifying him with a living.


WHEN wise lord Berkeley first came here,
Statesmen and mob expected wonders,
Nor thought to find so great a peer

Ere a week past committing blunders.

Lady Betty Berkeley, finding the preceding verses in the author's room unfinished, wrote under them the concluding stanza, which gave occasion to this ballad, written by the author in a counterfeit hand, as if a third person had done it.-SWIFT.

Till on a day cut out by fate,

When folks came thick to make their court, Out slipp'd a mystery of state,

To give the town and country sport.
Now enters Bush with new state airs,
His lordship's premier minister;
And who in all profound affairs
Is held as needful as his clyster.'
With head reclining on his shoulder
He deals and hears mysterious chat,
While every ignorant beholder

Asks of his neighbor, who is that?
With this he put up to my lord,

The courtiers kept their distance due,
Ile twitch'd his sleeve, and stole a word;
Then to a corner both withdrew.
Imagine now my lord and Bush

Whispering in junto most profound,
Like good king Phyz and good king Ush,'
While all the rest stood gaping round.
At length a spark, not too well bred,
Of forward face and ear acute,
Advanced on tiptoe, lean'd his head,
To overhear the grand dispute:
To learn what northern kings design,
Or from Whitehall some new express,
Papists disarm'd or fall of coin;

For sure (thought he) it can't be less.
My lord, said Bush, a friend and I,

Disguised in two old threadbare coats, Ere morning's dawn, stole 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 snout,

And begs he would the other weigh. My lord seems pleased, but still directs By all means to bring down the rates; Then, with a congee circumflex,

Bush, smiling round on all, retreats. Our listener stood awhile confused,

But gathering spirits, wisely ran for❜t, Enraged to see the world abused,

By two such whispering kings of Brentford.


"That my lord Berkeley stinks when he is in love."
DID ever problem thus perplex,
Or more employ the female sex?
So sweet a passion, who would think,
Jove ever form'd to make a stink!

The ladies vow and swear they'll try
Whether it be a truth or lie.

Love's fire, it seems, like inward heat,
Works in my lord by stool and sweat,
Which brings a stink from every pore,
And from behind and from before;
Yet, what is wonderful to tell it,
None but the favorite nymph can smell it.
But now, to solve the natural cause
By sober philosophic laws;


Whether all passions, when in ferment,
Work out as anger does in vermin;
So, when a weasel you torment,
You find his passion by his scent.
We read of kings who in a fright,
Though on a throne, would fall to
Beside all this, deep scholars know
That the main string of Cupid's bow
Once on a time was an
Now to a nobler office put,
By favor or desert preferr'd
From giving passage to a



But still, though fix'd among the stars,
Does sympathize with human

Thus, when you feel a hard-bound breech,
Conclude love's bowstring at full stretch,
Till the kind looseness 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
Watching the first unsavory wind,
Some ply before and some behind.
My lord, on fire amid 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 discharge,
Although the bore be ne'er so large,
Before the flame from muzzle burst,
Just at the breach it flashes first;
So from my lord his passion broke,
He first, and then he spoke.

The ladies vanish in the smother,
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 rest may think,
I'm sure 'twas I that smelt the stink.
You smell the stink! by

you lie,

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