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Der. At an old stubborn root I chanc'd to tug, 25 When the Dean threw me this tobacco plug ; A longer ha'-p'orth never did I see ; This, dearest Sheelah, thou shalt share with me.

*

She. In at the pantry door this morn I flipt, And from the shelf a charming cruft I whipt; 30 Dennis was out, and I got hither safe; And thou, my dear, falt have the bigger half.

Der. When you saw Tady at long bullet's play, You fat and lous'd him all the sun-fhine day. How could you, Sheelah, listen to his táles, 35 Or crack such lice as his between your nails ?

She. When you with Oonah stood behind a ditch, I peep'd, and saw you kiss the dirty bitch. Dermot, how could you touch those nafty sluts ! I almost wish'd this spud were in your guts. 40

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Der. If Oonah once I kiss'd, forbear to chide:
Her aunt's my gossip by my father's fide:
But if I ever touch her lips again,
May I be doom’d for life to weed in rain.

She. Dermot, I swear tho' Tady's locks could hold
Ten thousand lice, and ev'ry loufe was gold,
Him on my lap you never more hould see ;
Or may I lose my weeding-knife--and thee.

Der. Oh ! could I earn for thee, my lovely.lafs, A pair of brogues to bear thee dry to mass ! 50 But see where Norah with the fowins comes Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

• Sir Arthur's butler.

Mary

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Yes, you

WELL, if ever I faw fuch another man since my You a gentleman !- marry come up, I wonder where

you were bred. I am sure such words do not become a man of your

cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. cali'd

my master a knave: fie, Mr Sheridan! 'tis a shame

5 For a parfon, 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 honefter man than you

and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger, than you

have in your whole body : My maiter is a personable man, and not a spindle

fhank'd hoddy-doddy. And now, whereby I find you would fain make an

excuse, Because my master one day, in anger, called you

goose ; Which, and I am sure, I have been his servant four

years fince October, And he never calld me worse than sweet- heart, drunk

or sober : Not that I know his Reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge,

15 Tho you and your come-rogues keep him out so late

in your wicked college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a Christian

eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or

10

an ass :

20

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- MAID'S LETTER. 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 be

lieve that's a true story: And fo say I told you so, and you may go tell my

matter; what care ? 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 ;

25 I remember it was on a Teusday, of all days in the

year. And Saunders the man says you are always jefting

and mocking : Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my ma

fter's stocking), My master is fo fond of that minifter that keeps the

school I thought my master a wise man, but that man makes him a fool

30 Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a

dishclout to his tail.
And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this

letter ;
For I write but a sad scrawl; but

my

fifter Marget, The writes better. : Well, but I muit run and make the bed, before my master comes from pray’rs ;

35 And tee now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming

up stairs :

Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I could

write written hand : And so I'remain, in a civil way, your servant to command,

MARY.

А

A DIALOGUE between Mad MULLI

NIX and TIMOTHY.

Written in the year 1728.

me,

-G

M.
I

Own', 'tis not my bread and butter ;

But pr’ythee, Tim, why all this clutter?
Why ever in these raging fits,
Damning to hell the Jacobites ?
When, if you search the kingdom round,

5
There's hardly twenty to be found ;
No, not among the priejis and friars
T. 'Twixt

you

and Gdamn the liars. M. The Tories are gone ev'ry man over To our illustrious house of Hanover ;

10
From all their conduct this is plain ;
And then
T.

- damn the liars again.
Did not an Earl but lately vote,
To bring in (I could cut his throat)
Our whole accounts of public debts ?

15 M. Lord ! how this frothy coxcomb frets ! [afide.

T. Did not an able statesman bishop This dang'rous horrid motion dish-up As Popish craft ? did he not rail on't? Shew fire and faggot in the tail on't ?

20 Proving the Earl a grand offender, And in a plot for the Pretender, Whose fleet, 'tis all our friends opinion, Was then embarking at Avignon.

M. These brangling jars of Whig and Tory 25 Are ftale, and worn as Troy-town story. The wrong, 'tis certain, you were both in, And now you find you fought for nothing. VOL. VI.

s

* See Tim and the fables, in vol. vii.

30

35

40

Your faction, when their game was new,
Might want such noisy fools as you ;
But
you,

when all the show is past,
Resolve to stand it out at last ;
Like Martin Marall, gaping on *,
Nor minding when the song is done.
When all the bees are gone to settle,
You clatter still your brazen kettle.
The leaders whom you lifted under,
Have dropt their arms, and seiz'd the plunder ;
And when the war is past, you come
To rattle in their ears your drum :
And as that hateful hideous Grecian
Thersites (he was your relation)
Was more abhorr'd and scorn'd by those
With whom he serv'd, than by his foes ; :
So thou art grown

the deteftation
Of all thy party thro' the nation :
Thy peevish and perpetual teasing
With plots, and Jacobites, and treason;
Thy busy, never-meaning face,
Thy screw'd up front, thy state-grimace,
Thy formal nods, important sneers,
Thy whisp'rings foisted in all ears,
(Which are, whatever you may think,
But nonsense wrapt up in a stink),
Have made thy presence, in a true sense,
To thy own fide so damnd a nuisance,
That when they have you
As if the devil drove, they fly.

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50

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in their eye,

• Sir Martin Marall is a character in one of Dryden's comedies. Sir Martin was to serenade his mistrels; but as he could not play, his man undertook to conceal himself, and do it for him, while he should thrum the instrument; but this ingenious projet miscarried, by the knight's continuing his exercise when the music was at an end. Huwkes,

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