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HIм for a happy man I own,
Whofe fortune is not overgrown ;
And happy he who wifely knows
To use the gifts that heav'n bestows;
Or, if it please the pow'rs divine,
Can fuffer want, and not repine.
The man who, infamy to shun,
Into the arms of death would run,
That man is ready to defend

With life his country, or his friend.

VERSES made for women who cry apples, &c.

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20

ΤΟ

With a tender chicken.

5

ONIONS.

CO

ONION S.

OME, follow me by the fmell,
Here's delicate onions to fell,
I promise to use you well.
They make the blood warmer:
You'll feed like a farmer;
For this is ev'ry cook's opinion,
No fav'ry difh without an onion:

But left your kiffing should be spoil'd,
Your onions must be thoroughly boil'd;
Or elfe you may spare

Your mistress a share,

The fecret will never be known;

She cannot discover

The breath of her lover,

But think it as sweet as her own.

C

OYSTER S.

HARMING oysters I cry,
My masters, come buy,

So plump and fo fresh,
So fweet is their flesh;
No Colchefter oyster:
Is fweeter and moister;
Your ftomach they fettle,
And roufe up your mettle;
They'll make you a dad
Of a lafs or a lad; :
And Madam your wife
They'll please to the life;

Be the barren, be the old,

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Be fhe flut, or be the fcold,
Eat my oyfters, and lie near her,
She'll be fruitful, never fear her.

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BE

HERRING S.

not sparing, Leave off fwearing.

Buy my herring

Fresh from Malahide *,

Better ne'er was try'd.,

Come eat 'em with pure fresh butter and mustard,
Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.
Come, fixpence a dozen to get me some bread,
Or, like my own herrings, I foon fhall be dead.

ORANGE S.

COME buy my fine oranges, fauce for your veal,

And charming when squeez'd in a pot of brown

ale.

Well roasted with fugar and wine in a cup, They'll make a fweet bishop when gentlefolks fup.

To LOVE.

N all I wish how happy should I be,

IN

Thou grand deluder, were it not for thee?
So weak thou art, that fools thy pow'r despise,
And yet fo ftrong, thou triumph'ft o'er the wife.
Thy traps are laid with fuch peculiar art,
They catch the cautious; let the rafh depart.
Most nets are fill'd by want of thought and care,
But too much thinking brings us to thy fnare.

sings,

Where held by thee, in flavery we stay,
And throw the pleasing part of life.

away.

S

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Malahide, about five miles from Dublin, famous for her

But what does most my indignation move,
Difcretion, thou wert ne'er a friend to Love!
Thy chief delight is to defeat thofe arts,
By which he kindles mutual flames in hearts;
While the blind loit'ring god is at his play,
Thou steal'ft his golden pointed darts away ;
Those darts which never fail; and in their stead
Convey'ft malignant arrows tipt with lead:
- The heedlefs god fufpecting no deceits,

Shoots on, and thinks he has done wondrous feats;
But the poor nymph, who feels her vitals burn,
And from her fhepherd can find no return,
Laments and rages at the power divine,
When, curs'd Difcretion! all the fault was thine.
Cupid and Hymen thou haft fet at odds,

And bred fuch feuds betwixt those kindred gods,
That Venus cannot reconcile her fons ;

When one appears, away the other runs.
The former fcales, wherein he us'd to poise

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Love against love, and equal joys with joys,

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Are now fill'd up with avarice and pride,
Where titles, power, and riches ftill fubfide.
Then, gentle Venus, to thy father run,
And tell him how thy children are undone;
Prepare his bolts to give one fatal blow,
And ftrike Diferetion to the fhades below.

35

The following lines were wrote upon a very old glass of Sir ARTHUR ACHESON'S.

RAIL glafs, thou mortal art, as well as I,

FR

Tho' none can tell, which of uş first shall die.

Anfwered

1

Anfwered extempore by Dr SWIFT.

WE both are mortal; but thou, frailer creature,

May'ft die, like me, by chance, but not by na

ture.

VERSES cut by two of the DEAN's friends a pane of glafs in one of his parlours.

A

, upon

Bard, on whom Phoebus his fpirit beftow'd, Refolving t'acknowledge the bounty he ow'd, Found out a new method at once of confeffing, And making the most of so mighty a bleffing. To the god he'd be grateful, but mortals he'd choufe By making his patron prefide in his house; And wifely forefaw this advantage from thence, That the god would in honour bear most of th3 ex

pence :

6

So the bard he finds drink, and leaves Phoebus to treat
With the thoughts he infpires, regardless of meat. 10°
Hence they that come hither expecting to dine,
Are always fobb'd off with sheer wit and fheer wine.

ARE

On another window.

RE the guests of this houfe ftill doom'd to be cheated?

Sure the fates have decreed they by halves fhould be treated.

In the day of good John †, if you came here to dine, You had choice of good meat, no choice of good wine.

*These were written by Dr Delany in conjunction with Stella, and produced the verses, intitled, Apollo to the Dean. See vol. 6. p. 267.

+ Dr John Stearne, late Lord Bishop of Clogher, who had been the predeceffor of Dr Swift in the deanery of St Patrick's, and was always diftinguished for his great hofpitality.

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